Quirrell struggled through the textbook's contents.
The young wizards had long grown accustomed to his dreadful performance.
According to Quirrell himself, he was suffering from multiple Dark creature curses simultaneously, forcing him to expend most of his energy resisting them.
While everyone sympathised, they couldn't help but feel exasperated. Defence Against the Dark Arts should have been the most exciting subject, yet it had ended up like this.
Many had already started slacking off—reading unrelated books or catching up on homework for other classes.
Quirrell paid no attention. As long as no one interrupted him, this professor would drone on from the textbook until the bell rang.
Perhaps the only silver lining was that he never checked their homework.
Wayne rested his arm on the desk, propping up his chin with a troubled expression.
Maybe Quirrell no longer cared about his provocations, or perhaps the same act had been repeated too many times.
Lately, deliberately giving Quirrell a hard time in class had been yielding fewer and fewer points for Wayne, even fewer than what he'd get from sneaking out for a nighttime stroll.
But with such a perfect point-farming machine right in front of him, Wayne couldn't bear to let it go to waste.
Looking around at the classroom where not a single person was paying attention, Wayne took a deep breath and made up his mind.
"Professor."
Without raising his hand, Wayne spoke up directly. This was quite rude, but raising his hand would only result in Quirrell pretending not to see him.
"Professor," Wayne called again, and Quirrell reluctantly stopped reading.
"Wh-what is it now, M-Mr Lawrence?"
All the students perked up. This was going to be entertaining.
"Do you remember our agreement?" Wayne asked politely. "If you teach me a powerful spell in this lesson, I'll give you a small vial of Phoenix tears."
The young wizards gasped. Phoenix tears! That was incredibly valuable—worth a fortune.
"Th-this..." Quirrell hesitated, torn. Voldemort's orders still echoed in his mind.
"Don't agree, you fool! You'll expose yourself!" Voldemort's cold voice hissed in his head.
If Wayne succeeded in tempting him, what would the other students think? That they wouldn't be taught spells unless they offered something valuable? They'd riot. Even if he wanted the Phoenix tears, this wasn't the way to get them.
Following his master's command, Quirrell quickly backtracked. "Y-you're still at the foundational stage. Learning powerful spells too early won't do you any good."
Wayne pressed on, "But I heard from older students that you don't teach them any spells either. It's still reading—just a different book."
Quirrell's face flushed red. "A p-professor's work isn't just reading!"
What followed was a string of incomprehensible muttering about the dangers of spells and the importance of solid foundations.
The students burst into laughter, filling the classroom with a lively atmosphere.
Wayne finally sneered, "Professor, did you buy this position? No wonder Cedric told me Hogwarts' food has improved this year."
Meanwhile, in the greenhouse, Cedric, who was weeding Devil's Snare, suddenly sneezed—waking the plant. Vines shot out from all directions, and it took him ages to break free.
Puzzled, he muttered, "Strange, why did I sneeze all of a sudden?"
Back in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Quirrell, for the first time, lost his temper and deducted five points from Hufflepuff. Having achieved his goal, Wayne didn't push further.
...
After class, his roommate Norman found him in the crowd and asked, "You seem in a bad mood today. Why?"
"Not really," Wayne shook his head. "It's just frustrating to waste time with a professor like this. What do you think we'll actually learn this year?"
Norman nodded in agreement. So far, he'd only managed to teach himself the Knockback Jinx—the lessons were useless.
It wasn't just Norman; many young wizards around them wore similar expressions of agreement.
A Ravenclaw girl tried to comfort Wayne, "Don't worry too much. I heard the Defence Against the Dark Arts position is cursed—no one's lasted a full year in it."
"A whole year..." Wayne sighed regretfully. "Hogwarts only lasts seven years, and now we're wasting one. It's bad enough for us, but think about the fifth and seventh years—how much they're losing."
With that, he walked away dejectedly.
...
Wayne's words soon spread through the houses.
Just as he had said, the fifth and seventh years were indeed suffering terribly. The O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examiners couldn't care less about your professors. They would only assess according to the Ministry of Magic's standards, so the older students were currently overwhelmed, forced to rely on self-study and natural talent.
But what could they do about it?
They could only curse under their breath and miserably continue their studies.
...
Night fell.
Tomorrow, being the weekend, the Hufflepuff common room was particularly lively.
"Ahem! Everyone!"
Wayne pressed his wand to his throat, casting an Amplifying Charm. Instantly, all eyes in the common room turned towards him.
"Wayne, what's gotten into you?" Cedric asked strangely, unsure what madness had possessed him.
"Don't interrupt."
Wayne glared at him and pulled a piece of parchment from his robes.
"You know how much it costs to buy a loaf of bread—oh wait, wrong parchment."
The common room erupted in thunderous laughter, his two roommates doubling over with mirth.
But this only made more people curious about what Wayne was trying to do.
So when he produced a second piece of parchment, the common room fell silent.
All eyes were on him.
"Fellow Hufflepuffs, my dear seniors."
"I believe we all know just how important Defence Against the Dark Arts truly is as a subject."
"We have the greatest Headmaster in the world, the most powerful white wizard of this century."
"We have the strictest yet most competent Transfiguration professor."
"We have the kindest, gentlest master of Herbology as our Herbology professor."
"We even have a Charms professor who's won multiple consecutive duelling championships and possesses endless patience."
"And of course, we have—though sharp-tongued, lacking in personal hygiene, and overly biased towards one particular house—a Potions professor whose skill is beyond question."
"Yet, we lack one thing: a competent Defence Against the Dark Arts professor willing to teach us real magic."
The smiles gradually faded from the Badgers' faces. Cedric's eyes widened as he tried to stop Wayne from continuing, but a single glance from the younger boy pressed him back into his seat.
Wayne continued his impassioned speech:
"Now is the darkest period in Hogwarts' history. We're about to waste an entire year."
"In this year, we'll learn nothing useful from Defence Against the Dark Arts, nothing that will help us pass our final exams."
"I know all our professors deserve respect."
"But our needs should also be taken seriously!"
"It's been a month since term started. I can't imagine how much magic we'll have learned to protect ourselves by the end of this year."
"But I know our enemy has emerged."
"He will shake Hogwarts' reputation in the eyes of the world. He will destroy the harmonious campus that Headmaster Dumbledore has built. I... I must do something!"
Wayne wore an expression of heroic sacrifice: "The reason I'm taking up everyone's time today is simply to say – if I get expelled by the Headmaster, I'll miss you all."
Hearing the word 'expelled', Hannah couldn't help but stand up: "Wayne, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to write a complaint letter to the Headmaster about Professor Quirrell's negligence. Even if I fail, Quirrell won't get off lightly."
Wayne gave a bitter smile: "Then perhaps everyone might get a new, better professor."
"Wayne, just drop it."
The Badgers were moved by his words: "We can study by ourselves. It might be slower, but we'll still learn something."
The young man showed a disdainful expression: "How many Hufflepuffs study independently?"
The group looked ashamed.
The Badgers attended lessons diligently, but after class... hardly anyone studied. They mostly went with the flow.
"Don't worry about me!" Wayne sniffled. "Tomorrow morning, I'll send my complaint letter to the Headmaster's office!"
With that, he turned and walked down the boys' dormitory corridor, leaving a group of bewildered Badgers behind.
No one wanted Wayne expelled, yet no one could dissuade him.
Cedric gritted his teeth: "I'll write a complaint letter too!"
"If it's just Wayne alone, the Headmaster will be furious. I'll help share some of that anger."
Hufflepuff's tradition was unity. Hearing Cedric's suggestion, everyone nodded in agreement.
Susan Bones declared loudly: "Count me in! My aunt works at the Ministry of Magic – I can tell her too."
"Me too!"
"And me!"
Almost everyone responded, taking out parchment and quills to write their complaint letters.
Eavesdropping at the doorway, Wayne smiled knowingly.
...
Early next morning.
Surrounded by his two roommates, Wayne finally emerged from the dormitory.
Everyone held freshly sealed letters.
The common room erupted in thunderous cheers before they all surged out together. Instead of heading to their beloved Great Hall, they marched upstairs. The hundred-strong stream of young wizards stunned students from other houses who couldn't comprehend what was happening.
Harry, just coming downstairs, encountered Wayne's group.
Ron shivered. "Why do I sense murderous intent?"
Ignoring Ron's remark, Harry asked curiously: "Where are they going?"
"Judging by their direction... the eighth floor?"
"What's on the eighth floor?" Ron asked.
After much thought, Harry finally checked his map and confirmed: "The Headmaster's office!"
...
"Wayne, is this the place?"
"How do we deliver the letters to the Headmaster?"
Upon reaching the eighth floor, their earlier bravado turned to nervous caution. They tiptoed as if sneaking around at night.
Wayne shook his head.
"No need. The Headmaster's office has a mailbox – we just put the letters inside."
Hearing this, the Badgers sighed in relief.
Outside the Headmaster's office stood the familiar gargoyle. Perhaps sensing Wayne's arrival, the previously slumbering gargoyle suddenly stirred awake.
"Hmm? It's you, lad. You're here awfully early—Dumbledore probably isn't even up yet."
"Thank Merlin, the password's been changed. It's 'Lemon Drop.' Hurry up and say it so I can let you in."
The young wizards behind him gaped in astonishment.
'This guardian was... remarkably dutiful.'
It even helpfully reminded Wayne of the password, as if worried he'd forgotten.
Only then did the stone gargoyle notice the crowd trailing behind. It asked in confusion:
"...What are they all here for? I can only grant you entry—no one else."
"No need," Wayne waved his hand. "I'm not here to see the Headmaster. I wrote him a letter."
"Could you pass it along for me?"
"Is that so?" The gargoyle opened its mouth. "Go on then, put it in. I'll remind him later—if he comes through the main entrance, that is."
Without hesitation, Wayne placed the letter into its maw.
"Is this... the mailbox?" Cedric tugged at Wayne's sleeve, whispering in his ear.
"Mm. You can put your letters in, too. After this, we'll go eat."
Summoning his courage, Cedric tossed his letter into the stone beast's mouth.
"Eh? You've got mail for Dumbledore, too?"
"Wait—what are you all—Stop! No! It's going to—It's too much!"
"Don't be so rough! Be gentle!"
Finally, when the last young wizard stuffed their letter into the gargoyle's mouth, it swallowed the entire bundle with tears in its eyes.
Its belly visibly swelled a full size larger.
"Thanks for your hard work." Wayne patted its head. "Make sure to remind the Headmaster, alright?"
With that, he scampered off with the Badgers in tow, their faces all flushed with exhilaration.
This was beyond thrilling.
Never in Hogwarts' history had there been such a spectacle—an entire house collectively lodging complaints against a professor.
They were about to make history!
...
Big trouble was brewing!
At Hogwarts, secrets were impossible to keep. Within a day, news of all Hufflepuffs filing complaints against Quirrell spread through the school like wildfire.
Initially, the shocking news was met with disbelief. But every Hufflepuff student confirmed it, and many had witnessed their morning march to the upper floors.
The entire school erupted instantly!
Hufflepuff had always been the most low-key house—never stirring trouble, nor being targeted by others. Their presence was practically negligible.
Parents even told their children, "If you've no distinguishing traits, you'll be sorted into Hufflepuff."
But this time, Hufflepuff had done something that made Gryffindor envious, Slytherin scoff, and Ravenclaw take notice.
During the evening feast.
The Great Hall's atmosphere was palpably strange.
The staff table stood nearly vacant.
Dumbledore, Snape, and Quirrell's seats were all empty. Professor Sprout fidgeted nervously, even holding her cutlery upside-down.
"Pomona," Professor McGonagall sighed, hesitating before speaking. "You should have stopped them."
Professor Sprout set down her utensils helplessly. "Do you think I didn't try? The problem is... I only found out this afternoon."
Professor McGonagall's eyelids twitched in shock. "They didn't tell you about something this significant?"
She could hardly believe this was something Hufflepuff would do. Had it been Gryffindor, she wouldn't have been quite so astonished.
Ah, but what Professor McGonagall didn't know was that upon hearing of the little Badgers' bold move, the little lions had sprung into action as well.
How could they let Hufflepuff hog all the glory?
By the afternoon, the stone gargoyle's belly had swallowed nearly a hundred more complaint letters from Gryffindor.
Of course, McGonagall was unaware of this for now.
She pressed Professor Sprout urgently, "What on earth happened? Who started this?"
Beside them, Professor Flitwick also turned a concerned gaze their way.
Professor Sprout gave a wry smile. "It was Mr Lawrence."
The two professors gaped.
Lawrence.
Were first-years these days so audacious?
At the Hufflepuff table, Wayne was surrounded by a crowd—Hufflepuffs, but even more Gryffindors.
The Weasley twins were practically bowing in reverence.
"Wayne, this is brilliant! We'd never have dreamed of playing it this way!"
Bang!
A figure shoved through the crowd roughly, grabbed Wayne without a word, and dragged him outside.
"Wow," Cedric murmured in surprise.
"Not the one from Gryffindor—is that the new Ravenclaw Seeker?"