Quirrell's First Lesson

"Finally, Defense Against the Dark Arts. I wonder what the new professor's level is like."

"Looks average. I feel like he gets nervous way too easily, he's even stuttering while talking. That's not a good sign for a classroom."

"What if he's actually very skilled, just not good at expressing himself?"

"That's not necessarily true. He looks a bit young, and he wasn't famous before, unlike Professor Baker last year..."

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

In the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom that morning, the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, who had almost all arrived, were gathered in small groups, discussing the new professor who didn't seem very confident.

Creak—

As the sound of the door hinges turning echoed, the students immediately sat down quietly, watching with curious eyes as the nervous-looking young professor, wrapped in a large turban and smelling faintly of garlic, wobbled up to the podium.

"G-good morning!"

He forced an unnatural smile, picked up a piece of chalk with stiff hands, and turned to write a crooked name on the blackboard: "I am Quirinus Quirrell, a graduate of Ravenclaw. It is an honor to... to be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"So, shall we start... start the roll call?"

Quirrell picked up the parchment on the podium, glanced at it, and gave a start. His legs went weak, and he nearly slid right under the podium.

"Av... Avada!"

He stuttered—no, he was trembling as he read it.

"Here."

Having prepared himself mentally to face this scene, Avada felt no ripples in his heart.

"Shabi No... Nott!"

"Here."

Shabi silently rolled his eyes—he had been mistaken for being from that former Death Eater pure-blood family more than once because of his surname. The problem was that he was a half-blood wizard, and the surname was inherited from his Muggle father...

The list of only a few dozen people took Quirrell nearly five minutes to finish reading, stumbling all the way. He wiped his sweat and put the parchment away with a look of relief, seemingly unaware that "roll call" was the simplest part of a class...

During this time, the dark golden mental energy behind him remained silent and motionless, showing no reaction even when Avada's name was called. It seemed Voldemort was resting at the moment.

"Right, okay."

Quirrell straightened his clothes, took a slow, deep breath, and began to lecture: "You are now in your second year... yes, so last semester was your first year. Last year, you should have learned the basic characteristics of Dark Magic, the basic... basic wand techniques and combat movements, as well as..."

He paused for a moment before realizing: "Yes, as well as some of the simplest minor hexes, such as the Petrification Curse..."

"In... in your second-year studies, you will begin to come into deep contact with... the principles of hexes, and learn more... more diverse hexes, and combine them in combat..."

This opening monologue seemed to be something he had memorized, and not very fluently at that.

"After mastering the knowledge of the second year, you can even... er, according to your own preferences... no, I mean purposes, create some hexes with special effects. Like ear-twisting, leg-tripping, itching..."

"Professor?"

A Ravenclaw student raised his hand, and after Quirrell nodded, he stood up and asked: "If we can really control the effects of hexes at will, what if we keep strengthening the effects and power of the hexes? Will they eventually develop in the direction of Dark Magic?"

"Yes."

Quirrell nodded without hesitation, but the next moment his eyes widened, and he began to explain in a panic: "Ah, no, I mean... what I meant was..."

"You must know that hexes are, by nature, the part of all spells closest to Dark Magic. Hmm... the only difference is probably that the damage is smaller, and they won't... won't cause damage to the mind. In fact, many trained combat experts can make some hexes exert the kind of damage that only Dark Magic can."

He seemed to shiver with lingering fear.

"Then Professor, since the damage of hexes can reach the level of Dark Magic, why don't we ban hexes like we ban Dark Magic?" another student asked, raising his hand.

"Er..."

Quirrell stammered for a long time, and only when the students below were about to start talking did he finally organize his words: "Because the damage of hexes is generally smaller, much smaller, than Dark Magic. The examples I just gave are rare cases. And, because hexes do not damage the mind, users of hexes can usually remain rational, unlike Dark... Dark Wizards..."

He seemed to get nervous whenever Dark Magic or Dark Wizards were mentioned: "Dark Wizards, due to the frequent use of Dark Magic, have had their minds damaged to an irreversible degree, which leads them to..."

"They..."

Quirrell's face suddenly turned pale.

"What about them, Professor? And are you not feeling well?"

"I... I just..."

Suddenly, the dark golden mental energy inside Quirrell fluctuated slightly. After that, Quirrell gradually calmed down, and his tone returned to a steady state.

"This leads to Dark Wizards often being mentally abnormal, insane, and more likely to commit acts of harm and destruction, which causes much greater damage to the magical world..."

Good grief.

Avada finally realized what had happened earlier—when Quirrell was explaining the impact of Dark Magic on Dark Wizards to the students, he had accidentally insulted his own master, which was why he had been so nervous just now. And the subsequent fluctuation of Voldemort's mental energy was likely comforting him, telling him he could continue and that maintaining the disguise was the most important thing.

But what amused Avada was that Voldemort's mental energy did not appear "comforting" or "forgiving," but rather full of "dissatisfaction" and "grudges"...

Just like that, through the stumbling lecture, Quirrell finally made it to the ringing of the bell, then fled the classroom as if escaping, not even assigning homework, leaving behind a group of students who were chattering about their impressions of the class.

"This professor, how should I put it... he's just too easy to get nervous!"

"Yeah, if you didn't know better, you'd think he was lecturing a group of Quintapeds..."

"It's a shame, his content was actually quite good, but his performance made the effect discount itself for no reason... what a pity."

"In that case, how is he supposed to teach during practical lessons later on? He wouldn't just suddenly faint in the middle of class, would he?"

"It's possible. I heard that during a first-year class, Professor Flitwick nearly fainted the moment he called out Harry Potter's name."

"Really?"

"Absolutely true, let me tell you, at the time..."

Hmm, the topics among the students were still veering off course as quickly as ever. Avada nodded, packed up his things, and left the classroom, preparing to head to his next lesson.

He had spent the entire night yesterday preparing a topic that matched the difficulty level for second-years, but one that should pique Quirrell's interest enough to keep him from rejecting the idea of explaining it to him. He planned to present it to him tonight to test the results.