But no one noticed that outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the third floor, Professor Quirrell stood silently by the railing, staring fixedly at Potter, who was surrounded by the crowd.
The muscles in his somewhat nervous face twitched faintly. Through his battered glasses, his gaze remained locked on Harry, who was being mobbed by everyone.
"Hmph, he's just a lucky brat." Quirrell ground his teeth until they creaked. "Why does he get so much attention? While I can only hide in the shadows, treated as some insignificant nobody."
Yet Voldemort, the second-generation Dark Lord on the back of Quirrell's head, reacted completely differently.
Sharing Quirrell's vision, he looked at Harry's humble yet spirited smile with a complicated expression, and unexpectedly thought of his younger self.
Back then, he too had been the center of everyone's attention, possessing boundless talent and potential, just like Harry.
It was as though he had crossed more than a decade of time and seen his former self!
Suddenly, Harry, who had just broken free from the crowd, seemed to sense something and sharply turned to look in Quirrell's direction.
When he looked at Quirrell, he happened to see Quirrell guiltily turn his head away.
Harry shook his head with a laugh. A timid rat, not worth mentioning!
It was still the familiar Transfiguration Class, but not the familiar Professor McGonagall.
Professor McGonagall had not transformed into that British Shorthair cat that looked as though it wore glasses. Instead, she stood at the podium in her original form, watching every student who entered.
When she saw Harry, Professor McGonagall's gaze sharpened. She had clearly remembered the time she had nearly been picked up.
Even now, she still felt lingering fear. If Harry had picked her up, how would she ever face people