Chapter 136: The Awful Professor Quirrell

Being drugged and volunteering as a potion tester may result in the same outcome, but the intent—and the dignity—are worlds apart. At least the posture differs.

Marietta, fortunately, wasn't blinded by emotion. She firmly declined William's offer and resolved to ignore him for the rest of the lesson—unless he changed his mind.

Cho sighed, shaking her head in exasperation, as though pitying her friend's plight. Liking someone so outstanding was clearly no easy feat.

….

Just then, the class bell rang, and Professor Quirrell entered the room.

As soon as he walked in, an odd smell filled the air.

"What's that smell?" Marietta wrinkled her nose.

When Professor Quirrell removed his hat, the odor intensified—a pungent, overpowering stench like a hundred garlic-eaters exhaling simultaneously. 

The room was immediately reminded everyone of some particularly unpleasant memories from last year.

"Children… I'm… Professor Quirrell… Please… take out your textbooks… would you?" he stammered nervously.

"Professor, what did you just say?" Judy Crouch asked loudly. "Could you speak English?"

"I am speaking… English… proper… London English," Quirrell protested, his face flushing red.

But his stuttering delivery, paired with a curry-like accent, made him almost incomprehensible. 

You'd be forgiven for thinking he hailed from India rather than Britain.

William couldn't endure the smell any longer. Holding his breath, he used Transfiguration to create three masks, handing one each to Cho and Marietta before putting one on himself.

Their classmates eyed him with longing. The room bristled with silent pleas for masks, but William couldn't conjure enough for everyone. 

Judy Crouch even passed a note, offering ten Galleons for one.

Soon, the masks became the most coveted items in the classroom.

Quirrell noticed the students donning masks and his face twitched with suppressed anger.

"This… this is for… protection!" he declared, voice shaking. "Vampires… fear garlic!"

Quirrell then launched into a disjointed tale about his encounter with a vampire in Romania.

With the hot September weather, he continued sweating profusely under his thick scarf, yet he refused to remove it.

"This scarf… was… a gift… from an African prince… I helped… rid him of… a zombie."

A Slytherin student named Arthur stood up, muffled by three layers of masks.

"How exactly did you defeat the zombie, Professor?"

Quirrell mumbled evasively and changed the topic. "The weather in Britain… as bad as ever… I prefer… winter…"

"Professor Quirrell, are you lying?" Arthur pressed, his voice suspicious.

Quirrell's face grew even redder as veins popped on his forehead. "I… I… simply don't remember! Forgetting isn't… lying… Professors don't… lie!"

His argument devolved into incomprehensible fragments, with phrases like "Avada Eat Watermelon" and "Dark Lord" slipping out, causing uproarious laughter in the room. 

The atmosphere turned absurdly cheerful.

….

By halfway through the lesson, the class had lost all patience with their instructor. Quirrell merely read aloud from the textbook, his speech incomprehensible and his teaching method ineffective.

Arthur resorted to purchasing Lee Jordan's pet black widow spider for a hefty price. Enlarging it with a spell, he set the spider loose in the classroom.

Quirrell recoiled in terror, nearly dislodging his scarf in his haste to retreat.

"Professor Quirrell is absolutely useless. It would be better if another death eater came to teach us instead," Cho griped after class.

The general consensus was that Quirrell was a disappointment—several Snapes worse than Tywin. 

If they had to endure bad teaching, at least Snape had the skills to teach competently.

….

However, sentiments changed by Friday morning after Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years experienced their first Potions lesson.

Professor Snape displayed unbridled hostility towards Harry Potter—an unfiltered, venomous loathing that mystified most students.

Even during William's rocky first year, Snape hadn't targeted him with such aggression. Of course, this could have been because Marietta hospitalized Snape before he had the chance.

Still, last year's Snape had seemed tolerable—albeit moody, stern, unkempt, and perpetually sarcastic. 

Compared to this year, he'd been almost agreeable.

….

In Friday's class, Neville Longbottom managed to knock over his cauldron. Fortunately, Snape had learned his lesson from last year. 

He kept a three-meter distance from Neville at all times, ensuring he remained unscathed.

Harry bore the brunt of Snape's ire, much to Draco Malfoy's delight.

Draco practically glowed with smug satisfaction, strutting around like he owned Hogwarts. He even ordered a custom Hogwarts map from William.

Draco's list of demands included gilded Malfoy family crests, ornate fonts, animated green snakes decorating the map's edges, and more. Each extravagant feature made the map exorbitantly expensive.

William sourced high-quality cowhide from Hagrid and spent half a day crafting the map. The final cost? 300 Galleons.

Draco agreed without hesitation, declaring that 300 Galleons was pocket change.

William also offered a dragonhide version for 3,000 Galleons but never received a response—a disappointment for sure.

Even Fred and George had no objections to making a profit off Draco. After all, who could resist Galleons?

….

Later that evening, Hermione found William in the library. Her red-rimmed eyes suggested she had been crying.

She vented her frustrations about Snape.

"I was first—I raised my hand first—but he wouldn't let me answer! And he won't give me points!" Hermione fumed.

"All he does is ask Harry questions. That's blatant favoritism!"

William rolled his eyes. Harry would likely disagree with Hermione's perspective.

"Snape's just like that. You're better off not raising your hand in his class."

"But how else can I earn points for Gryffindor?" Hermione argued.

"You've already earned plenty, haven't you?"

William resisted the urge to tell her to lower her expectations. Surviving Snape's class without losing points was a victory in itself.

"I heard you earned points in his class last year," Hermione pointed out.

"That was for saving someone, not answering questions," William corrected.

"Look, Hermione, Snape is going to ignore you—just like he ignores me now."

To be fair, Snape wasn't ignoring everyone. His laser focus was reserved for one person: Harry Potter.

William made a mental note to test the waters. If Snape continued to ignore him, he might start brewing potions openly during class. After all, his time was far too valuable to waste.

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