When it came to classroom knowledge, most students grew drowsy.
But gossip?
That woke everyone right up.
Ron eagerly added, "George and Fred told me—the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is cursed!"
This class was shared between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, so he had gathered with Lewis and the others.
Anything mysterious or eerie instantly grabbed attention.
Stephen leaned in immediately, and even Neville shuffled closer to listen.
Seeing how interested everyone was, Ron puffed up with pride.
"I heard that for nearly thirty years, every Defense professor has had an accident within a year! Not a single one lasted longer than that! Some even died on the job! People say You-Know-Who cursed the position!"
As soon as he said it—
the surrounding chatter died down.
Lewis glanced around.
Good grief—
everyone was listening.
The moment words like "You-Know-Who," "death," and "curse" were mentioned—
the entire area turned into a buzzing discussion.
Some students had already started betting on whether Quirrell would last the year.
Hermione frowned.
"But Hogwarts: A History doesn't mention anything like that!"
Lewis smiled slightly.
"Books are only references. They aren't always accurate. Even Newton's laws were overturned eventually."
He paused, then added:
"But in this case, I think it's true. The Defense professor really has changed every year for nearly three decades."
"You could confirm it just by asking any upperclassman."
Hermione hesitated, then asked, "Even Dumbledore can't remove the curse?"
"Probably not. Otherwise, he would have done it already. Recruiting a new professor every year… you'd think Hogwarts eats one annually."
In reality—
Lewis knew it was worse than that.
The fates of past Defense professors were rarely good.
Some resigned after accidents.
Others ended up in St. Mungo's.
And after Harry enrolled—
the curse reached its peak.
Looking at all of Harry's Defense teachers:
Quirrell—dead.
Lockhart—insane.
Lupin—dead.
Moody—dead.
Snape—dead.
Even Voldemort—
died.
Voldemort: "Even I'm scared of my own curse."
The only relatively "lucky" one—
was Umbridge.
Who ended up in Azkaban.
…
When class began—
Quirrell did not disappoint.
As the Defense professor, Quirinus Quirrell had zero presence.
He looked timid, almost pathetic.
A ridiculous purple turban wrapped around his head.
And—
he smelled strongly of garlic.
Even his speech was shaky.
"H-hello everyone… I-I am your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor… Q-Quirrell…"
Lewis knew—
this wasn't Quirrell's first time teaching.
He had once been a capable Ravenclaw graduate.
Previously, he taught Muggle Studies.
But his dream—
was Defense Against the Dark Arts.
His theoretical knowledge was solid.
But the subject required practical experience.
So he left to gain combat experience.
And somehow—
ended up in Albania.
Where he met—
Voldemort.
Ironically—
Voldemort had once applied for the same teaching position and been rejected.
That rejection led him to curse it.
And now—
he had returned.
Possessing Quirrell.
Becoming the Defense professor.
In a twisted way—
he had fulfilled his dream.
The first lesson—
was about dealing with ghouls.
Compared to other worlds—
Harry Potter's ghouls were laughable.
They didn't paralyze enemies.
Didn't regenerate from corpses.
Didn't chop wood.
Didn't even know what 1000 minus 7 was.
Despite their ugly appearance—
they were harmless.
Usually living in attics or barns.
Feeding on spiders and moths.
Some wizards even kept them as pets.
The Weasleys had one.
When bored—
it banged on pipes.
Lewis couldn't understand—
why such a harmless creature was taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Or rather—
he began questioning the entire subject.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts"—
focused mostly on dealing with magical creatures.
Not dark wizards.
Not actual dark magic.
What kind of defense was that?
Even the definition of "dark magic"—
felt questionable.
In this world—
anything harmful seemed to be labeled dark magic.
But that didn't hold up.
Some spells could heal—
or harm—
depending on usage.
Others claimed dark magic required malicious intent.
But human nature wasn't purely good.
Nor purely evil.
Expecting people to use only "light" magic—
was unrealistic.
To Lewis—
dark magic was just another form of power.
Neutral.
And worth studying.
Dumbledore's approach—
rejecting it entirely—
felt like moral overcorrection.
If this continued—
the magical world would stagnate.
In fact—
it already had.
The Statute of Secrecy didn't protect Muggles.
It protected wizards.
Lewis knew what the future held.
Muggle technology would advance rapidly.
As a wizard—
his allegiance naturally leaned toward the magical world.
But after this lesson—
he realized something troubling.
Even Hogwarts—
hesitated to teach real defense.
Avoiding true dark magic entirely.
If this continued—
problems were inevitable.
Soon, Lewis understood why Hufflepuff had said Quirrell was barely better than Binns.
Their teaching styles were identical.
Reading from the textbook.
At least Binns spoke fluently.
Occasionally adding interesting anecdotes.
Quirrell?
He couldn't even read smoothly.
Combined with his stutter—
the class was unbearable.
Lewis strongly suspected—
Dumbledore only hired him because no one else applied.
Naturally—
the students began mocking him.
Rumors spread:
The garlic smell was to ward off a vampire he encountered in Romania.
Quirrell tried to explain—
claiming his turban was a gift from an African prince—
a reward for helping him deal with a zombie.
No one believed him.
When Seamus eagerly asked how he defeated the zombie—
Quirrell flushed red and mumbled incoherently.
Even Hermione couldn't hold back.
"Professor Quirrell… doesn't seem very good at teaching? Is he just nervous?"
She didn't believe it herself.
She just didn't want to criticize a teacher.
Lewis shattered that illusion.
"He's not new. He used to teach Muggle Studies here."
Hermione's face fell.
Her expectations for the class plummeted.
The thought of seven years of this—
made her dizzy.
Lewis, however, remained optimistic.
"At least," he said, "he's probably better than Gilderoy Lockhart."
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