On the Hogwarts timetable, Defense Against the Dark Arts had always been the class first-years looked forward to most. It was mysterious, dangerous, and filled with the romantic allure of heroism—after all, who wouldn't want to learn how to fight Red Caps, slugs, and other Dark Creatures, or Werewolves, or even the legendary Dark Lord?
Before class, the first-years from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were already eagerly discussing it in the corridor.
"My dad said that when he was at school, their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was a retired Auror!" Brayden Cole of Hufflepuff puffed out his chest, looking proud. "The teacher's very first lesson was the Disarming Charm. He blasted a Hinkypunk three meters across the room!"
"So what?" Kayson Moretti sneered. "My uncle studies dragons in Romania. He says real Defense Against the Dark Arts isn't about spells, but anticipation and instinct. He rescued an entire village from a pack of Ghouls all by himself."
"Yeah, right!" Edgar Finch pushed up his glasses, his voice full of doubt. "Ghouls aren't that easy to deal with. My grandma says you can't even disperse them with a wand—you need silver powder."
"I bet our professor's going to be super cool!" another Hufflepuff girl said excitedly. "Maybe he even fought in the war against Voldemort!"
Yulian walked quietly along the edge of the crowd, listening to their naïve chatter, but a weight of ice seemed to press on his heart. He knew the truth—they weren't about to meet some heroic Auror or legendary wizard, but a cowardly, sinister puppet possessed by the most evil Dark Lord in history.
He deliberately slowed his pace, trying not to stand out. He even kept his breathing especially steady. He couldn't draw anyone's attention—especially not the attention of the thing hiding beneath that turban.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was on the castle's shadowy third floor. When they opened the door, a thick, suffocating smell of garlic hit them, almost making it hard to breathe.
The classroom curtains were drawn, leaving the room dim. All kinds of strange talismans hung on the walls, and several heavy braids of garlic dangled from the ceiling, swaying gently in the breeze.
They saw a thin man standing behind the lectern, wrapped in an enormous, gaudy purple turban.
He had his back to the door and was wiping his forehead with a huge handkerchief.
As the students entered, he didn't turn toward them right away. Even after most of them had filed in and taken their seats, he turned to the blackboard and began to write.
Only once everyone was seated did he slowly turn to face them.
The professor's face was as pale as paper, and his eyes darted about uncertainly.
"W-Welcome," he stammered, his voice weak and trembling. "I'm your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Qui-Quirinus Quirrell."
A suppressed murmur spread through the classroom.
"That's the professor?" Justin turned around in the front row, looking disappointed, and muttered under his breath, "He looks like he might faint at any moment."
"That garlic smell is way too strong!" Kayson wrinkled his nose and fanned the air with his hand.
Yulian lowered his gaze, keeping his expression neutral.
He knew the garlic was nothing but Quirrell's clumsy attempt to hide Voldemort's scent, as well as an outward sign of his inner fear. He instinctively shrank back, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.
Professor Quirrell seemed to notice the students' misgivings. He cleared his throat, trying to make his voice sound steadier. "I know... I may look a little... unusual. It's to keep vampires away..."
"Does that really keep vampires away?" Edgar whispered.
"Who knows?" Kayson chuckled.
At the lectern, Quirrell continued to ramble. "...But please believe me, I've studied Dark Magic very extensively. I lived alone in Albania's Black Forest for a year, tracking and recording countless Dark Creatures... The dark forces there... were very... very powerful."
As he spoke, his gaze briefly grew extraordinarily deep, as though he were looking through the classroom walls toward some distant, terrifying place. Yulian's heart tightened—Albania was where Voldemort's wandering spirit had gone into exile.
Perhaps those words hadn't come from Quirrell himself.
The lesson officially began. Professor Quirrell opened the textbook with trembling hands and stammered, "T-Today, we'll learn how to identify the most, most basic Dark Creature—the Red Cap."
His teaching was dull and tedious, little more than reading from the textbook. His speech was disjointed, and he kept getting interrupted by his own coughs. The students, who had begun the class full of anticipation, soon lost interest. Some secretly leafed through other books, while others idly fiddled with their wands.
Then Yulian suddenly felt a gaze sweep over him. It wasn't from Professor Quirrell's nervous, constantly blinking eyes, but from behind the turban—a cold, viscous stare, heavy with scrutiny, coiling around him like a snake, silently and without warning.
He knew it was Voldemort.
Yulian's heart skipped a beat, but he showed nothing. He merely lowered his head slightly and blended into the crowd.
He didn't want to become a target. Dumbledore and Harry Potter could deal with this world, for all he cared.
The lesson proceeded uneventfully. Professor Quirrell's voice trembled as he explained the Red Cap's habits and weaknesses, occasionally interrupted by a sudden cough.
Yet his gaze repeatedly passed over the other students and settled on Lyria.
"Miss Ly-Lyria," Professor Quirrell suddenly called on her, his voice seeming to carry a faint urgency. "I hear you come from the distant Northlands? Is the natural magic there... very unique?"
Lyria stood. Her golden hair glimmered softly in the dim light. She nodded and answered frankly, "Yes, Professor. The magic of the Northlands is closely connected to the land, the forests, and the seasons."
"The l-land?" Professor Quirrell pressed, leaning forward slightly. "How fascinating. Have... have any ancient magic or relics ever been passed down in that region? Ancient stone tablets, for instance? I mean, perhaps there are unusual, forgotten runes or... sources of power?"
The classroom fell silent. Yulian's heart sank. Stone tablets? Could it have something to do with what was in the package Lyria had brought? He glanced covertly at her, his eyes full of warning, but Lyria didn't notice.
Lyria didn't seem to realize how dangerous the question was. She thought it over carefully, then replied, "There are indeed many ancient ruins in the Northlands. Some stone tablets are carved with the words of our ancestors. But most were used for rituals or to record history. They don't have any special power."
Her tone was sincere and frank. She was clearly telling the truth.
"I-I see..." Professor Quirrell murmured in disappointment, but he quickly rallied. "V-Very interesting. Your knowledge is very... valuable. If you have any questions about magic in the future, feel free to come and discuss them with me. I'm very, very interested in these things."
The bell rang, and the students gathered their books with relief. Professor Quirrell hurried out of the classroom, as though a ghost were chasing him.
"He really is strange," a Hufflepuff girl whispered. "It's bad enough that he stammers, but why does he keep staring at Lyria?"
Yulian went over to Lyria and lowered his voice. "Don't trust him."
Lyria turned to him, a hint of confusion in her ice-blue eyes. "What do you mean?"
Yulian hesitated, but said, "There's something... strange about Quirrell. You'd better keep your distance."
"Why would you suspect a professor? He's interested in natural magic. What's wrong with that? Isn't Professor McGonagall the same?"
"People can be interested in all sorts of things," Yulian said seriously. "I feel like his 'interest' is more like he's searching for something. Did you bring something with you to Hogwarts?"
"How do you know!?" Lyria stepped back in surprise. "I already gave it to Dumbledore... No, wait, what are you talking about? I didn't bring anything." As she spoke, Lyria began to eye Yulian warily.
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