Milk_Is_My_Drug
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Chapter 95: The Unlikely Professor
🕑 Added 2025-05-03 18:54:12 +0000 UTCNarcissa Malfoy sat alone in the dining room, her fingers tracing the rim of her untouched teacup. The feeling of helplessness ate away at her—her son had returned, but he was a ghost of himself. She had tried to reach him, but his hollow eyes had offered no answers.
Then, Dante walked in, his silver eyes no longer as empty as before. Narcissa straightened, her breath catching.
"Mother," he said softly, "thanks to you, I had a moment of clarity."
She didn’t speak, afraid that if she moved, this fragile version of her son might vanish again.
"I’m leaving for a few months," he continued. "I need to travel. To be alone for a while." He paused, then added, "I’ll be fine. I’ll come back."
Before she could respond, he was gone—vanished. But for the first time since his return, Narcissa didn’t feel dread. Instead, a quiet relief settled in her chest.
He looked alive again. And for now, that was enough.
___________
News traveled fast. Ginny Weasley was awake. Dante Malfoy had appeared out of nowhere, saved her, and left just as quickly.
In the Gryffindor common room, her brothers and friends exhaled in collective relief. Ron, though still wary of Dante, muttered, "At least he did something useful."
Hermione shot him a look but didn’t argue.
___________
Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, the weight of recent events lifting slightly. "So Ginny is well," he mused. "It seems Dante has finally pulled himself together."
Then Snape swept in, with a concerned expression. "He’s gone again."
Dumbledore blinked. "Pardon?"
"Dante left the Malfoy manor. He disappeared again and his parents don’t know where did he go."
The headmaster sighed, rubbing his temples. "I truly wish I knew where he keeps going."
Snape’s lip curled. "Shouldn’t you be more concerned that he might be plotting the end of the world?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard, a faint, weary smile tugging at his lips. "Severus, if one has already ended the world once, I imagine it becomes rather boring the second time."
Snape stared at him. Dumbledore merely chuckled.
___________
Months passed without a trace of Dante Malfoy. Yet, to the relief of the Malfoy family, letters arrived sporadically—brief, direct, and devoid of sentiment.
"I am well."
"I will return to Hogwarts next year."
No explanations. No details. But for Narcissa it was enough. Her son was alive, and that was all that mattered. For Lucius, he wondered what Dante is up to.
___________
The next school year arrived with grandeur. Hogwarts was hosting the Triwizard Tournament, and the castle buzzed with excitement.
The arrival of Beauxbatons left Hogwarts students—particularly the boys—mesmerized, their elegance and grace enchanting the Great Hall. Durmstrang, in contrast, commanded attention with their disciplined, powerful entrance, their presence radiating strength.
As Barty Crouch Sr. stood to announce the tournament rules, a sharp crack echoed through the hall. Every head turned as Dante Malfoy apparated directly into the center of the Great Hall. Gasps rippled through the crowd. It was well known that apparition inside Hogwarts was impossible.
Yet there he stood, silver hair gleaming, his face impassive as he scanned the room, the eyes of the three school students and professors staring at him. Dante’s eyes locked onto Dumbledore.
"Good. I’m not too late."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. In his mind, Dante was very late—but he chose diplomacy.
"Mr. Malfoy," he said smoothly, "just in time. Please take your seat with your housemates." He gestured toward the Slytherin table.
Dante didn’t move to the table, instead walked forward in the direction of the headmaster.
"I’m not here to be a student." His voice was calm, final. "I’ve decided I will be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year."
Dead silence.
Dumbledore blinked. "You… are here to be a professor?"
“Yes,” Dante said, still walking forward.
The entire hall stared. Dumbledore, who had taught at Hogwarts for over sixty years, who had seen countless prodigies and eccentrics, had never witnessed a sixth-year student—no matter how accomplished—waltz in so late and declare himself a professor. Even the unflappable headmaster was stunned, let alone the rest of the students and the professors.
Ignoring the shock around him, Dante strode past Dumbledore and took a seat beside Professor McGonagall as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
McGonagall’s lips thinned. "Mr. Malfoy," she said sharply, "this is highly improper, even as a joke."
"This isn’t a joke." Dante replied seriously.
From the side, Alastor Moody limped forward, his magical eye whirling. "And I thought Lucius Malfoy was an arrogant piece of work. You’ve surpassed your father, boy."
Dumbledore clapped his hands together, forcing cheer. "While your… passion is admirable, we already have Alastor Moody as our DADA professor."
Dante didn’t even glance at Dumbledore. Instead, his gaze fixed on Moody.
"I admit," he said coldly, "I almost forgot you existed. Last time I turned a blind eye to you and even helped your revive your buffoon of a master"
Then—his eyes glowed silver.
Moody let out a choked groan as his body twisted, his features melting away. The Polyjuice Potion’s effects reversed violently, revealing the true face beneath— Barty Crouch Jr.
The hall erupted in shouts. Barty looked up at Dante with horror, realizing his transformation was undone. In his panic and anger, he whipped out his wand and screamed:
‘AVADA KEDAVRA!’
The killing curse slammed into Dante’s face— And did nothing. Barty collapsed, the stone floor cracking beneath him as an unseen force crushed him down.
Dante remained seated, untouched. His voice was icy. "Last time, I cursed you to die a slow, painful death. Your beloved Voldemort trembled in agony in his final moments." He tilted his head. "Tell me boy… how should I deal with you this time?"
The Great Hall was in chaos. Whispers turned to shouts, fear and confusion rippling through the students as they gaped at the unmasked Barty Crouch Jr., writhing on the floor. The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons delegations exchanged alarmed glances, while several Hogwarts professors had already drawn their wands, though none dared cast a spell.
Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes locked onto Dante, his voice low but firm.
"What is going on, Dante?"
Dante didn’t so much as glance at the stunned crowd. "This piece of work," he said, pointing at the frozen Barty Crouch Sr., "has been under the Imperius Curse for months. His son"—he pointed at Barty Crouch Jr. with his finger—"controlled him and imprisoned your actual Defense professor in a trunk. His plan was to make Harry Potter the fourth champion, ensure he won, and use the tournament to revive Voldemort."
A collective gasp swept through the hall. Harry stiffened, his face paling.
Dante continued, indifferent. "Last time, I helped resurrect that fool because it was the fastest way to get my hands on him. This time? I don’t care enough to bother torturing him again."
Silence.
"Now," Dante said, his voice cutting through the tension, "let me make one thing clear. I am going to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year. That is not up for debate." His silver eyes swept over the room. "No one in this world is more qualified than me when it comes to the Dark Arts."
No one argued. Dante turned his gaze back to Dumbledore. "Do whatever you want with this idiot." He gestured dismissively at Barty Jr. "Proceed with the tournament if you like. I couldn’t care less."
Then, without waiting for a response, he stood "I expect the students to arrive to class on time tomorrow."
And with that, he turned and strode out of the Great Hall, leaving behind a room full of stunned faces, a bound Death Eater, and the undeniable truth— Dante was seriously intending to be the professor.
___________
The night had stretched long in Dumbledore’s office. Exhaustion weighed on the aged headmaster as he finally settled into his chair. The other schools had needed reassurance, the students had needed calming, and the Crouch situation had required delicate handling.
But the worst of it all? Dante’s casual admission. "Last time, I helped resurrect that fool because it was the fastest way to get my hands on him."
Who would help the most feared Dark wizard of the century revive—just to torture him? Dumbledore rubbed his temples. In retrospect, it was almost unfair to poor Tom. A sudden, absurd thought flickered in his mind— How was Tom supposed to resist Dante?
For the first time in his life, Dumbledore felt a flicker of pity for Voldemort. Being just a dark lord clearly hadn’t been enough to spare him.
The door to his office burst open as the four Heads of House marched in, led by a visibly agitated McGonagall.
"Albus, you cannot possibly allow this!" she snapped, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Dante hasn’t even completed his sixth year, and now he wants to teach? This isn’t some summer internship—it’s a professorship!"
Dumbledore sighed. Earlier, she had been outraged at Dante’s "crazy nonsense" about Voldemort. Now, she was furious about the teaching situation. What was he supposed to do? Duel Dante?
After a long silence, Dumbledore finally spoke "I can’t stop him."
McGonagall stiffened. "What?"
"Dante is absurdly strong," Dumbledore admitted, his voice weary. "I don’t see any way for me to resist him, let alone stop him. The best we can do is guide him where he’s lacking… and avoid conflict."
McGonagall’s eyes widened. "You can’t be serious."
Dumbledore nodded. "I’m afraid I am. The only option is cooperation. Anything else will end in disaster…. for us." He glanced at Snape. "Severus witnessed it."
All eyes turned to the Potions master. Snape’s lips curled into a disdainful smirk. "Our great and powerful headmaster couldn’t even resist," he drawled. "It was terrifying. And, admittedly, somewhat amusing."
McGonagall looked between them, horrified. Dumbledore merely sighed again. When he woke in the morning, not in his wildest dream did he think Dante would decide to become a teacher.
