Professor Quirrell was struggling to read aloud from the textbook.
By now, the young witches and wizards had grown completely used to his poor performance.
According to Quirrell himself, he was suffering under multiple curses from dark creatures, and had to spend a great deal of energy constantly suppressing them.
Everyone sympathized, of course—but that didn't make the situation any less frustrating.
Defense Against the Dark Arts, once supposed to be one of the most exciting subjects, had become like this…
Many students had already started to slack off—reading other books, or catching up on homework for different classes.
Quirrell didn't care. As long as no one interrupted him, he would simply go on reading the textbook to himself until the bell rang.
Perhaps the only upside was that he never checked homework.
Wayne rested his chin on his hand, elbow on the desk, looking troubled.
Maybe Quirrell had stopped caring about being provoked—or maybe Wayne had just done the same thing too many times.
Whatever the case, trying to target Quirrell in class was yielding fewer and fewer points these days.
It wasn't even as rewarding as sneaking around on a nighttime stroll.
But with such a convenient "point farm" sitting right in front of him, it felt like a waste not to use it.
Wayne glanced at the classroom, where no one was paying attention, and finally made up his mind.
"Professor," he said aloud.
He didn't raise his hand—technically rude, but if he had, Quirrell would have just pretended not to see it.
"Professor," Wayne called again.
Only then did Quirrell reluctantly stop reading.
"Y-Yes? W-what is it n-now, M-Mr. L-Lawrence?"
All the students perked up, expressions full of anticipation.
Entertainment had arrived.
"Do you remember our agreement?" Wayne asked politely. "That if you taught me a powerful spell this lesson, I'd give you a small vial of phoenix tears?"
The young wizards around him gasped.
Phoenix tears?!
That was precious stuff—worth a ton of money!
"Th-this... uh..."
Quirrell was tempted. After all, Voldemort had been urging him.
But then that familiar cold voice rang out in his mind:
"Don't you dare, you idiot. That'll expose you."
If Wayne's proposal worked, what would the other students think?
Would they now expect to trade valuables in return for learning spells?
It would be chaos.
Even if they did want the phoenix tears, this wasn't the way to get them.
Obeying Voldemort's command, Quirrell quickly changed his tone:
"Y-You're still f-foundation level students. L-learning powerful spells too early is not a g-good idea."
Wayne didn't let up. "But I heard from upper-years that you don't teach them any spells either."
"You just read a different book in their class."
Quirrell's face turned red. "T-Teaching is n-not just r-reading aloud...!"
He launched into a long-winded explanation about how spells were dangerous, and foundations were important, and so on.
The students burst into laughter. The room filled with a lively, mocking energy.
Wayne finished him off with a final jab:
"Professor, you didn't buy your position, did you? No wonder Cedric told me the school meals have gotten a lot better this year."
Meanwhile, in the greenhouse, Cedric, who was weeding Devil's Snare, suddenly sneezed—startling the plant into full aggression. Its vines lashed out at him from all directions.
He struggled for a long time before finally getting free.
Rubbing his nose, Cedric muttered in confusion:
"Weird... why did I suddenly feel like sneezing?"
Back in the Defense classroom, for the first time ever, Quirrell got angry—and deducted five points from Hufflepuff.
Wayne, having accomplished his goal, didn't push any further.
After class, Wayne's roommate Norman caught up to him in the crowd.
"Hey, are you in a bad mood today or something?" he asked.
"Not really," Wayne replied, shaking his head. "I just think… having a professor like that is a huge waste of time."
"What are we even going to learn this year?"
Norman nodded solemnly.
He had only managed to learn one Shield Charm on his own. Nothing they'd done in class had helped.
Around them, other students were nodding too—clearly agreeing.
A Ravenclaw girl comforted him gently:
"Wayne, you don't need to be so anxious.
I heard there's a curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position—no one has ever held it for a full year."
"A whole year…" Wayne shook his head regretfully.
"Hogwarts only lasts seven years in total. That's a whole year gone to waste."
"We might still be okay, but what about the fifth- and seventh-years?
Their losses must be huge."
After saying that, he walked away in a subdued mood.
Wayne's words quickly spread across the houses.
Just as he had said, the fifth- and seventh-years were indeed miserable.
The OWL and NEWT examiners didn't care what kind of teacher you had.
They would grade strictly based on Ministry of Magic standards, so the older students were all in a panic—left with nothing but self-study and natural talent.
But what could they do?
They could only curse under their breath, then return to their books and suffer through it.
Night fell.
Tomorrow was the weekend, so the Hufflepuff common room was unusually lively.
"Ahem, ahem! Everyone!"
Wayne pointed his wand at his throat and cast a Sonorus charm.
At once, all eyes in the room turned toward him.
"Wayne, what are you doing?" Cedric asked strangely, not sure what kind of madness was about to unfold.
"Don't interrupt," Wayne snapped, giving him a glare before pulling a sheet of parchment from his robes.
"Do you all know how much it costs to buy a loaf of bread—wait, wrong parchment."
The common room erupted in boisterous laughter, with his two roommates practically falling over from how hard they were laughing.
But this only made everyone more curious about what Wayne actually wanted to say.
So, when he pulled out the second parchment, the room fell completely silent.
Everyone watched him intently.
"Fellow Hufflepuffs—students, upper-years," Wayne began.
"I believe we all know how important Defense Against the Dark Arts is as a subject."
"We are lucky enough to have the greatest headmaster in the world—the most powerful light wizard of the century."
"We have the strictest, yet most competent Transfiguration professor."
"We have the kindest, most gentle Herbology master as our Herbology teacher."
"We even have a multiple-time Dueling Champion, incredibly patient, as our Charms professor."
"And of course, we also have a Potions professor who, while sharp-tongued, lacking in hygiene, and blatantly biased toward one house, is undeniably skilled at his craft."
"But there is one thing we lack…"
"—A competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
Someone who is willing to teach us real magic."
The smiles slowly faded from the faces of the little badgers.
Cedric's eyes widened in alarm—he tried to stop Wayne from going on, but Wayne silenced him with a single look.
Wayne continued his speech, now impassioned:
"We are living through the darkest chapter in Hogwarts history.
We are about to waste an entire year."
"This year, we won't learn anything useful in Defense class.
Nothing that will help us pass our graduation exams."
"I know—our professors are worthy of respect.
But our needs should also be respected!"
"It's been a month since term started.
I can't imagine what kind of defensive magic we'll have learned by the end of first year."
"But I do know this—our enemy has already appeared."
"He will shake the world's faith in Hogwarts.
He will destroy the harmony Headmaster Dumbledore worked so hard to build."
"I... have to do something."
Wayne showed the expression of someone heroically prepared for martyrdom:
"The reason I've taken up everyone's time tonight...
is simply to say: If I get expelled for this, I'll miss all of you."
Hearing that he might get expelled, Hannah couldn't sit still anymore. She stood up.
"Wayne, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to write a formal complaint to the Headmaster,
to report Professor Quirrell for neglecting his duties."
"Even if I fail... Quirrell won't get off easy."
Wayne gave a bitter smile.
"Maybe then... we'll finally get a new, proper professor."
"Wayne, don't do it..."
The little badgers were moved—some nearly in tears.
"We can still self-study!
It might be slower, but we'll still learn something in the end."
Wayne made a disdainful face.
"How many Hufflepuffs do you know who actually study on their own?"
The crowd fell sheepish and embarrassed.
It was true—Hufflepuffs usually paid attention in class.
But outside of class?
Very few of them were studying.
~~----------------------
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