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"Remember, right after the first class this morning, head to the usual spot. Wood is going to lay out your training schedule!"
With that, the Weasley twins got up and left, eager to keep spreading the word about Ravenclaw's so-called "declaration of war."
Harry watched them go, his heart still pounding. He'd never been part of a "war" before, let alone the center of one. It was a completely surreal feeling.
"Man, Harry, looks like you're going to be spending a lot more time on a broom," Ron muttered, hyping him up. "We've gotta show those Ravenclaws what real Quidditch talent looks like!"
After breakfast, the kids scattered to their morning classes. Ravenclaw's first period was Defense Against the Dark Arts—a class Richie had been genuinely looking forward to.
---
Back home, Richie had already read through The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. It gave a brief rundown of dark creatures, basic defense spells, and how to break cursed objects. It was his first real glimpse into the darker side of the wizarding world.
Werewolves, vampires, and soul-sucking Dementors... the fact that these things actually existed was wild.
But honestly? Richie wasn't thrilled with the textbook. It was way too basic. It felt less like a "guide" and more like a storybook. It practically read like a Muggle children's encyclopedia. There was zero technical depth to it, especially compared to their other first-year textbooks.
He was really hoping the DADA professor would be like Professor McGonagall and actually expand on the material in class.
---
Second door on the right, fourth-floor corridor: the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Today was a joint class with Gryffindor.
Walking in, the early arrivals were already clustered together, buzzing about Quidditch. The Ravenclaws were still arguing over the physics questions posted in their common room, while the Gryffindors were hyped about Harry making the house team.
Richie grabbed a seat near the front, with Terry and the guys piling in next to him.
As soon as they sat down, Anthony leaned in, practically vibrating with gossip. "I heard our professor got attacked by vampires over the summer while exploring the Wallachian valley!"
"He actually used the stuff from our textbook—garlic and a cross—to fight them off and save his own life!"
Terry's eyes went wide. "Vampires?! That is so badass! He must be an insanely skilled wizard!"
Hearing them, Richie thought back to the textbook. It did mention using garlic and crosses to ward off vampires, but it never explained the actual mechanics behind why it worked.
If the professor really had that kind of real-world combat experience, surely he'd be able to explain the underlying theory, right? Richie's expectations ticked up a notch.
---
Just then, three more kids hurried into the classroom.
"You borrowed my notes last night and didn't even look at them!" Hermione complained loudly. "You just sat in the common room watching people play Wizard's Chess!"
Richie glanced back. It was Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Seeing the classroom was already full, the trio had to make their way to the front. Harry spotted an empty seat next to Richie, dropped into it, gave a quick wave, and immediately let out a massive yawn.
"Look, I didn't want to stay up," Ron muttered, looking equally exhausted. He had hesitated for a second when he saw Richie, feeling a sudden wave of guilt, but since Harry had already sat down, he took the seat right next to him.
He turned back to Hermione to defend himself. "The plan was to finish our essays and use your notes to study." (Translation: copy the answers from her notes into their homework). "But it was Wizard's Chess!"
Hermione just stared at him. "And?"
Ron shook his head. "I learned some new setups from Tactics in Wizard's Chess and I needed to see them in action!"
"I had no idea Fred and George even brought their set from home! They were renting it out in the common room for fifteen Knuts a game. I wasn't going to let them take my money—" (Translation: he was broke) "—so I just watched."
"I wasn't playing around!" Ron insisted. "I was conducting field research!"
Hermione rolled her eyes so hard they almost got stuck in her head, then looked at Harry, who was still yawning.
"I was just keeping Ron company!" Harry quickly defended himself. "It would've been weird if he was just standing there watching by himself!"
(In reality, Harry had offered to pay for a game, but Ron stubbornly refused the charity, so Harry just stood there with him out of solidarity.)
Hermione was totally over it. "Whatever. Just make sure I get my notebook back!"
Looking past them, she noticed Richie was already silently reviewing his textbook. Seeing him locked in, her competitive streak instantly flared. She whipped her own book open and started speed-reading her notes, fully prepared to snipe every question in class to win house points.
---
The bell rang, and the chatter slowly died down.
Suddenly, a thick, overpowering stench of garlic flooded the room.
"Merlin's holey socks, what is that smell?!"
"What is going on?!"
"It's garlic!"
The kids instantly covered their noses, groaning in disgust. A few actually stood up, looking like they were about to bolt for the door.
Right then, a figure appeared in the doorway.
It was a pale, sickly-looking man wearing a purple turban. He was carrying a small cauldron, which was clearly the source of the aggressive garlic smell.
"I-i-it's time f-f-for class," he stuttered. "P-p-please... t-t-take your s-s-seats."
Seeing the man who looked like a walking patient shuffle into the room, the kids reluctantly sat back down.
The professor practically hugged the walls, avoiding the sunlight streaming through the windows, and set his cauldron down as close to himself as possible on the podium.
"M-m-my name is Q-Q-Quirinus Quirrell," he stammered, introducing himself. "I a-a-am your D-D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts p-p-professor."
"I a-a-apologize. I was a-a-attacked over the s-s-summer... I n-n-need the g-garlic to... s-s-soothe the p-p-pain."
A stutter?
The first-years stared at Professor Quirrell in disbelief.
It wasn't that they were judging him for the speech impediment, but logically... a severe stutter didn't exactly scream "effective teacher."
If the professor could barely get a sentence out, how was he supposed to lecture? How were they supposed to learn anything if they had to aggressively decode every word?
Whispers immediately broke out across the classroom.