"You're supposed to be a wizard. Can't you just solve this with magic?"
Wayne said disdainfully, then cast a Feather-Light Charm on both himself and Cedric.
Cedric immediately felt as light as a feather, his footsteps nearly inaudible. He asked excitedly, "Where did you learn this spell?"
*"Three Hundred Tang Poems"... no, wait — "Thirty Practical Spells." Flourish and Blotts sells it."
"I'm buying a copy as soon as the holidays start."
"..."
The two of them moved swiftly and soon arrived at the Trophy Room.
Sure enough, the twins had been waiting for some time. They were crouched in a corner, holding a map in their hands.
When they saw Wayne and Cedric approaching, George calmly slipped the map into his pocket.
"You're pretty early. But there's been a change of plans — we need to delay a bit."
Cedric frowned, eyeing them warily. "What are you two up to now?"
"This time it's really not our fault," Fred sighed helplessly and explained:
"It's Lee. He was curious what owl treats tasted like, took a couple bites, and has been lying in the hospital wing since morning."
"Madam Pomfrey gave him some medicine, but he's still a little dizzy. We told him to rest for another half hour."
Wayne and Cedric both broke into a cold sweat.
So this is Gryffindor… How are they this fearless?
The most outrageous part? The guy's barely conscious, and he's still planning on sneaking out at night. That kind of spirit was something they could never hope to learn.
"Are you sure he'll recover?" Wayne asked, unwilling to waste the entire night waiting.
"Relax, he's mostly fine now, just a little disoriented," Fred waved his hand dismissively, then asked curiously:
"Wayne, did you really make Professor Quirrell cry?"
At Hogwarts, there were no secrets. After just one afternoon and the next day, the entire school already knew about the "small dispute" between Wayne and Quirrell.
Even Professor Sprout had called Wayne aside at lunch and gave him a gentle reminder.
"I know you're a good kid, Lawrence. Professor Quirrell is just a bit high-strung. He needs some time."
Wayne had no choice but to go along with it.
"What do you mean I made him cry? I just wanted the professor to describe the spell a little better — how was I supposed to know he'd completely break down?"
"Be nicer to our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Fred said, patting Wayne on the shoulder. "You'll only have him for this one year anyway."
"Maybe he's just still shaken from dealing with vampires," Cedric said honestly, defending Quirrell. "He met one in Romania over the summer. Sounded like it really scared him."
"Whatever the reason, Quirrell won't be here after this term anyway," George shrugged.
"Actually, no one's ever held that position for more than a year."
Wayne's interest was piqued. "Can you tell me about the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professors?"
He knew the position was cursed by Voldemort and was familiar with what happened to the professors after this year. But he was genuinely curious about why the earlier ones had left.
Since Lee Jordan hadn't arrived yet and there wasn't much else to do, the twins took turns recounting the miserable fates of the two professors who had the post before.
"When we first enrolled, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was named Olivier Knight. He looked like a pretty decent old fellow."
"But after Easter, the Hit Wizards from the Ministry of Magic suddenly arrived at Hogwarts with a warrant."
"Professor Olivier had one terrible habit—he was an alcoholic. That time, he drank a bit too much and ended up seriously injuring the Minister for Magic."
"Because of that, Millicent Bagnold couldn't continue her term due to health reasons, and that's how the current Minister rose to power."
Cedric nodded in agreement. "My dad said the same thing. He also said Bagnold still curses Professor Olivier at home every day."
Wayne was dumbfounded. This was some truly outrageous butterfly effect.
A professor had actually beaten the Minister of Magic into early retirement.
If Voldemort found out, he might just laugh himself to death.
"What about last year's professor?" Wayne asked again.
At that, the twins and Cedric all pulled strange faces, as if it was something difficult to talk about.
"Last year's Montler Clifft… was a friend of Headmaster Dumbledore," Cedric said slowly.
"What did he do?"
"No, he didn't attack the Minister, and he wasn't a Dark wizard…" George shook his head, trying hard not to laugh—but eventually couldn't help it.
"Clifft suffered from severe mental illness. Just before final exams, he accidentally left his St Mungo's diagnosis letter in the classroom, and Charlie happened to find it."
Cedric added, "The whole school exploded. A mentally ill man had been teaching for a whole year—and no one even noticed."
"Even the doctors at St Mungo's went crazy. They searched all over Britain, even went to neighboring France looking for him, and it never crossed their minds he might be at Hogwarts."
At that point, he couldn't help but laugh too.
Wayne could already imagine how chaotic the scene must've been.
"Then why would Dumbledore agree to let him teach?" Wayne asked in confusion.
"Who knows?" George said casually. "Maybe no one else was willing to apply for the job anymore. Even a madman was better than canceling the course altogether."
"Anyway, those two professors were way better than Quirrell. At least they actually taught us something useful."
"Even if Clifft was mentally unstable, he hadn't forgotten how to cast spells."
"No idea what Quirrell was thinking—his Muggle Studies class was doing just fine, why did he have to go seek death?"
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was like a yearly curse—that was a consensus among everyone. None of them believed that Quirrell, who had been teaching for several years, didn't know that.
It could only be chalked up to superstition.
BANG!
A loud noise echoed from upstairs, and the group immediately perked up.
Fred jumped up at once. "That's definitely Lee. He's distracting Filch!"
Sure enough, Filch's furious voice soon rang out:
"Dungbombs again! I'll lock you up in detention! A whole year of detention!"
The voice grew more and more distant—it was clear Filch had headed upstairs.
"Let's move! Who knows how long Lee can keep this up. Watch out for Filch's cat!"
They pushed open the door to the Trophy Room. The twins ran out first, with Wayne and Cedric right behind them.