Quirrell's Invitation

Cornelius Fudge's farce came to an end, and as soon as Klein returned to the dormitory, he put the matter out of his mind, focusing entirely on deducing the tenth use of the "Sheep Liver Fruit."

But what he didn't expect was that Crabbe and Goyle, who usually hated reading, were each holding a novel, reading with great relish.

As for Draco—

He wasn't in the dormitory.

"How strange."

Glancing at the duo snickering on the other side, Klein muttered under his breath.

Then, he shut out all external distractions and delved into the problem before him.

"So hard."

Sprawled over the ancient, grain-patterned oak table in the library, Draco Malfoy clutched his head in frustration, deeply doubting his own intelligence. As a native-born Briton, he had never imagined he'd one day fail to understand English.

The letters were all so familiar—why did they become so foreign when strung together?

At that thought, the face of his classmate and roommate, Klein Grindelwald, flashed before his eyes.

They were about the same age—how could the gap be so huge!

"I refuse to believe this."

Gripping his neatly combed, oiled hair, Draco puffed out his cheeks and flipped the book open again, treating it like an enemy.

But unfortunately, three minutes later, he was back in his head-clutching pose.

Before an absolute barrier, the Young Master suffered defeat after defeat!

"Sigh... it really isn't that easy."

Draco Malfoy let out a sigh.

To become an outstanding wizard, three parts were fate, seven parts hard work—and the remaining ninety parts depended on talent.

Since he couldn't force himself to study, he decided to take a break for now.

Scanning the area, he noticed most of the students in the library were Ravenclaws in blue-trimmed robes—not a single familiar face. With no other choice, he listlessly flopped onto the table and began to zone out.

But just then, a figure quietly approached from across the table.

"M-Malfoy?"

The turban-wrapped wizard stammered, his face, paler than most, etched with exhaustion.

"Who?"

Hearing the voice, Draco jerked his head up.

"D-don't be nervous, it's me."

The wizard offered an apologetic smile. Even when facing his own student, his expression carried habitual timidity and a faint hint of fawning.

"Professor Quirrell?"

Never expecting that the one speaking to him would be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Draco was a bit surprised. But he quickly realized he had been too tense a moment ago and hurriedly lowered his voice to greet the wizard.

"Is something the matter?"

"Hello, Malfoy—are you alone?"

Quirrell rolled his eyes, as if searching for something, and rubbed his hands together nervously as he spoke.

"What about Grindelwald? That talented little fellow—isn't he usually with you?"

"So he's looking for Klein."

Understanding dawned on Draco.

Meeting the other's expectant gaze, he answered truthfully.

"I came alone today. Klein went to the Headmaster's Office early this morning—I heard someone from the Ministry of Magic came over..."

"I know, it's about the Order of Merlin, isn't it."

Quirrell stammered, cutting Draco off, clenching his fist secretly within his invisible robe sleeve.

"Yeah."

Young Draco nodded, his heart utterly unruffled.

If Klein had earned a title like "Top Seeker," he might have felt a twinge of jealousy.

But the Order of Merlin?

What was that? Could you eat it?

Rather than envy Klein, it was better to prepare well and steal the spotlight in next week's Flying Class.

"Truly remarkable. Grindelwald... Grindelwald must be the youngest person in history to receive the Order of Merlin."

A meaningful smile crept across Quirrell's face. Though his tone was full of praise for Klein, if one looked closely, it wasn't hard to spot a flicker of indescribable jealousy deep within his tea-colored eyes.

"Yeah, he's really something."

Draco's tone was dismissive, clearly unwilling to keep rambling with Professor Quirrell in the library.

To be honest, he wasn't particularly fond of this eccentric wizard.

If Young Draco had to rank a "Most Disliked Professor for New Students" list, Professor Quirrell would definitely be second-to-last, just above Professor Binns of A History of Magic—a ghost who only droned on about stale old history from a textbook.

"Very, very powerful."

Quirrell nodded, looking as if he fully agreed with Draco's view. Whether he was slow-witted or pretending not to notice the impatience on the other's face, he actually pulled up a chair and sat down across from Draco.

Young Draco's expression stiffened, as if he'd been force-fed a fly.

"Has he ever mentioned his family situation? I mean, you must know where he's from, right?"

Truth be told, Quirrell didn't want to keep harping on the name "Klein Grindelwald" either, but the command from his great master kept ringing in his mind. So, he had to muster all his patience to force out a sickening smile and ask again.

"I don't know. He only said he was German."

At this, Young Draco's brow furrowed as well. Thinking it over, he realized he didn't actually know any detailed information about Klein at all.

Too mysterious.

Draco had always thought of his friend like the sun, always surrounded by a crowd of people, but now it seemed that person was nothing more than an ethereal mist—hard to see clearly, impossible to grasp.

"Malfoy?"

Seeing Young Draco lost in thought, Quirrell suppressed the anger rising in his chest and raised his voice slightly.

"Oh, sorry, I spaced out."

After all, he was only eleven years old, prone to drifting off when thinking. Hearing the call, Draco snapped back to reality and apologized instinctively.

"It's fine."

With a slight twitch in his facial muscles, Quirrell magnanimously forgave the brat he wished he could grind into mincemeat.

Taking a deep breath, he spoke word by word.

"Since Klein isn't here, I won't disturb you any longer.

But please do me a small favor. If you see Klein, tell him this: Quirinus Quirrell would very much like to have a private chat with him. Let's set it for next Wednesday, at eight in the evening."

"No can do. Klein has detention at eight in the evening—Professor Snape's."

After hearing Quirrell's words, Draco replied almost instinctively.

"Oh."

Cursing inwardly, Quirrell let out a dry laugh.

"Then let's change it to seven in the evening. Please, I'm counting on you."

Unable to stand being here another moment, after delivering his master's orders, he gave Young Draco no chance to refuse. Clutching his thick turban, he rose from his seat and quickly strode out of the library.

Watching the wizard's retreating figure, Young Draco, forcibly turned into a "messenger," froze for two seconds, then couldn't help but curl his lip.

"What a weirdo."