Chapter 32

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Friday morning,

Hufflepuff freshmen finally had their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

The classroom was located in a corner on the third floor. When the first young wizard arrived, he repeatedly confirmed that he was in the right place before hesitantly walking in.

The classroom was very dark, with only one small window that was still closed, and the room was filled with an unspeakable strange smell.

When Wayne arrived, he frowned subconsciously.

Just as he was about to open the window, Quirrell arrived.

"Don't... don't open it, that's fine, that's fine."

"Professor, I'm here for class, not to absorb toxic gases," Wayne said unhappily, and some young wizards already laughed.

But they quickly covered their mouths.

They were not afraid of being discovered and blamed by the professor, but because after Quirrell came in, there was a strong smell of garlic, which made the smell in the classroom even worse.

"I, I met... a resurrected zombie in the Black State. I was cursed and couldn't breathe," Quirrell explained stammeringly, pointing to the scarf on his head.

"This, this is a gift from a tribal king... the prince."

Resurrected zombie?

Many young wizards became interested.

The name "resurrected zombie," also known as a "resurrected zombie," is well-known in the magic world. It is a mysterious religious product.

Every resurrected zombie is a living dead, a walking corpse without consciousness and soul. Their attack power is not strong, but they have various uses.

They are a necessary sacrifice for dark wizards to practice black magic.

"Professor, how did you subdue the resurrected zombie?" Justin Finch-Fletchley raised his hand and asked.

"This, this has nothing to do with this class," Quirrell avoided answering, "Turn the textbook to the third page. Today we will learn how to avoid Kappa..."

"No, professor, please tell us about your experience," Hannah asked again, but Quirrell ignored her and started to lecture vaguely.

How to say it...

Worse than Cuthbert Binns.

Although Cuthbert Binns talks very hypnotically, at least his enunciation is clear enough to be used as a bedtime story.

But Quirrell was stammering, couldn't read coherently, and made everyone sleepy. The smell in this room made it impossible to fall asleep.

Suddenly, the Defense Against the Dark Arts class that everyone was most looking forward to turned into a two-hour torture.

Wayne raised his hand.

"Lawrence, do you have any questions?" Quirrell asked.

"Professor, there is indeed a problem, and it is a big problem," Wayne stood up. "I understand Cuthbert Binns reading the textbook, but if you still read the textbook, what will we learn about Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"When we encounter a Kappa, are we supposed to smash it to death with our textbooks?"

"For defense against the dark arts, of course, we need to learn spells. Can you teach us how to use the repel spell?"

His words received strong support from the students, and everyone started talking.

Quirrell was frightened and explained stumblingly that he wanted everyone to gain more knowledge and would teach them spells.

In fact, he did teach.

After enduring for an hour, Quirrell wrote the spell to repel the curse on the blackboard.

Then it was over.

Wayne said again, "Professor, please demonstrate it to us."

Quirrell hesitated for a long time and declined on the grounds that it was too dangerous.

Everyone was even more dissatisfied. What danger could a repel spell have?

Seeing that the situation was out of control, Quirrell squeezed out a few tears from his twinkling eyes, hugged his textbook, and ran away. He left behind a bunch of dumbfounded young wizards.

Wayne was also confused. He just wanted to earn some points, so why did he make someone cry?

It had been almost a week since Wayne came to school. On the one hand, Wayne was familiar with the school, but on the other hand, he had not found a suitable opportunity to earn points. The other professors all deserved his respect, and he couldn't do anything to intentionally cause trouble just for points. Only with Quirrell, who was deliberately showing off and was Voldemort's follower, Wayne didn't feel any guilt when he bullied him.

In just one class, he had already scored more than 100 points. Wayne was planning to keep up his efforts and earn 200 points to rest. Who would have thought that Quirrell's endurance was so poor that he actually ran away? Who could he talk to about this?

There are no secrets at Hogwarts, and what happened in the classroom spread immediately. The first people to know were the other two houses in the first year.

"Did you really make Professor Quirrell cry?" During lunch, Wayne was pulled to the Gryffindor table by Hermione and asked curiously.

"No, what happened to these two people?" Hermione didn't answer. Wayne looked next to her. Harry and Neville both had dull eyes and numb expressions, looking like they had been through a lot.

"Don't mention it!" Ronald put down his knife and fork angrily. "In Potions class just now, Snape was chasing Harry like a hawk. He asked a lot of questions about things we hadn't learned yet. In the end, Harry couldn't answer, and he deducted two points from us."

"Granger's hand was raised to the ceiling. Can't he see yet? Is he blind?" Hermione gave Ronald an unhappy look. What did he mean by calling her a long-armed monster?

Wayne wasn't surprised at all now. Instead, he was surprised that Snape had only deducted two points from them; it was too few.

"I have a way to save you from being targeted," Wayne pondered for a moment and said. Harry's eyelids moved, and he looked over involuntarily.

"Coach, I want to learn."

"Ahem." Wayne pretended to be profound. "Did you keep staring at Snape when he asked you a question?" Harry nodded sharply. This was a master; he even knew this.

"That's your fault," Wayne shook his head. "Think about it. When you hate someone, and the other person looks at you and clearly shows defiance, how will you feel?"

Harry mused, "I'd get angrier and angrier."

Wayne clapped his hands. "That's right. Next time you encounter this situation, just lower your head and admit your mistake sincerely. Even if the professor gets angry again, there's nothing he can do about it. After all, you have a good attitude."

Harry's eyes became brighter and brighter. Finally, he said gratefully, "Thank you, Wayne. I don't know what I would have done otherwise."

"You're welcome," Wayne smiled gently. "Remember, never look directly at Snape."

After saying that, and hearing the system prompt about his points increasing by 50, he drifted away.