Quirrell the Coward

I didn't know if it was because they'd all lost points together, but after Halloween, Harry, Hermione, and Ron started spending much more time together.

Ron and Hermione still had the occasional little spat, so they weren't exactly inseparable, but they were close.

At least, after Halloween, they always sat together in class.

The beginnings of a trio.

Silvan found it pretty amazing... He didn't know if it counted as fate guiding things, but even though the process had gone a little differently, Harry had still found his external brain in the end.

And then there was what had happened in that room on the fourth floor... Silvan had thought the school would at least make a token effort to investigate, but nothing happened.

The professors seemed to have agreed to keep quiet about the three-headed dog and the Troll. The only explanation anyone got was that Peeves had been playing a prank.

It was as if the whole thing had never happened.

Well, except for Quirrell. He'd taken leave and missed classes for several days. Snape taught in his place, and, according to him:

"Your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was frightened by a prank. He needs to rest." His tone was full of disdain and contempt for Quirrell.

He seemed to be in a good mood and occasionally cracked a joke about Quirrell in class.

Harry, on the other hand, wasn't very happy about it.

Snape's dislike of Harry didn't seem to change just because he was teaching a different subject. If anything, he seemed to be doubling down. Whenever Defense Against the Dark Arts called for a student assistant, Harry was one hundred percent certain to be picked.

When the lesson didn't need a volunteer, Snape found a way to make it need one.

The first thing Harry did when he woke up each morning was check his timetable. If he saw Defense Against the Dark Arts or Potions Class on it, he'd curse Snape for five minutes, then mope around all day.

In a way, Harry was probably the only person in the whole school who wanted Quirrell to get better soon.

After all, even though Snape picked on Harry, his lessons were much more interesting than Quirrell's, and most people liked them.

Harry's prayers seemed to work.

In the second week, Quirrell reappeared at Hogwarts Castle.

Only now he seemed even stranger than before. Most noticeably, he smelled odd.

Before, he'd smelled of garlic. Now there was also a strong smell of rotten onions.

"I learned this from a wizarding tribe," he explained during a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. "This smell can drive away many Fantastic Beasts."

Silvan had good reason to suspect that by "many Fantastic Beasts," Quirrell meant Fluffy.

Harry had told him about what happened that day. He didn't know all the details, but he knew Quirrell's part in it very well.

Simply put, he'd been so frightened that he threw up all the way from the fourth floor to the Hospital Wing.

In a way, being able to throw up for that long was a remarkable talent.

Quirrell himself wouldn't admit it, though. He mumbled a couple of vague excuses and tried to brush the matter aside. When Ron impatiently asked him what had happened that day, Quirrell's face went bright red. He stammered and muttered, then started saying things no one could understand, like "care and control of Fantastic Beasts" and "even keeping an eye on your colleagues."

He also started talking about the weather and the onions in the school kitchens, making everyone burst out laughing. The classroom filled with cheerful noise.

Unfortunately, none of that changed the fact that Defense Against the Dark Arts had become boring again.

In this atmosphere, November arrived at Hogwarts.

The weather grew colder and colder, and most people switched to thicker robes and cloaks.

Harry had become especially busy lately. The Quidditch season had started, and the team practiced three times a week, for at least two hours each time.

As a complete beginner who knew nothing, Harry had even more training to do. He was out early and back late every day.

Fortunately, first-year students didn't have many classes. Harry still managed to finish his homework between focusing on the matches, provided Hermione was willing to help him.

Harry was now incredibly glad to have a friend like Hermione. With the promise of help on his homework, he didn't hesitate to abandon Ron and side with her.

That left Ron feeling miserable for a long time, until one day Harry secretly laid the homework Hermione had helped him revise in front of Ron.

After that, Ron gave up resisting and surrendered without a fight.

Hermione could be really annoying, but if she was willing to help with all that bothersome homework, then she was the most popular witch in all of Hogwarts. No contest.

Silvan didn't join the trio, who had already settled into their friendship. Over the past few days, he'd used the school owls and his own connections to buy a batch of wandmaking materials.

At first, he'd planned to ask his grandfather, Ollivander, for help. It would have been convenient and saved him quite a bit of money, but the owl couldn't find him.

He'd hired the owl with three nuts. It flew around, then brought the letter back exactly as it was. It hadn't found Ollivander.

Silvan wasn't too surprised by the result.

In fact, ever since Silvan had sent off the Red Cap nerve wand in the middle of the night, his grandfather had seemed a little off. For instance, he'd sent back three blank sheets of parchment in a row.

From Wednesday to Friday, a reply arrived each morning, but there wasn't a single word on any of them.

They weren't letters written in invisible ink or anything. They were just blank parchment.

After that, Ollivander disappeared altogether. No one knew where he'd gone to sulk, and even the owls couldn't find him.

There was nothing for it. Silvan had to grit his teeth and buy the materials with his own money.

Fortunately, the things he needed weren't expensive, and Malfoy's deposit had helped a lot.

Incidentally, Malfoy still hadn't come to see him, as if he'd completely forgotten about it.

Then came a long wait.

Several days later, around noon, Silvan finally received the package he'd been eagerly waiting for.

He was chatting with Hagrid near the Forbidden Forest at the time.

Hagrid had collected quite a few good things over the past few days: five Unicorn tail hairs, a handful of Centaur tail hairs, a small bundle of Hippogriff feathers, and three two-foot-long spider legs...

Looking at all these wonderful materials, Silvan suddenly felt a little guilty. He couldn't help wondering if he'd gone too far when he'd blown up Fluffy's mouth with his wand that day.

Then a package landed on him.

A dingy gray owl dropped a parcel wrapped in brown paper, then flew off without looking back. Its service was abysmal.

Silvan just rubbed the shoulder it had hit, not bothered in the least.

Getting the people in Knockturn Alley to deliver the goods after he'd paid them was already a rare stroke of luck. Why worry about their service?

"That's a big package. What did you buy?" Hagrid asked casually.

"Dog Shut-up Stick..." Silvan blurted out.

"What?"

"Ah, nothing." Silvan quickly waved his hand. "I should head back. I'll come see you again this weekend."