"You call yourself a wizard—can't you solve problems with magic?" Wayne scoffed before casting a Feather-light Charm on both himself and Cedric.
Cedric suddenly felt as light as a feather, his footsteps nearly inaudible. Excited, he asked,
"Where did you learn that spell?"
"Three Hundred Tang Poems—no, wait, Thirty Practical Spells. You can buy it at Flourish and Blotts."
"I'll get a copy during the holidays."
The two hurried along and soon arrived at the Trophy Room.
Sure enough, the twins had been waiting for some time, crouched in a corner with a map in hand.
Spotting Wayne and Cedric approaching, George discreetly tucked the map into his pocket.
"You're early, but plans have changed—we'll need to delay a bit."
Cedric frowned, eyeing them warily. "What mischief are you two up to now?"
"This time, it isn't our fault," Fred sighed helplessly. "It's Lee. He got curious about what the owl treats tasted like, took a couple of bites, and has been in the hospital wing since this morning.
"Madam Pomfrey gave him some medicine, but he's still a bit dizzy. We told him to rest for another half-hour."
Wayne and Cedric both broke into a cold sweat.
This was so... Gryffindor. How could anyone be that reckless?
The most absurd part was that even half-dead, Lee was still determined to sneak out at night—a level of dedication they could never hope to emulate.
"Are you sure he'll recover?" Wayne pressed, not wanting to waste the entire evening waiting.
"Relax, Lee's basically fine now—just a bit disoriented," Fred waved it off before turning curious. "So, Wayne, did you really make Professor Quirrell cry?"
Hogwarts had no secrets. By afternoon, nearly the entire school had heard about the 'minor disagreement' between Quirrell and Wayne.
Even Professor Sprout had pulled Wayne aside during lunch to offer some advice.
"I know you're a good boy, Lawrence. Professor Quirrell is just overly nervous—he needs time."
Wayne could only sigh.
"What do you mean I made him cry? I just wanted him to demonstrate a spell. Who knew he'd have a breakdown?"
"Go easy on our Defence professor," Fred clapped Wayne on the shoulder. "You'll only have him for this year anyway."
"Maybe he's just wary of Vampires," Cedric, ever the earnest one, defended Quirrell. "He ran into Vampires in Romania over the summer—seemed shaken."
"Whatever the reason, Quirrell won't be sticking around after this term," George shrugged.
"No one's lasted more than a year in that post," Wayne mused, intrigued. "What happened to the previous Defence professors?"
He knew the position was cursed by Voldemort and the fates of later professors, but the reasons for the earlier departures were a mystery.
With Lee Jordan still absent and time to kill, the twins launched into the tragic tales of the first two Defence Against the Dark Arts professors.
"When we first started school, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was Olivier Knight, a seemingly decent old chap.
"But after Easter, the Ministry of Magic Hit Wizards suddenly turned up at Hogwarts with an arrest warrant.
"Professor Olivier had a nasty habit—he was a heavy drinker. That time, he'd had a bit too much and ended up severely injuring the then Minister for Magic.
"As a result, Millicent Bagnold couldn't continue her term due to health reasons, which led to the current Minister taking office."
Cedric nodded in agreement. "That's what my dad said, too. He mentioned Bagnold now spends her days at home, cursing Professor Olivier."
Wayne was dumbfounded. What an absurd butterfly effect this was.
A professor had beaten the Minister for Magic into early retirement. If Voldemort knew about this, he'd probably die laughing.
"What about last year's professor?" Wayne pressed further.
At this, the twins and Cedric's expressions all turned exceedingly peculiar, as if it were something rather difficult to discuss.
"Last year's professor, Montra Clift... was Headmaster Dumbledore's friend," Cedric said slowly.
"What did he do?"
"He didn't assault the Minister, nor was he a dark wizard..." George shook his head, struggling to contain his laughter before finally failing.
"Clift suffered from severe mental illness. It wasn't until just before final exams that he accidentally left St Mungo's diagnosis in the classroom, which Charlie spotted."
Cedric continued: "The whole school went into uproar. A mentally ill man... had been teaching for an entire year without anyone noticing."
"The St Mungo's healers went mad too. They searched the whole of Britain, even popped over to France to look, but it never occurred to them he might be at Hogwarts."
At this point, he couldn't help laughing either.
Wayne could easily imagine how chaotic that situation must have been.
"But why would Dumbledore agree to let him teach?" Wayne asked, puzzled.
"Who knows? Maybe no one else was willing to take the post. Even a madman was better than cancelling the subject," George said dismissively.
"At least both those professors were better than Quirrell—they taught us some proper magic."
"Even if Clift was mentally ill, he hadn't forgotten how to cast spells properly."
"No idea what Quirrell was thinking. He was doing fine teaching Muggle Studies—why did he have to come asking for trouble?"
That the Defence Against the Dark Arts post was effectively a yearly appointment was common knowledge. Nobody believed Quirrell, who'd been teaching for years, didn't know this.
It could only be put down to sheer stubbornness.
BANG!
A tremendous noise came from upstairs, startling them all.
Fred immediately jumped up. "That must be Lee—he's distracting Filch."
Sure enough, they soon heard Filch's furious roar.
"Another dungbomb! I'll have you in detention for this! A year's worth of detentions!" The voice grew fainter as Filch headed upstairs.
"We'd better hurry. No telling how long Lee can keep this up. Watch out for Filch's cat."
Pushing open the trophy room door, the twins dashed out first with Wayne and Cedric close behind.