Tuesday.
It was another plain and unremarkable Herbology Class.
It was worth mentioning that, aside from Hermione earning Gryffindor a point, the usually timid Neville had also answered one of Professor Sprout's questions correctly, earning applause from the entire class.
After that, the Defense Against the Dark Arts class everyone had been looking forward to finally began—everyone except Damon.
He had even taken a seat in the farthest corner at the back of the classroom.
This drew Hermione's displeasure. Even Ron and Harry were rather puzzled—was Damon really going to slack off in such an important class?
"I'm afraid he thinks his Defence Against the Dark Arts skills are already excellent, so he doesn't need to listen to the teacher."
Hermione cast a sidelong glance at the corner, pointing out what she believed to be the truth to Ron and Harry.
"So that's it?" Ron suddenly understood. "If it's Damon, that really does sound like him. After all, he defeated a fourth-year Slytherin on the train."
"I don't think Damon is that kind of person." Harry hesitantly looked in Damon's direction. Damon had already picked up a book titled Common Spells and Counter-Curses and was reading it intently.
"Oh, come on, mate, why are you more nauseating than I am!"
Ron was about to say more when a thick smell of garlic suddenly drifted over from afar, making him retch on the spot.
Damon fanned the air in front of him, his brows faintly furrowed as he resisted the urge to cast a cleaning whirlwind.
Quirinus Quirrell, the first-years' Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, was also the current host possessed by the Dark Lord Voldemort.
Before he had fully developed, Damon did not want to draw their attention for the time being—there were only a few months left, after all. Enduring it for a while would not hurt.
But while Damon could endure it, the other young wizards could not. They bombarded their new professor with questions, only to be thoroughly disappointed—Professor Quirrell spent the entire class talking about useless folk knowledge. With his stutter, he did not cast a single spell, nor did he manage to utter one complete sentence.
Looking at the gradually vacant expressions of the young wizards around him, Damon very much wanted to tell them, I know you're anxious, but don't be anxious yet. You'll have plenty more to be anxious about later.
For the entire afternoon, Ron and Harry discussed in the Common Room just how terrible their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was. Even the usually reserved Neville joined the conversation, clearly deeply disappointed.
"Honestly! If Professor Quirrell keeps this up, I think Damon would be better off teaching us! He's the Duelling Prince, after all!"
Ron complained to the others, and the topic gradually shifted to the absent Damon.
"The Duelling Prince..." Harry softly repeated the title, his attention following the shift. "He doesn't seem very interested in that title."
"Why? It's incredibly cool, isn't it?"
When the title came up, Ron seemed to take personal pride in it. In fact, on the train that day, the fourth-year who had been sent flying had landed right outside his compartment, and Ron had witnessed Damon pointing his wand at the boy and teasing him from up close.
Neville nodded in agreement beside him. He had also witnessed the incident and had seen it even more clearly than Ron.
Seamus had not seen the entire scene at the time. Just as he was about to ask for the details, Hermione returned from borrowing books at the library and asked the four of them:
"So, can any of you tell me where Damon has gone?"
"Isn't he in the library?"
"I'm certain he isn't."
To make sure, Hermione had carefully gone around the library once before leaving this time.
"Not in the library? Then where would he go?" Ron grew curious. "Could Damon be hiding some secret from us? That's not very friendly. We're roommates!"
"Maybe he has some difficulties?"
Harry spoke up in Damon's defence.
"Perhaps. I hope you can figure it all out."
Hermione returned to the dormitory to put down her books, then walked back out through the Common Room. Ron and Harry blankly watched her disappear and reappear on the stairs before finally heading toward the exit.
"Hermione, aren't you going to discuss it with us?"
"I have a huge pile of books to read. I don't have time to waste on these games. But if you find anything and are willing to share it with me, I'd appreciate it."
"Tell me, do you think she looks down on us a little?"
Ron stared blankly after Hermione's retreating figure and asked Harry.
"Yeah, I think so."
Actually, Harry felt that Hermione's disdain was directed more at Ron than at him, but to spare Ron's feelings, he decided to agree.
However, they soon had no time to think about such things.
Early Thursday morning, every first-year young wizard went mad.
It was because a notice had been posted in Gryffindor's Common Room—they were going to have Flying Class, though it would be together with the Slytherin students.
From the moment breakfast began, Hermione kept reciting flying advice she had read in a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages, driving Harry and Ron mad.
Damon ate breakfast quietly and did not join their discussion, while Neville listened carefully to every precaution.
At that moment, Seamus Finnigan was loudly boasting about his childhood experiences—he had apparently been riding a Flying Broomstick across the open fields almost from the moment his magic awakened.
Ron, meanwhile, seized every opportunity to brag that he had once ridden his brother Charlie's old broom and nearly crashed into a hang glider.
Every student from a wizarding family chattered endlessly about Quidditch until the arrival of the Owl interrupted them somewhat.
Neville's grandmother had sent him a Remembrall—whenever Neville forgot to do something, it would turn red, and right now, it was glowing scarlet!
Neville's face fell, and even his enthusiasm for Quidditch diminished somewhat.
Just then, Draco Malfoy passed the Gryffindor table. When he saw the red Remembrall, he let out a snort of laughter.
His eyes fixed on Damon as he spoke again:
"Damon, not choosing to join Slytherin was absolutely a loss for genius."
He circled around like a peacock spreading its tail and addressed the surrounding wizards:
"Look at our mighty Duelling Prince, whose fame surpasses even the Savior's, spending every day with pigs like these. Isn't he afraid that after enough time, their stupidity will rub off on him?"
"Malfoy, if you don't want to miss the first Charms Class of the morning because you've been petrified, I suggest you shut your mouth now."
Damon put down his sausage, too lazy even to get angry.
When Malfoy heard the word "petrified," he remembered what had happened on the train. His face immediately darkened, and he left sullenly.
"Just you wait!" After walking three steps away, he could not help turning back to throw the threat at Damon.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Damon suddenly shouted at him, frightening Malfoy so badly that he jumped into the air, goosebumps rising all over him—yet Damon had not even taken out his wand. He was clearly just scaring him.
Once Malfoy realized this, his expression became even uglier. Amid the laughter of several young wizards watching the show, he ran off with his face flushed red.
This little incident dampened Harry and the others' excitement for Flying Class, and they turned instead to discussing just how awful Malfoy was.
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