8:50 AM, Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom
Despite their many grievances with Professor Quirrell's class, the young wizards didn't have the nerve to skip. They sat obediently in their seats, though they weren't exactly happy about it.
Of course, judging by the glances drifting toward Tom every few seconds, many were secretly anticipating... something.
Tom, noticing these stares, felt completely helpless.
What the heck? I'm not trying to start trouble on purpose!
Maybe I should just sit still and do absolutely nothing this period?
Under the weight of everyone's gaze, Tom briefly entertained the idea of behaving himself. But the thought didn't last long before it was blown away.
That's just impossible!
Watching Quirrell up on the podium, stuttering and reading straight from the textbook, Tom reached his limit.
If it were just boring, that would be one thing—he could have just taken a catnap. But the problem was...
The garlic smell is way too strong!
Tom already hated the smell of garlic. Add to that the fact that garlic is toxic to cats, and his biological instincts were screaming in protest.
Just how bad was the stench coming off Quirrell? You only had to look at the students in the front row—their faces were twisted in agony, tears streaming uncontrollably from their eyes.
No wonder nobody sat in the front row. It all makes sense now!
Tom looked bitter.
I was planning on improving my image with the other students today, but looking at this situation, staying out of trouble is going to be a tall order!
Fortunately, he wasn't exactly a rigid person... or cat. If trouble happens, it happens. He'd just have to be extra well-behaved in the other classes to make up for it.
With that thought, Tom made his move.
"Hey, Harry, look!"
Seeing Tom in motion, Ron hurriedly nudged Harry, who looked like he was about to pass out from the fumes.
"Tom's doing something. How do you think he's going to shake up the class this time?"
"I don't know," Harry mumbled weakly. "I just hope the garlic smell on Quirrell eases up a bit."
The other young wizards perked up instantly, all eyes turning to Tom with expectant looks.
They could tolerate a boring class, like Professor Binns' History of Magic. They could even barely tolerate a professor with a sharp tongue, like Snape.
But a class like Quirrell's—which was boring and came with its own biological weapon—was simply unbearable!
"W-W-Wait! Mr. L-Lovegood, what are you d-doing?!"
Seeing Tom step forward, Quirrell stammered, instinctively taking a half-step back.
[Professor, the smell on you is way too heavy. I think you need some help.]
Tom held up a sign, and then, under the expectant gaze of the entire class, he pulled out... a hair dryer.
"A hair dryer?"
The students from Muggle backgrounds recognized the object immediately, but it only confused them more. This was Hogwarts!
Leaving aside whether the voltage was compatible or if Muggle electronics even worked at Hogwarts, the cord on the dryer in Tom's hand was just dangling loose in the air. The Muggle-borns looked bewildered.
You didn't even plug it in. How is that going to work?
But Tom's "Toon Force" was beyond their comprehension.
Under the curious gazes of the pure-bloods and the baffled looks of the Muggle-borns, Tom clicked the switch.
WHOOSH—!
The next second, a gale-force wind roared from the nozzle, blasting directly at Quirrell.
The wind was so intense that it didn't just blow the smell away—it blew Quirrell's face out of shape. His lips flapped sideways, and his heavy robes billowed backward violently, looking like they might tear apart at any second.
Quirrell instinctively reached up. But instead of holding his robes down, he grabbed his turban with a death grip, trying to keep it on his head.
He needn't have worried about the turban flying off alone—because the wind was so strong it blew him away with it. With a loud THUD, he was plastered flat against the back wall.
[Uh oh, wrong setting?]
Seeing Quirrell pinned to the wall, Tom awkwardly switched off the dryer. He really just wanted to blow the smell away; he didn't mean to launch the professor.
The moment the dryer clicked off, Quirrell slid slowly down the wall and slumped onto the floor. He didn't stand up immediately. Instead, he frantically checked his head.
Good, the turban is still there.
"Huff... huff... M-Mr. Lovegood, n-next time..."
Quirrell gasped for air, trying to scold the cat. But the words died in his throat. He realized Tom had somehow produced a different hair dryer from nowhere.
[This one should work fine.]
And then, under Quirrell's horrified stare, Tom hit the switch again.
ZZZZZT—
Another blast of wind hit him, but this time, the control was surgically precise.
Quirrell remained standing firmly in place, but his robes, shirt, and layers of clothing disintegrated in the high-pitched wind tunnel. They turned into confetti and were swept into the corner of the classroom.
"Wait! No! My turban!"
Quirrell let out a high-pitched shriek. Despite his fear, his voice was suddenly crystal clear—no stutter at all.
His hands moved in a panic, fighting a war on two fronts: one hand clamped onto the back of his head, fingers frantically feeling the bald scalp as if checking for something specific; the other hand desperately tried to cover his suddenly bare chest.
Fortunately, the hair dryer had been aimed at his upper body. Thanks to his belt, his trousers survived, sparing the class a full moon.
When his hand touched his bare scalp, Quirrell froze. He felt nothing but skin. Nothing else was there.
He stood stunned for a few seconds. Only then did the crushing embarrassment of being half-naked wash over him.
"Reparo!"
He shouted the mending charm with a trembling voice, waving his wand wildly. Thankfully, the magic worked, at least partially.
Several large scraps of cloth flew back from the corner, patching themselves together enough to barely cover his torso.
Immediately after, he scrambled on all fours to the corner, frantically wrapping the unravelled turban back around his head.
"Merlin's beard! Professor Quirrell really is bald?! No wonder he wears that turban all day!"
"There wasn't any garlic in the turban, so why was the smell so strong?"
"Wait, did you guys notice? Quirrell didn't stutter at all just now!"
"Is that really the priority? He just got stripped naked! Merlin above, I've never seen a Defense Against the Dark Arts class this exciting!"
The classroom exploded into chaos. The Gryffindors erupted into raucous laughter, wolf-whistles, and gasps. A few boys were laughing so hard they nearly fell out of their chairs.
The Hufflepuffs were a bit more restrained, but even they were covering their mouths, giggling and whispering with excitement.
"I get it now," a Muggle-born student muttered. "So wizards use wind magic instead of deodorant?"
"Idiot, that obviously wasn't normal wind, it was magic!" another student retorted. "But how did Tom use a hair dryer as a wand?"
"Who cares? It worked! At least the smell is mostly gone now."
"But why does the Professor pretend to stutter? What's the benefit?" a girl asked, looking confused.
"I know this one!" A student from a wizarding family piped up confidently. "My dad says some Ministry officials pretend to be incompetent or slow just to avoid extra work and stay out of trouble. It's called 'playing the fool.' Maybe Quirrell is doing a bit of method acting?"
"So... Quirrell is slacking off by acting dumb? But does he really have to commit to the smell, too?"
Chatter filled the room as wild theories flew back and forth. Quirrell, now clutching his turban tightly and cowering in the corner, went red, then white. He didn't know what to say.
Tom awkwardly put away the hair dryer and slinked back to his seat.
Hey, at least the air in the classroom is much fresher now, right? Even if the collateral damage was a bit high.