Quirrell's First Class

"We're finally having Defense Against the Dark Arts. I wonder how good the new professor is."

"He seems pretty average. I get the feeling he gets nervous easily. He even stutters when he talks, which isn't a good thing in class."

"But what if he's actually really good, just not very good at expressing himself?"

"Not necessarily. He looks a little young, and he wasn't well-known before this. He's nothing like Professor Baker last year..."

"Ah, forget it. Either way, he can only teach for a year. I just wonder how this professor will make his exit..."

That morning, the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was already nearly full. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had gathered in little groups, talking about the new professor, who didn't look very confident.

Creak—

At the sound of the door hinges turning, the students immediately sat quietly in their seats. They eyed the nervous-looking young professor with curiosity as he swayed his way up to the podium, wrapped in a large turban and giving off a strong smell of garlic.

"G-good morning!"

He forced an unnatural smile and stiffly picked up a piece of chalk. Turning around, he wrote a crooked name on the blackboard: "I'm Quirinus Quirrell, a Ravenclaw graduate. It's an honor to... to be your Defense Against the D-Dark Arts professor."

"Well, shall we... start by taking attendance?"

Quirrell picked up the parchment on the podium and glanced at it. He immediately jumped, his legs going weak as he nearly slid right off the podium.

"Whew... A... K!"

He stammered—or rather, trembled—as he read.

"Here."

Avada had already braced himself for this, so he felt nothing.

"Shabi Nott!"

"Here."

Shabi silently rolled his eyes. He'd been mistaken for a member of that pure-blood family of former Death Eaters more times than he could count, all because of his surname. But he was a Half-blood, and he'd inherited the name from his Muggle father...

The list had only a few dozen names, but it took Quirrell nearly five minutes to stumble through them all. He wiped away his sweat and put the parchment away with a sigh of relief, seeming not to realize that taking attendance was the easiest part of a lesson...

Throughout this, the dark golden mass of spiritual energy behind him remained still. It hadn't reacted at all, not even when he read out Avada's name. Voldemort was apparently still resting.

"W-well, all right."

Quirrell straightened his clothes and slowly took a deep breath before beginning his lecture. "You're in your second year now... right, so last term you were first-years. During your first year, you should have learned to recognize the basic characteristics of Dark Magic, the basic... basic wand techniques and combat movements, as well as..."

He stumbled for a while before suddenly remembering. "Right, and some of the simplest jinxes, like the Petrification Curse..."

"In your... second year, you'll begin to study the principles behind jinxes in depth, and learn a wider... wider variety of jinxes, combining them in combat..."

It seemed he'd memorized this opening speech by rote, and hadn't quite got the hang of it yet.

"Once you've mastered the material for your second year, you might even... um, create your own jinxes with special effects, depending on your preferences... no, I mean your purpose. For example, making someone's ears twist, tripping them, making them itch..."

"Professor?"

A Ravenclaw student raised her hand. After Quirrell nodded to give her permission, she stood and asked, "If we really can control the effects of jinxes however we like, what would happen if we kept making them stronger and more powerful? Would they eventually develop into Dark Magic?"

"They would."

Quirrell answered without a moment's hesitation, but then his eyes flew wide and he hurriedly tried to explain, looking flustered. "Ah, no, I mean... What I'm trying to say is..."

"You have to understand, jinxes are, are already the branch of magic closest to Dark Magic. Hmm... The only difference is probably that they're less harmful, and they don't... don't damage your mind. In fact, a number of trained combat experts can make certain jinxes inflict the kind of damage only Dark Magic can usually cause."

He seemed to shudder at the thought.

"Then, Professor, if jinxes can be as harmful as Dark Magic, why don't we ban them just like we ban Dark Magic?" another student asked, raising his hand.

"Um..."

Quirrell stumbled over his words for a long time. Just as the students were about to start talking among themselves, he finally managed to put together an answer. "Because jinxes are generally much, much less harmful than Dark Magic. The example I just gave is rather rare. And, and because jinxes don't damage the mind, their users can usually remain rational, unlike dark, dark wizards..."

He seemed to get nervous whenever he mentioned Dark Magic and dark wizards. "Dark wizards use Dark Magic so often that their minds suffer irreversible damage. This causes them to..."

"They..."

Quirrell's face suddenly turned deathly pale.

"What happens to them, Professor? Are you feeling all right?"

"I... I'm just..."

Suddenly, the dark golden spiritual energy inside Quirrell stirred slightly. After that, Quirrell gradually calmed down, and his voice grew steady again.

"This causes dark wizards to become mentally unstable, to go mad, and to be more likely to hurt others and cause destruction. They do far more harm to the wizarding world..."

Well, that explains it.

Avada finally realized what had happened. While explaining how Dark Magic affected dark wizards, Quirrell had accidentally insulted his own master, which was why he'd gotten so nervous. Then Voldemort's spiritual energy had stirred—probably to reassure him that he could keep going, since maintaining his cover was the most important thing.

But what Avada found amusing was that Voldemort's spiritual energy hadn't seemed to convey any "reassurance" or "forgiveness." It had seemed more like "displeasure" and "resentment"...

And so, after a lesson full of stumbles, Quirrell finally made it to the end of class. As soon as the bell rang, he fled the classroom without even assigning homework, leaving behind a crowd of students chatting noisily about the lesson.

"That professor... what can I say? He gets nervous way too easily!"

"Yeah. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was teaching a class full of Quintapeds..."

"The material he taught was pretty good, but his delivery took away half the impact... What a shame."

"How's he going to teach us practical magic later? What if he faints in the middle of class?"

"Could happen. I heard that during a first-year class, Professor Flitwick nearly fainted when he called Harry Potter's name."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Let me tell you, at the time..."

Well, the students' conversations still went off track just as quickly as ever. Avada nodded, packed his things, and left the classroom to head to his next lesson.

He'd spent all last night preparing a topic that was suitable for second-year students but should still interest Quirrell enough that he wouldn't mind explaining it to him. He planned to present it to him that evening and see how it went.