Visiting Quirrell

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At noon, everyone heard that Professor Quirrell had been injured while fighting the Troll the previous night, and they all cheered.

Professor McGonagall glared, and the room instantly fell silent.

It seemed no one had much goodwill toward Quirrell.

But that was hardly surprising. Leaving aside his personality and ability, his overpowering garlic stench alone was enough to make people faint. No one could possibly like him or want to get close to him.

Ron whispered, "Thank Merlin, we won't have to put up with that nauseating garlic smell anymore. It's just a shame he won't be hospitalized for longer."

Quite a few people nodded in agreement.

"Ron!" Professor McGonagall suddenly said. It looked like she had heard every word.

Hermione said brightly, "Professor McGonagall, then what are we going to do about Defense Against the Dark Arts this week?"

Only then did the others realize there was still that issue.

Seamus fearlessly said, "Why not turn all the classes into Flying lessons?"

Harry: (⊙o⊙)...

Professor McGonagall directly ignored him and said to the Gryffindor students, "I am discussing it with Headmaster Dumbledore. We are preparing to find a teacher to temporarily take over your Defense Against the Dark Arts classes."

Sigh...

A chorus of sighs rose from below.

After leaving the dining hall, Harry spotted Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall by a secluded staircase outside.

Snape said, "I can temporarily take over as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I hope you will agree to it in front of Dumbledore."

Professor McGonagall said, "I think Professor Flitwick could also take on the position."

After Professor McGonagall left, Snape looked very unhappy.

Harry snickered. Professor, your job hunt isn't going very smoothly!

But hang in there. Didn't Leonardo DiCaprio spend twenty years waiting before finally becoming an Oscar-winning actor?

No one knew who had suggested it, but everyone decided to visit Professor Quirrell at St Mungo's Hospital together that evening.

Seeing how excited they all were, as if they were about to celebrate something, there was not the slightest sign of grief or concern on their faces. Harry laughed.

Harry was naturally delighted too, so when someone asked whether he was going, he smiled and said, "Of course."

When an enemy was injured, the proper thing to do was naturally to appear before him and rub salt into his wounds. His miserable appearance was sure to be quite entertaining.

Harry felt that kicking someone while they were down was absolutely necessary!

Hermione, however, was a little unhappy. "We're clearly going to visit a teacher. How can everyone be so happy?"

Harry smiled. "Aren't you happy to know that the classroom won't smell like garlic for the time being?"

Hermione fidgeted. "It's not like that..."

The group arrived at the hospital, chattering noisily.

Madam Pomfrey came out and gave them all a fierce scolding.

Quirrell lay in bed. He was surprisingly the only person in the room; it seemed Madam Pomfrey was being very considerate toward the other patients.

Otherwise, if someone had to share a room with Quirrell, even a minor illness could become serious after smelling that strange odor on him all day...

The turban around Quirrell's head was still wrapped tightly in place. Then again, even if someone skinned him alive, he probably would not be willing to take it off.

Quirrell's face was pale. One of his feet was in a cast, wrapped in white cloth and suspended from the head of the bed.

Seeing so many students come to visit him, he looked deeply moved. He stammered, "Thank you for coming to see me. I'm so happy."

As he spoke, his voice even began to choke up. Many students shuddered, goosebumps rising all over their bodies.

They suddenly regretted coming. Even seeing Quirrell looking so pitiful was not worth it.

Sigh... This guy was way too good at acting!

Harry watched Quirrell whimpering and crying there with a broad smile. That impoverished, pathetic loser act deserved full marks.

The Weasley twins had come too. George grinned as he squeezed to the front and said, "We originally prepared some gifts for you, but Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let us bring anything in. Oh, except this one."

George raised the gift in his hand. It was a huge string of garlic cloves woven into a necklace.

George teased, "Professor Quirrell, I thought you must really love garlic. But you probably can't get any of this stuff in the hospital, so I specially went to the kitchen and asked the house-elves for it. I wonder if you like it?"

Quirrell was so moved that he choked back tears. "Thank you. This is definitely the best gift I've ever received!"

George let out a sharp whistle and proudly showed off to Fred. "Well? My gift is great, right?"

Harry said with a concerned expression, "Professor Quirrell, you have to recover quickly! You still need to teach us powerful magic. That way, if we run into a Troll, we won't end up crippled by one like you did!"

Hermione: (⊙o⊙)...

Neville: (⊙o⊙)...

Ron: (⊙o⊙)...

Seamus: (⊙o⊙)...

Many people held back their laughter until their faces turned red.

Quirrell's face flushed red with embarrassment.

Harry continued, "Not just Trolls, but asshole wizards like Voldemort too. Only by relying on your strength can we defeat that kind of asshole."

"Isn't that right, Professor?" Harry pressed.

Quirrell trembled all over, his voice choked with sobs as he nodded.

Harry smiled. "So Professor thinks Voldemort is an asshole too!"

After a while, everyone left the hospital together. Harry stretched lazily.

If I can't kill Voldemort yet, I can at least disgust him first.

When Harry had cursed Voldemort just now, he had sensed a faint fluctuation of soul energy from Quirrell's body, but it had hidden itself again.

Compared with his own, it was like a candle flame about to go out.

Weak and frail beyond measure.

Even when Harry cursed him, he was like a turtle withdrawing into its shell, not daring to poke out his head.

Harry really wanted to know just how furious he was now.

Night had fallen deep.

St Mungo's Hospital.

A pitch-black ward.

There was a pile of ashes on the floor. They were George's gift. The moment they had left the hospital, the enraged Quirrell had set it ablaze with Incendio.

This was already the second time the same thing had happened.

The first time had been yesterday. He had wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone, but he had never had the chance before. So he had released the Troll into the school, hoping to keep the other teachers from noticing him for the time being.

It had worked perfectly.

Quirrell had been delighted, but things had not gone as he expected. As before, he went to the fourth floor, only to immediately fall victim to a childish spell.

After breaking through dozens of irritating spells and reaching the wooden door, he had prepared to use Alohomora to open it. Unexpectedly, the stone statue beside it had suddenly swung an axe at him. He narrowly dodged, but his foot was still struck, and several toes were chopped off.

Just then, he heard someone running upstairs. He had no choice but to endure the pain and burn his own toes, watching part of his body turn to ash.

And to conceal the injury to his foot, he still had to pretend that the Troll had hurt him.

And today, that idiot George had even given him garlic as a gift. At the time, he had wanted so badly to turn him into a slug, but he could not, because he was Quirrell: cowardly, timid, and stuttering.

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