Harry took a deep breath and suddenly realized that the Slytherin before him was somewhat different from the Slytherin he and Uncle Mu En had imagined.
Then, for some reason, a smile appeared on his face, and he strode inside.
This was more interesting, wasn't it?
The Common Room was a long, low-ceilinged basement. Its walls and ceiling were built of rough stone, while round green-glowing lamps hung from the ceiling on chains.
A fire crackled beneath the exquisitely carved mantelpiece. Many of the furnishings throughout the Common Room were delicate and clearly expensive.
Inside, they seemed to be discussing something:
"I bet he'll last until May."
"Forget it. He used to teach Muggle Studies. How capable could someone who taught that subject possibly be? If you ask me, he won't make it past March."
"I don't even think he'll last until March. I saw him at The Leaky Cauldron. He stuttered through every word and looked like a complete coward."
"Then let's make a bet. I'm putting down ten Galleons."
"I'll bet eight."
When Harry entered, he immediately noticed the surrounding gazes converge on him. The strange discussion from before also grew much quieter.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Roden Hewitt walked over and put an arm around Harry's shoulders, making a show in front of everyone that the two of them were very close.
"What were you talking about just now?" Harry asked curiously.
"We were talking about Quirrell," Roden explained. "No Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts has ever lasted more than a year.
Apparently, The Dark Lord once wanted to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but Headmaster Dumbledore turned him down. So he bore a grudge and cursed the position.
Ever since then, no one had been able to teach that subject