Chapter 94: The Tangled Quirrell
At 11:30 a.m., the golden plates on the long house tables were already piled high with food, and the goblets brimmed with various drinks. Harry and the others took what they could reach and began to eat.
Seamus, as usual, was still grumbling about their morning Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.
"Professor Quirrell is hopeless. It takes him nearly a minute to say one sentence, and that headscarf of his reeks of garlic. Ugh, I still feel sick just thinking about it," Seamus said dramatically, waving a fork with a sausage impaled on it.
"Professor Quirrell?" Ron asked curiously.
"I met him in Diagon Alley," Harry said. "Hagrid told me he used to be smart and well-read, but then he went off for a year to get some real-world experience..."
"They say he ran into a vampire in some forest and had a nasty encounter with an old witch. Ever since then, he's been totally different—nervous around students and terrified of the subject he teaches."
"So the garlic's really to ward off vampires?" Seamus asked in disbelief.
"And that bit about him helping an African prince expel resurrected zombies—is that true?" Lavender Brown, who had been eavesdropping, turned her head in curiosity.
"Professor Quirrell used to be a very promising wizard," a new voice chimed in. "He was in Ravenclaw, just like me. Right after graduating, he stayed at Hogwarts and taught Muggle Studies. He was actually a great professor."
The speaker stepped forward with a polite smile.
"Sorry for interrupting. I'm Roger Davies, third year and Chaser for Ravenclaw's Quidditch team. The player evaluations are next week. Harry, right? Your dad, James Potter, was Gryffindor's Seeker and won the Quidditch Cup. You're only in your first year, but you can come and watch—or even try out."
Harry looked startled at the sudden invitation but nodded quickly. "Okay, sure."
"I've had enough of today," Padma Patil sighed from the next table, turning to her sister Parvati. "History of Magic was a snore-fest, and Defense Against the Dark Arts was a train wreck. Are we supposed to teach ourselves?"
Oddly enough, there were very few new Ravenclaw students this year. In the original timeline, Alexander Smith wasn't even supposed to attend Hogwarts. That meant that aside from Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Alexander, the rest were students from the original canon.
Among them were characters Harry might remember: Anthony Goldstein, Lisa Dupin, Michael Corner, Padma Patil, and Terry Boot—six in total.
The remaining lesser-known students included Kevin Entwhistle, Mandy Brocklehurst, Morag MacDougal, Stephen Cornfoot, and Su Li. That made sixteen new Ravenclaws altogether.
Alexander absentmindedly began categorizing them in his mind, turning it into a game.
Michael Corner, originally portrayed as Black in the books, had long hair and striking features in the films. He'd dated both Ginny and Cho Chang and was a member of Dumbledore's Army.
Anthony Goldstein was a fifth-year prefect, a Jewish wizard, and also a DA member.
Padma Patil, an Indian beauty in Harry's eyes, was a Ravenclaw prefect.
Terry Boot was also in the DA and had helped defend Hogwarts during Harry's seventh year.
Before they realized it, lunch was over. Alexander followed Harry and the group back to the common room, idly flipping through a book he'd grabbed at random: Basic Spells for Busy and Irritable People. He knew they still had two more classes—Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology.
Perhaps to observe how plants behaved at different times, today's Herbology class was scheduled for 3:30 to 5:30 p.m., while Defense Against the Dark Arts would be earlier, from 1:00 to 3:00.
Alexander regretted it. Herbology reminded him of exercise classes from his past life—it was surprisingly enjoyable. They had three Herbology sessions a week, but after today, only Thursday morning's remained.
He also wondered whether Neville would grow to love Herbology as he had in the original timeline—enough to eventually become the professor. Gryffindor shared Herbology with Hufflepuff, so this would've been when Neville and Hannah first met.
However, in this timeline, Neville had Potions and Flying with the Hufflepuffs—subjects he usually flopped at.
Would they still end up married? Or would Neville remain single?
After a short rest, it was 12:30, and the Ravenclaw first-years began heading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the third floor.
"Hello everyone. I-I am your professor, Q-Quirinus Quirrell," the man stammered, entering the room with jittery steps. "I will b-be teaching you D-Defense Against the D-Dark Arts... though I suspect M-Mr. Potter won't n-need it, haha."
Just like Seamus had said, the class quickly spiraled into absurdity. Quirrell muttered and twitched, his scarf reeking of garlic. Nervous laughter escaped him at random moments.
Alexander flipped through Dark Powers: A Guide to Self-Defense by Quentin Trimble, thoroughly uninterested.
Hermione sat dutifully in the front row, pinching her nose as she wrote, while Harry looked close to gagging. Ron had stuffed parchment into his nostrils without shame—but Quirrell didn't notice.
Alexander mused whether Quirrell was actually trying to gas them all to death with that stink.
Fortunately, with his body now upgraded to Level 5, he no longer needed to breathe. Otherwise, he might've lost it and blown Quirrell to bits.
And then he remembered something.
"Right... Quirrell once made a total fool of himself in front of Kate," Alexander thought, eyes narrowing. "He mistook the zombies in his story for being African..."
That ridiculous tale he told the African prince—that the scarf was a magic charm to repel zombies—how had Alexander forgotten such nonsense?
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Hidden Truths
Quirrell had once been a proud Ravenclaw, foolishly convinced he could hunt down and defeat the weakened Dark Lord himself. After some investigation, he'd traveled alone to the forests of Albania—and promptly met his doom.
Instead of subduing Voldemort, he had been subdued. Now, he was no more than a slave.
Desperate, Quirrell had tried to drop hints to Dumbledore—acting feeble, playing dumb, wearing garlic. But none of it worked.
Surely Dumbledore, of all people, could sense something was wrong. The foul stench of rot clinging to him wasn't just garlic—yet Dumbledore pretended not to notice.
Even his encounter with Harry in Diagon Alley had shattered his hope. He'd expected Harry to unleash some kind of legendary power and obliterate Voldemort—or at least banish him.
Nothing had happened.
Since then, he had no choice but to follow Voldemort's orders more closely. He had even dared to break into Gringotts. Without the Dark Lord's help, he would never have escaped alive.
That failed mission had also marked a turning point. The terrifying knowledge Voldemort revealed while using his body began to fascinate Quirrell. He started to believe—if things continued like this—he might become the Dark Lord's right-hand man, second only to him, above all others.
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