Chapter 49. Professor Quirrell's Gift!
"Do you smell a strange odour?"
In the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Neville flared his nostrils and frowned as he spoke.
Hannah reflexively sniffed as well, gagged on the spot, clapped a hand over her nose, and said thickly, "So smelly!"
Duncan knew their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor—Quirrell—had arrived!
People usually say you hear someone before you see them, but with Quirrell you smelled him before you saw him.
"Sorry, sorry."
Swathed in heavy wizard's robes, a turban wound round his head, Professor Quirrell hurried in and, cringing, apologised to everyone.
"I was delayed by something on the way. Now let us begin class...."
He hadn't been standing in the classroom long when that stomach-churning reek of garlic, along with another inexplicable stench, grew even stronger.
"Professor, how long has it been since you last had a bath?" a young wizard from a Muggle family sitting in front of the dais complained.
Professor Quirrell's hand stalled on the page he was turning.
He tipped up his head and gave an awkward laugh.
"N–No, that—this is to repel vampires..."
He racked his brains, waggled his eyebrows, and after much effort finally cobbled together a hole-ridden story about a chance encounter with a vampire.
Watching Professor Quirrell's comical performance on the dais, Duncan couldn't help sighing inwardly.
"How did poor Professor Quirrell end up choosing that unreliable noseless one as his boss? A bad judge of character. Not only did he grow a tumour on the back of his head, he can't even fight back when people mock him. Tsk, tsk, truly pitiful...."
Amid a chorus of laughter, order in the classroom gradually unravelled.
Professor Quirrell grew so anxious his face flushed; sweat beaded all over his brow.
In the end it was Professor McGonagall who hurried over at the noise.
A sharp scolding from her finally brought the rampaging students back to silence.
"Thank you, thank you..."
Professor Quirrell wiped the sweat from his forehead and thanked Professor McGonagall again and again.
Professor McGonagall fixed Quirrell with a displeased stare and lowered her voice with a warning edge.
"Professor Quirrell, you must show a professor's authority. Otherwise you won't be able to handle these mischievous students! Even if you have Professor Dumbledore's guarantee, when it comes to your Defence Against the Dark Arts..."
"I know, I know."
Hearing what sounded like a hint she wanted him gone, Professor Quirrell answered in a rush.
"Rest assured, I will do my utmost to teach them well!"
Satisfied, Professor McGonagall nodded, turned on her heel, and strode off down the corridor.
Professor Quirrell coughed softly a few times, straightened his stooped back, stepped forward two paces, and said solemnly, "Students..."
Before he could finish, a student seated behind him suddenly stood, as if curious to tug at the turban on his head.
"Goodness, you're a honey badger—so bold?"
Even Duncan was startled and marvelled inwardly.
But if the turban really were pulled off, what kind of scene would that be?
Would the noseless one curled up on the back of his head fly into a rage and kill a student on the spot, or would he think up a way to slip off as fast as possible?
Thinking about it that way, it did seem a bit dangerous to attend Professor Quirrell's lessons.
Like holding a time bomb in your arms....
Professor Quirrell was so frightened his hands and feet trembled.
His whole body dodged back and crashed against the dais with a boom.
Ignoring the pain, he stared in terror at the student who had stood up.
"Y–You—what do you want to do?"
The student seemed startled too.
"I—I saw something dirty on your turban. I wanted to help you take it off..."
"Oh, th–thank you...."
Professor Quirrell managed a strained smile.
"Next time there's no need to trouble yourselves. I'll do it myself!"
After this string of mishaps, Professor Quirrell's poor heart was about ready to shatter from fright, thumping wildly.
He didn't dare leave the dais again.
No matter what the students below were doing, he stayed rooted, head down, staring at his book and chanting from it.
Under such a dull teaching method, Duncan soon grew drowsy and couldn't help drifting into sleep.
When the bell rang, Professor Quirrell swallowed the half-finished words back into his mouth, snapped the book shut, and bolted from the classroom.
He couldn't bear to stay one more second in this trouble-ridden place; he only wanted to hurry back to the safety of his office.
If he could choose, he'd never come out again in his life.
"Duncan, wake up, class is over!"
Neville shook Duncan's shoulder and called out.
"Mm?"
Duncan opened his eyes in a haze and looked at the empty classroom.
"Everyone's gone already—so fast?"
"Professor Quirrell vanished the moment class ended, and the other students couldn't stand the smell either, so they all ran," Hannah explained.
"Right. Let's go too. We'll go to the Great Hall and take in the aroma of delicious food to soothe my tormented nose."
Duncan nodded with a smile, left the classroom with Neville and the others, and strode toward the hall.
What Duncan hadn't expected was that there was a hidden perk to attending Professor Quirrell's class.
After spending so long in the same room with him, they had already picked up that strong garlicky smell.
Students along the way clapped hands over their noses and dodged aside when they ran into them, actually opening a path for them through the crowded corridor.
Seeing this, Duncan decisively gave up using magic to dispel the smell on himself and, pressing his advantage, marched on with big strides.
Neville, Hannah, and Ellie had slightly less mental fortitude.
Following behind Duncan, feeling the strange looks from others, they kept their heads down, not daring to lift them, wishing they could find a crack in the ground to crawl into.
"Duncan!"
As they neared the Great Hall, they ran into Fred and George.
The two lunged up to Duncan, ready to sling their arms over his shoulders, and suddenly their faces changed.
"Merlin's beard—what's that smell on you lot? It's revolting!"
"Professor Quirrell's gift!"
Duncan said proudly.
"If not for this bouquet, we'd still be jostling with everyone in the corridor. No way we'd have reached the Great Hall this fast!"
Fred and George looked at the students automatically giving Duncan's group a wide berth, eyes lighting up.
"Not bad, Duncan. Say, after lessons we could just drop a Dungbomb on ourselves. Would they give way too? Wouldn't dare block us?"
"Not bad, not bad. You've improved—learning fast!"
Duncan praised them, then turned the topic.
"But if you're going to use it, could you tell me in advance?"
"Why? You think it's a good idea and want to join us?" Fred asked.
"No!"
Duncan shook his head flatly.
"I just find it disgusting and want to stay far away from you when you do."
Fred and George's brows shot up.
They wanted to challenge Duncan to a duel, but after catching another whiff of him, they gave up.
"By the way, have you two seen Harry Potter?"
Duncan swished his wand and removed the stench from them.
Hannah and Ellie looked at Duncan with aggrieved expressions, as if to ask why he hadn't used that sooner.
"Do you need him for something?" George asked curiously.
Duncan nodded.
"Mm. I want to ask him a few questions."
"We bumped into him when we left the dormitory this afternoon. He and Ron had just finished a lesson and gone back," Fred said.
"He didn't seem used to lessons yet—looked a bit tired. Probably went back to sleep. Need us to fetch him for you?"
"Forget it. I'll go find him another day," Duncan replied.
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