Friday morning.
The Hufflepuff first-years finally welcomed their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. The classroom was situated in a corner on the third floor. When the first young witch arrived, she repeatedly checked she hadn't taken a wrong turn before hesitantly stepping inside.
The classroom was exceedingly dim, with only one tiny window that remained tightly shut. The room was filled with an indescribably peculiar odour.
Wayne couldn't help but frown when he arrived. Just as he was about to open the window, Quirrell entered. "N-no, don't open it. It's fine like this, just like this."
"Professor, I'm here for a lesson, not to inhale toxic fumes," Wayne said irritably, eliciting giggles from some of the younger wizards.
But they quickly covered their mouths.
It wasn't fear of being reprimanded by the professor—rather, after Quirrell entered, the classroom was overwhelmed by an overpowering stench of garlic, making the air even more unbearable.
"I-I encountered... encountered a revenant zombie in Africa. Cursed now... can't stand drafts," Quirrell stammered, gesturing vaguely at the scarf wrapped around his head.
"Th-this was a gift from... from a tribal prince."
Revenant zombies?
Several young wizards perked up with interest.
Revenant zombies—or more commonly known as Inferi—were infamous in the wizarding world, a mysterious product of dark rituals.
Each Inferius was an undead creature—a mindless, soulless husk. Though not particularly strong in combat, they served various purposes.
They were essential sacrificial offerings for Dark Wizards practising the Dark Arts.
"Professor, how did you subdue the Inferi?" Justin Finch-Fletchley raised his hand to ask.
"Th-that's irrelevant to today's lesson," Quirrell deflected. "Turn to page three. Today, we'll learn how to evade a Kappa..."
"Oh, come on, Professor, tell us about your experience!" Hannah pressed again, but Quirrell ignored her, mumbling as he began the lecture.
To put it bluntly—
He was worse than Professor Binns.
At least Binns, though sleep-inducing, spoke clearly enough to serve as a bedtime story.
But Quirrell stuttered so badly he couldn't even read the textbook coherently. And as for sleeping? The stench in the room made that impossible.
In no time, the highly anticipated Defence Against the Dark Arts class had devolved into a gruelling two-hour ordeal. Wayne raised his hand.
"L-Lawrence, d-do you have a question?" Quirrell asked.
"Professor, I do—a rather significant one," Wayne stood up. "I understand Professor Binns reading from the textbook, but if you're doing the same, what exactly are we learning in Defence Against the Dark Arts?
"Are we supposed to beat a Kappa to death by flinging our textbooks at it?
"Defence Against the Dark Arts should be about spells. Could you at least teach us how to use the Knockback Jinx?"
His words were met with enthusiastic agreement from the students, who began chattering loudly. Quirrell looked terrified, stammering excuses about wanting them to grasp foundational knowledge first before teaching spells.
Eventually, he did teach one.
After enduring an hour of torture, Quirrell wrote the incantation for the Knockback Jinx on the blackboard. Then the class ended.
Wayne spoke up again. "Professor, could you demonstrate it for us?"
Quirrell hemmed and hawed before refusing, claiming it was too dangerous. The students grew even more disgruntled—what danger could a simple Knockback Jinx possibly pose?
As the situation spiralled out of control, Quirrell's shifty eyes welled up with tears. Clutching his textbook, he fled the classroom, leaving the young wizards utterly dumbfounded.
Wayne was stunned.
He'd just wanted to earn some points—how had he ended up making the man cry?
Having been at the school for nearly a week, Wayne had spent his time familiarising himself with the castle while waiting for the right opportunity to gain points. The other professors all deserved his respect, and he couldn't bring himself to deliberately cause trouble just for house points.
Only Quirrell—this guy was pretending to be incompetent on purpose and was also Voldemort's vessel. Bullying him gave Wayne no sense of guilt.
In the short span of a single lesson, he had already racked up over a hundred points. Just as Wayne was planning to push further and aim for two hundred before taking a break, who could have guessed Quirrell's tolerance was so poor that he ran away? Who could he even complain to about this?
...
Hogwarts had no secrets. What happened in class spread immediately, and the first to know were the other two houses in the first year.
"Did you really make Professor Quirrell cry?" Hermione asked curiously at lunch, pulling Wayne over to the Gryffindor table.
"No, what's wrong with these two?" Without answering Hermione, Wayne glanced at Harry and Neville beside her. Both had vacant stares, their expressions numb, looking utterly broken.
"Don't even mention it!" Ron slammed his cutlery down angrily. "During Potions class just now, Snape was hounding Harry like a rabid dog. He asked a ton of questions about things we haven't even learned yet, and when Harry couldn't answer, he docked us two points.
"Granger's hand was practically reaching the ceiling, and he still didn't see it. Is he blind or what?"
Hermione shot him an annoyed look.
What did he mean by 'reaching the ceiling'? Was he calling her a long-armed freak?
So they'd had Potions class... Now Wayne wasn't the least bit surprised. In fact, he was surprised Snape had only taken two points—that was far too lenient.
'I might have a way to help you avoid some of that targeting,' Wayne mused after a moment.
Harry's eyelids twitched, and he instinctively looked over. "Coach, I want to learn!"
"Ahem." Wayne put on a profound air. "When Snape was questioning you, were you staring right at him the whole time?"
Harry nodded vigorously.
This guy was a master—he even knew that.
"That's where you went wrong." Wayne shook his head. "Think about it. When you hate someone, and they keep making eye contact with you, it's a challenge. What would you do?"
Harry pondered. "I'd get angrier and angrier."
Wayne clapped his hands. "Exactly! Next time this happens, just lower your head and apologise sincerely. No matter how angry the professor is, they won't have a leg to stand on if your attitude is that good."
Harry's eyes brightened, and he finally said gratefully, "Thank you, Wayne. I didn't know what to do otherwise."
"Don't mention it." Wayne smiled warmly. "Just remember—never make eye contact with Snape."
With that, after the system notified him of a 50-point gain, he drifted away.