The moment the door opened, Professor Snape stood outside, stunned for two seconds.
He had not expected Lorne to be so talented that he could already open doors with the Levitation Charm.
He still remembered how, when Lorne had first arrived at school a month ago, he had possessed less magic than a troll had intelligence.
Like a bat treading on cotton, Snape spread his wings and leaped into the seat at Lorne's office desk without making a sound.
"What do you want with me, Mr. Myles?" Snape planted both elbows on the desk and interlaced his hands into a bridge. "If your activities, which are as noisy as a snoring troll, forced me away from a potion I was just about to finish brewing, I will give you a T on your end-of-term assessment."
Watching Snape take over as though he owned the place, Lorne could not help feeling nervous.
Neville was not the only one afraid of that venomous tongue. He was rather intimidated himself.
Quickly adjusting his mindset, Lorne smiled and said, "Rest assured, Professor, this has nothing to do with the activities. I wanted to discuss your teaching style with you."
"Oh?" Without moving the rest of his face, Snape raised a single eyebrow. "It seems our Director Miles has developed some unique insights into magic, to the point that he wishes to take my place."
"That is not my intention, Professor."
"Then how dare you pass judgment on my potions class?" Snape gave a contemptuous smile. "I imagine you must be a Gryffindor at heart as well. Only they think with clubs like trolls."
Lorne sighed. Counting on a friendly discussion would not work. Perhaps, from the moment he decided to intervene, an open falling-out with Professor Snape had been inevitable.
"Professor Snape, this is precisely what I wanted to discuss with you today. Can you treat the students of all four houses fairly?"
"Why should I treat them fairly?" Snape countered. "Reckless arrogance, self-importance, and a lack of manners are in Gryffindors' blood. Are you saying I should put a bunch of idiots who cannot even take complete notes in potions class on the same starting line and accept their mediocrity with a clear conscience?"
"Think properly with your brain, if you have one," Snape continued his tirade. "They are different to their very bones, yet you demand that I hypocritically treat them equally. Myles, what sort of teaching style do you want-or rather, what do those idiots want? For me to coddle them like a nanny?"
Rather than growing anxious, Lorne smiled. He had taken the teacher certification exam in his previous life, after all.
"Professor, you are confusing two concepts. 'Treating everyone equally' is by no means the hypocrisy of erasing differences, much less the sort of 'nanny-style' coddling without any boundaries that you describe."
Lorne leaned forward slightly, looking straight into those fathomless black eyes. "True fairness in education means acknowledging and respecting individual differences, not measuring every different soul with the same ruler. You say they are different to their very bones. That is precisely the basis for teaching students according to their abilities. But respecting differences does not mean indulging prejudice."
"You dismiss Gryffindor students' impulsiveness as stupidity and dress up Slytherin students' arrogance as nobility. That is not facing differences squarely. It is magnifying those differences with your personal likes and dislikes, even cementing them into insurmountable prejudices."
Lorne's voice echoed through the quiet office, every word ringing firm and clear.
"The essence of education is to awaken, to guide, to help every student develop as much as possible from their own starting point-not to use your exacting, almost harsh standards to select the 'geniuses' you personally favor while trampling everyone else's dignity as though it were your right."
Snape wanted to argue further, but a knock suddenly sounded at the door, and Quirrell poked in his head, wrapped in a scarf. "Excuse me, is Director Miles here? I heard there was a discussion here that I needed to attend."
Snape cast Lorne a sidelong glance, then swept out with a flick of his robes.
"Oh, Professor Snape, hello..." Quirrell tried to greet him, but Snape ignored him outright.
He stood awkwardly in place until even Lorne could no longer bear to watch. "Professor Quirrell, please sit down."
"All right."
The moment Quirrell came closer, a wave of garlic hit Lorne in the face. He fought it with all his might, but could not prevail.
Quirrell, however, was considerate. "Would you like me to sit farther away? I'm... I'm terribly sorry. I have to use some African spices to ward off zombies."
"No need." Lorne waved a hand. "This discussion is mainly about the quality of your teaching. Many students have reported issues such as you merely reading from the textbook and having a strong smell."
"I'm terribly sorry," Quirrell said timidly. "I... I have a bit of a stutter. The strong smell is garlic. I encountered zombies in the Albanian Forest in India."
"As for the quality of my teaching, I'll find a way to improve it. I'll pursue further training during next year's summer holidays."
You probably won't be around by then, buddy.
Looking at Quirrell, who was under Voldemort's control, Lorne shook his head helplessly.
Quirrell was an unfortunate man, too.
An outstanding Ravenclaw graduate, he had gone to the Albanian Forest out of an almost fanatical obsession with knowledge of dark magic. Deceived by Voldemort disguised as an old man, he had become a host neither human nor ghost, and was tormented by Voldemort day and night.
Was he at fault? Of course. He was insecure and timid, craved respect, and had taken a desperate risk for forbidden knowledge, going of his own accord to Albania to seek traces of dark magic.
But that did not truly warrant death. He himself had never wanted to serve Voldemort. He had only been forced to submit after being possessed and subjected to inhuman torment.
Besides, Quirrell might well have sent out signals for help.
He had never stuttered while in Ravenclaw. The garlic and turban were tools he used to hide Voldemort, but his mouse-like timidity and fear of everything were completely unlike his former self.
He longed for someone to notice him and help free him from Voldemort's control.
Just now, he had even spoken the name of that dangerous forest, "Albania."
Perhaps he wanted someone else to investigate. That was precisely where Voldemort had fled after his downfall.
"The General Affairs Office serves all staff and students." Lorne looked into Quirrell's eyes. "If you run into any trouble at all, feel free to come to me."
Quirrell froze for a moment.
He gave a bitter smile. "Any trouble at all?"
Remembering that Voldemort was clinging to the back of Quirrell's head, Lorne did not dare spell things out. He deliberately gave the wrong examples. "Anything. We could have Professor Snape brew you a potion to treat your stutter, or ask Professor McGonagall to train you in how to conduct a class."
As he spoke, he used the Levitation Charm to pour Quirrell a cup of honey tea, as though demonstrating his strength.
"Trust the General Affairs Office. We will help you, Professor Quirrell."