Wednesday was the perfect day for the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
Albert arrived at the classroom eager to get a close look at the mysterious professor behind the scenes in the first Harry Potter story. Ah no, it was Quirrell—the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
To be honest, sitting in that class with Voldemort lurking behind Quirrell's head—the very presence responsible for my mother's death—made me want to attack him on the spot for revenge. Even though I only lived with my mother for a day, seeing her sacrifice herself for her son stirred a deep guilt in me, and I felt I must seek justice.
Yet, despite Voldemort's presence behind Quirrell's head, his power was waning. Still, we must never underestimate him. In the original story, Harry nearly died in the first book because of Quirrell's fragile body, which caused Harry's forehead wound to trigger and ultimately destroyed both Quirrell and Voldemort.
The position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts had a notorious reputation. It was said that no one ever lasted more than a year in the job before something happened—either they died or resigned.
Having watched the series, I knew why: Voldemort, while still a student at Hogwarts, had cursed that very teaching position with a dark spell, ensuring that any professor who took the role wouldn't last a full year without facing death's shadow.
Despite everyone knowing this, job applications for the position kept pouring in.
That's why British wizards weren't lacking in courage—and, importantly, the skill level of those professors was never low. Even Professor Lockhart, known as a fool and a lunatic, could gather information from experienced wizards and cast a flawless Obliviate without fail.
As for Umbridge—well, let's not even talk about her political cunning in pushing Dumbledore aside.
Just look at her quill, and you'll see the dark magic proficiency she holds.
Among the remaining professors was Remus Lupin, who had lived many years as a werewolf but was never killed by an opposing werewolf; Professor Snape, the greatest double agent; Little Crouch, who managed to stay right under Dumbledore's nose for a year; even the Death Eater Amicus Carrow, carefully chosen by Voldemort in the seventh year. They were the cream of the crop.
Yet Voldemort's curse was so powerful then that in the end, only the mad Lockhart and Umbridge survived—turning the prison into their home.
That year's professor, Quirrell, was always known as an outstanding student. No one suspected he was harboring Voldemort beneath his cloak, wrapped around his head—not even Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of the era. Quirrell was known for his gentle nature and for not making enemies during his seven years at Hogwarts. Voldemort chose him because he knew no one would suspect Quirrell.
The classroom where he taught was filled with the smell of garlic. Besides teaching, he boasted some inexplicable adventures.
Albert guessed Quirrell was trying to hide from Dumbledore.
But honestly, it's easier for people to spot distortions when situations change dramatically from normal times.
Sometimes, when two incompatible minds coexist, the combined intellect isn't as sharp as a single brain.
After nearly a week of classes, Friday came—the day Gryffindor students dreaded most: Potions class.
Potions took place in a chilly underground classroom. Glass jars containing animal specimens lined the walls, making it look like a legendary dark wizard's lair.
The moment Albert entered, he felt Snape's intense hostility, as if the professor silently told him to get lost. Albert knew this resentment stemmed from his father, Sirius Black, who used to bully Snape alongside James Potter during their school days.
So whenever Snape saw Harry or Albert, he longed to torment them just as their fathers once did.
At the end of class, Snape unfairly docked points from both Harry and Albert, accusing them of "breathing too forcefully through their noses"—an excuse that left everyone baffled.
Snape then split the class into pairs, instructing them to brew a simple potion to cure scabies.
Albert teamed up with Ron, thanks to the alphabetical order of their last names.
Luckily, Ron knew a bit about potions, making the brewing easier, and Albert carefully followed the book's instructions to weigh dried nettle and crush snake fangs.
Snape prowled the classroom, inspecting the students' work. When Albert and Ron heated their potion using probes, Snape scolded them for insufficient heat.
Just as Albert heard Snape praise Malfoy for perfectly cooking his potion, he craned his neck to imitate Malfoy's technique. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ron adding porcupine quills to their cauldron.
Albert was shocked, grabbing Ron's arm. Ron looked at him puzzled.
Albert whispered, "Doesn't the board say porcupine quills can only be added after removing the cauldron from the heat?"
Ron's mouth opened slightly in surprise, apparently forgetting the rule.
Snape silently approached from behind, then circled Harry and Neville at the neighboring table.
"Potter, why didn't you stop him from adding the quills? Do you think you were out of control? Own your mistake. Gryffindor just lost more points because of you." It was clear Snape's grudge against James Potter was deeply personal.
Although my father also bullied Snape, he never yelled at me because I performed well enough not to give him an excuse.
After an hour, class ended and everyone submitted their potions. Albert saw Snape had marked his label "Acceptable."
Exiting the classroom, Neville thanked Harry profusely. It was one of the rare times he managed to brew a decent potion without blowing up the cauldron or getting injured. Harry thought Neville's attempt wasn't that bad, but Snape's pressure weighed heavily on everyone.
Even adults shiver when Snape passes by—let alone Neville, who usually lacked courage.
At that moment, Harry and Neville approached from behind. Neville stepped forward and said, "Sorry, you're going to lose points this time." Harry smiled but said nothing. Ron waved his hand and said, "It's okay. We've known for a long time Snape isn't exactly rational."
Potions were always on Friday, so after class, the first week of school was over. There were no afternoon lessons.
After lunch, Albert gathered his school supplies and headed to the library to prepare for the weekend's homework. Ultimately, it was easier to finish assignments ahead of time and enjoy the free time rather than rush at the last moment.
Hermione was already there when Albert arrived. He greeted her and sat on the edge of a table to start his homework.
To be honest, Albert was a diligent student in his previous life. He'd always supported the idea that good grades were enough.
This reminded him of middle school exam prep—memories not particularly pleasant. But whenever he thought about how power reigned supreme in the wizarding world, and knowledge was power, Albert felt less weary from studying.
By dinnertime, both had finished most of their homework and went to the Great Hall to eat, carrying their school bags.
It reminded Albert of elementary school days, carrying his bag home with classmates.
Throughout the weekend, except for a stroll around the lake Saturday morning, Hermione summoned Albert to the library to read at other times.
Originally, Albert didn't want to go, but after observing the common room for a few days, he found wizarding entertainment—chess, cards, and Quidditch—quite dull. Books about the wizarding world were far more interesting.
Besides reading, Albert sat by the fireplace in the common room on holiday evenings, chatting with friends. Sometimes students came for help with homework, and Albert patiently answered their questions.
While helping classmates, Albert finally understood why professors got so angry when grading assignments.
Some students copied large chunks directly from the textbook, with paragraphs before and after not making sense at all. The most extreme cases even took entire sections from Potions homework for their Transfiguration assignments because their word counts were too low.
Not to mention the many grammatical and spelling mistakes that even Albert hadn't made in his previous life.
All he could say was Hogwarts teachers must have incredibly good tempers—if he were the teacher, he'd punish these students severely.
But seeing the pleading eyes of classmates, like little kittens, Albert could only sigh silently. Gradually, he inspired them to write their homework and taught them how to properly compose papers.
On Sunday night, however, Albert firmly refused individual requests to copy homework.
Days passed in this routine, and Albert gradually earned a reputation as a principled and good student among Gryffindor classmates. Of course, Hermione was also known as the hardworking but somewhat solitary student.
Albert had hinted to Hermione about this a few times, but unfortunately, she still chose her own path.
Finally, more than a month into the term, a notice appeared in the Gryffindor common room announcing that Flying lessons would start Thursday, where Gryffindor and Slytherin students would share classes.
Aside from feeling a bit annoyed about being paired with Slytherin, the rest of the news was exciting.
Within days of the notice, every wizarding family buzzed about Quidditch—except Neville Longbottom. Albert heard many stories but couldn't quite grasp the appeal of the game.
Still, Albert learned from classmates' chatter that every few years, one or two young wizards would apply for exemptions due to an unbearable fear of heights, often labeled cowards and socially dead after accidents caused by the sport.
He silently prayed not to become one of those u
nlucky souls.
Amid the heated discussions, Thursday arrived. At breakfast, Hermione kept reading from a library book titled