The next morning, the Slytherin first-years headed to their very first Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
Many young wizards had been looking forward to it for a long time.
As everyone knew, Slytherin's little snakes craved Dark Magic just as Hufflepuff's badgers loved food, Ravenclaw's eagles pursued knowledge, and Gryffindor's lions were passionate about breaking school rules.
Among them, Draco—born into a Death Eater family—had an even stronger fascination with Dark Magic than the others.
"Lykos, are we finally going to learn some insanely cool Dark Magic?"
"Lykos, where did you learn those Dark spells of yours?"
"Lykos, what kind of Dark Magic do you think Professor Quirrell will teach us?"
"…"
On the way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, the excitement on Draco's face never faded.
Lykos didn't even have time to respond to him.
He was still thinking about how to help Quirrell achieve his goal during the class—becoming a complete joke in everyone's eyes.
He had never encountered such a bizarre request in his life.
But what else could he do?
Of course he would help fulfill it.
"Lykos, once I learn Dark Magic, I'll be able to duel Potter, right?" Draco continued enthusiastically despite receiving no replies.
"That guy dared to ignore me—I'm definitely going to teach him a lesson!"
Hearing that, Lykos finally glanced sideways at him.
"First of all, Defense Against the Dark Arts isn't a Dark Magic class. Professor Quirrell won't teach you Dark Magic," he said bluntly, shattering Draco's fantasy.
"Second, I've heard his teaching ability isn't exactly impressive."
"So don't get your hopes up too much."
Lykos patted Draco on the shoulder and walked confidently toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
The classroom was directly below Quirrell's office, connected by a staircase.
Since Lykos had already visited the office twice, he was very familiar with the route.
…
"Ugh… what's that smell?"
As soon as Draco stepped onto the second floor where the classroom was located, he instinctively held his breath.
"It smells like rotten garlic," Goyle declared after taking a deep sniff, sounding oddly professional.
Then he immediately began gagging.
Crabbe watched Goyle's miserable expression and laughed at him for bringing it upon himself.
Out of curiosity, he also took a deep sniff.
"It really does smell like rotten garlic," Crabbe nodded in agreement.
Then he started gagging too.
Lykos: "…"
Draco: "…"
Both of them silently stepped farther away from the two fat boys, worried that stupidity might be contagious.
When they entered the classroom, the garlic smell grew even stronger.
Everyone's eyes turned toward the source of the stench—a pale young wizard wearing a purple turban.
When Lykos had seen Quirrell privately in the office, the garlic smell hadn't been nearly this strong.
But according to the older students who had already attended his class the day before, Quirrell's first lecture had gone poorly. Occasionally, a strange rotten smell would drift out from under his turban.
Two mischievous red-haired Gryffindor twins had even planned to pull off his turban to see what exactly was hiding inside.
To conceal the strange odor coming from Voldemort—who was attached to the back of his head—Quirrell had begun carrying large amounts of peeled, foul-smelling garlic with him.
"How much garlic did this guy eat? He smells like a walking garlic spirit," Draco whispered to Lykos.
Seeing Quirrell instantly reduced his enthusiasm for the class by half.
"Maybe garlic is some kind of essential item for Defense Against the Dark Arts," Lykos shrugged.
"G–good morning… everyone."
When the bell rang, Quirrell shuffled out from behind the desk.
"I am y–your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor… Q–Quirinus Quirrell," he stammered nervously. "T–today we will be studying… the Spark Charm… please o–open your books…"
"Professor, the smell in the classroom is too strong. Can we open the windows for ventilation?"
Lykos suddenly raised his hand and interrupted Quirrell.
The other students were shocked at first.
Then they looked at Lykos with admiration—some even giving him thumbs up.
After all, this was their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Even though the professor looked weak and timid, no one knew his true abilities.
No one else dared openly challenge a professor.
But Lykos had come specifically to make Quirrell look ridiculous, so he had no such concerns.
"N–no, we cannot open the windows," Quirrell stammered. "I… angered a v–vampire in R–Romania. V–vampires hate the smell of g–garlic. It c–can drive them away."
"Professor, can't you defeat a vampire?" Lykos followed up with another blow.
"I… I c–can defeat one, but as a w–wizard we must l–learn to be humble," Quirrell forced out awkwardly. "I once h–helped an African prince d–drive away a r–revenant zombie."
Once Lykos had broken the ice, the other students realized Quirrell was actually quite amusing.
Soon they began asking questions one after another.
"Professor, how did you defeat the revenant zombie?" asked a Hufflepuff boy named Ernie Macmillan.
"I… I did this… and that… and then I d–defeated it," Quirrell stammered. "Ah… the w–weather today is v–very nice… p–perfect for class."
The students glanced at the gloomy sky outside and collectively fell into silence.
"Professor, what's inside your turban?" another Hufflepuff asked.
"I–it was g–given to me by an African prince… it's my h–honor," Quirrell said.
"So your honor doesn't need washing, Professor?" Theodore Nott asked. "How long have you been wearing it? Haven't you noticed it smells?"
"…I th–think it's fine."
"Professor, show us a Dark spell to prove your strength," Draco said eagerly. "You teach Defense Against the Dark Arts—you must know Dark Magic, right?"
"…"
Quirrell was left speechless.
After a moment, he stepped forward awkwardly.
"V–very well… I will demonstrate a c–curse… This curse is e–extremely dangerous!"
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