Inside Hogwarts Castle.
A middle-aged man with a thick purple scarf wrapped around his head was giving instructions to his teaching assistant.
"Marcus, if you want to truly master Defense Against the Dark Arts, you must first master Dark Magic. There's no question about it. Many Pure-blood families have this tradition."
His tone was gentle and persuasive.
Very warm.
Nothing like his usual shrill voice.
The burly boy beside him looked troubled.
"Professor, but... I'm not sure..."
Seeing his hesitation,
Quirrell patted Marcus on the shoulder.
He sighed and gave a slight shake of his head.
"Ah, I know you have reservations about Dark Magic. After all, you don't come from a proper wizarding family. That's understandable. But as my teaching assistant, you'll hardly be able to do the job if you don't have some proficiency in this area."
Then he slowly lowered his hand.
"It's all right. I won't force you. This really is too much to ask of a student. I'll just find another Pure-blood wizard. Surely someone else will be able to handle it."
"You're no longer my teaching assistant."
With that,
Quirrell turned as if to leave.
Marcus panicked at once.
He hurried forward and grabbed Quirrell by the arm.
"No, no, Professor, I really want to be your teaching assistant. I just..."
Quirrell heard him out.
The corner of his mouth curled into the faintest, most sinister smile.
"Children are so easily swayed."
A trace of ruthlessness appeared in his eyes.
"But this isn't enough!"
Quirrell stopped.
He looked at Marcus coldly.
His whole demeanor changed in an instant.
Marcus instinctively shrank his neck.
He didn't even dare meet that gaze.
"Mr. Flint, I made myself perfectly clear just now, didn't I?"
Quirrell raised a hand slightly.
With ease, he pried Marcus's fingers from his