The Hogwarts Great Hall buzzed with the comfortable sounds of lunchtime conversation as young wizards scattered across the long house tables. Aromatic clouds of fried fish, crispy chips, and perfectly seasoned steak filled the air with savoury promise.
Leo methodically cut into his golden-battered fish, once again internally lamenting Britain's reputation as a culinary wasteland. He missed the diverse, flavourful cuisine from his previous life... the complex spices and varied cooking techniques that had spoilt his palate for simpler fare.
At Grafton Manor, he could request the chef prepare any international dishes he craved, but at Hogwarts... Perhaps the house-elves could learn more sophisticated cooking methods? He'd find an opportunity to suggest menu improvements that might benefit everyone's dining experience.
Chomp Chomp
Leo glanced up toward the aggressive cutting sounds. Harry, seated directly across from him, still wore a distinctly troubled expression while attacking his steak as if it had personally wronged him.
"Snape is definitely targeting me!" Harry declared with righteous indignation. "I clearly stated I didn't know the answers, and Hermione was raising her hand eagerly to respond, but Snape just kept grilling me specifically!"
"What could I possibly have done to offend him so thoroughly?"
Leo observed Harry's frustrated food demolition and suddenly recalled an important detail from their shared history.
"Harry, when Snape was... interrogating you during class, were you looking down the entire time?"
Harry paused mid-chew, those distinctive emerald eyes meeting Leo's curious gaze. After swallowing his beef with visible difficulty, he nodded emphatically.
"Absolutely, Leo! You didn't witness the complete humiliation!" Harry dramatically set down his silverware and removed his glasses, glaring with naked intensity while adopting Snape's characteristically stern expression.
"'Oh, Potter,'" he mimicked in a perfect sardonic drawl, "'tell me, what would you get if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood? Can't answer? Then where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"'
Pfft...
"Cough cough cough..."
Ron, who had been drinking mushroom soup during Harry's spot-on impersonation, nearly expelled the liquid through his nose. Noticing Leo and Hermione seated across from him, Ron quickly covered his mouth, choking and coughing with his cheeks flushing red.
Even Leo couldn't suppress an amused smile at Harry's theatrical performance. The boy possessed genuine comedic talent.
Harry spread his hands helplessly and replaced his glasses with a resigned sigh. "Leo, Snape was standing directly in front of me during his interrogation. If I hadn't looked down, his spittle would have coated my entire face!"
"And at the end, he actually sat right across from me, just staring intensely without blinking. I could practically smell his greasy hair... I seriously considered sending him some quality shampoo!"
Leo regarded Harry with newfound surprise. He hadn't expected this seemingly mild-mannered boy to possess such sharp wit and verbal resilience.
Ron, having finally recovered from his coughing fit, glanced at Harry with gloomy resignation: "Well, you could always send Potter-brand shampoo... your family's signature product. Then when Snape murders you, at least he'll make it quick."
Sensing these two comedians were about to launch into an extended routine, Leo intervened with a strategically unrelated question: "Harry, you wear those glasses due to nearsightedness, correct?"
Harry nodded in confirmation.
Leo continued thoughtfully: "Have you ever considered removing your glasses during certain classes? Particularly during Potions lessons?"
Now not only did Harry appear confused, but Hermione and Ron also studied Leo, looking completely confused, unable to comprehend his reasoning.
"But without my glasses, I really cannot see blackboard text clearly," Harry protested. "Wouldn't that make Snape target me even more aggressively?"
Hearing this predictable objection, Leo couldn't help but think sardonically: You wearing those glasses that perfectly mirror your father's appearance... that's precisely what triggers Snape's hostility.
Leo snapped his fingers with confidence. "Simple solution. There's a potion called Eye-Brightening Draught that temporarily restores perfect vision for two to three hours. This represents the standard first-year Potions curriculum... it shouldn't prove particularly challenging to brew."
Faced with Leo's practical suggestion, Harry scratched his messy hair uncertainly: "I apologise, but I'm absolutely hopeless at potion brewing."
Leo studied him with penetrating intensity: "How long have you been exposed to magical potions? How can you dismiss your potential so easily?" His voice carried gentle but firm conviction. "Don't let Snape put you off learning. Potions are useful magic, whatever you think of the teacher."
Harry nodded with clear confusion. He couldn't quite understand Leo's philosophical meaning but instinctively recognised the wisdom behind those words.
"Additionally, after removing your glasses during Potions class..." Leo's tone grew more strategic. "If Snape keeps targeting you with questions or criticism, just look him straight in the eyes. Even if he makes you cry, keep staring right at him."
Now Harry appeared thoroughly bewildered, while Hermione and Ron exchanged concerned glances between the two boys. They wondered if Leo harboured some hidden grudge against Harry... why offer such seemingly dangerous advice?
This time Ron voiced their collective concern: "Um, Leo, would that approach actually work? Wouldn't it just..."
Leo waved his hand with absolute confidence: "Show him you're serious about learning, even if you're struggling. Eye contact says everything – it tells Snape: 'I might be slow now, but I'm determined to get better!'"
Leo's theoretical framework left the trio completely amazed. Something felt fundamentally wrong about this advice, yet they couldn't identify specific flaws in his logic.
Noticing he'd consumed sufficient lunch, Leo gathered his textbooks and prepared to depart. "Is your first afternoon class also Defence Against the Dark Arts?"
All three nodded enthusiastically, their faces brightening with evident anticipation.
Defence Against the Dark Arts represented something fundamentally different from the practical, daily-life magic taught in Charms class. This subject focused specifically on magical combat techniques and protective spells.
Harry appeared the most excited of all. The morning's disastrous Potions experience had thoroughly demoralised him, and he couldn't wait to experience truly exciting magic!
Observing their eager longing for this particular class, Leo's expression shifted to something resembling pity as he shook his head with knowing resignation.
"Come on then. Time for class."
Twenty minutes later, Leo followed his friends through the castle corridors toward their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Harry's excitement was infectious – he practically bounced on his toes as they climbed the stone steps, chattering about finally learning "real" combat magic.
"This has to be better than Potions," Harry declared confidently. "What could possibly go wrong with Defence class?"
Leo exchanged a knowing look with the ceiling. If only Harry knew what awaited them.
Inside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, students had already gathered with building excitement as the class bell echoed through the stone corridors. The much-anticipated Defence professor, Professor Quirrell, with his distinctive turban-wrapped head, arrived several minutes late.
However, the moment Quirrell crossed the threshold into the classroom proper, an assault on the senses accompanied his entrance. The overwhelming stench of garlic hit like a physical wall, so pungent and aggressive that several students in the front rows visibly recoiled.
Lavender Brown made a small gagging sound, while Seamus Finnigan pressed his sleeve against his nose in visible desperation. The smell seemed to permeate every corner of the stone dungeon, mixing unpleasantly with the usual musty dampness of the underground classroom.
Leo discreetly tapped his wand beneath his desk, murmuring a subtle Fresh-Air Charm that created a blessed bubble of clean air around his face. Even with the magical filter, he could still detect the aggressive garlic undertones that seemed to cling to everything Professor Quirrell touched.
"H-hello everyone, I am Q-Quirinus Q-Quirrell," the professor began, struggling with each word. "Your Defence Against the D-Dark Arts instructor."
Hearing Professor Quirrell's severe stuttering throughout his basic introduction, students exchanged bewildered glances while whispered conversations filled the classroom atmosphere.
"Q-quiet please, no unnecessary t-talking."
Ron couldn't resist leaning toward Leo and the others with hushed commentary: "Is this really our Defence professor? Someone who stutters this severely got hired? Could he possibly be a temporary substitute?"
Hermione responded, sounding unsure: "Perhaps... perhaps this instructor possesses exceptional theoretical knowledge despite his speech difficulties?"
Even Hermione didn't sound remotely confident making such charitable assessments.
"G-good, let's begin with ch-chapter one of your assigned t-textbooks..."
Leo endured the next hour as Quirrell launched into extensive lectures about the theoretical significance of Defence Against the Dark Arts, followed by detailed analysis of current defensive magic trends, then comprehensive discussion of developmental status, finally extending into lengthy speculation about future magical expectations...
Leo squinted as if experiencing vivid hallucinations. Wasn't this identical to that incompetent professor from his university days before transmigration? Decent academic credentials but absolutely terrible teaching abilities?
Where had Hogwarts possibly found this man? Was this still supposed to be the legendary school of witchcraft and wizardry?