At the start of the third week, a notice was posted in the common room that they had added a new course—Flying lessons—which would begin on Thursdays, alongside Gryffindor.
Draco knew he had never handled a broomstick before, so he deliberately asked, "Ethan, why don't you seem happy?"
He finally has a subject where he can far surpass his roommate, whom he has always considered very strong.
Ethan Jones was really not in a good mood: "What's so exciting about it? It's just flying on a broomstick, not flying yourself."
Although he can't actually ride a flying broom, his dream isn't to fly using external objects.
Draco was taken aback, and finally said in a barely audible voice, "Tch, that sounds nice, but isn't it just because you're afraid you can't fly well? That's why you're making up this excuse. In the entire wizarding world, who can fly?"
Ethan Jones didn't want to stoop to his level. He knew that some people could actually fly—Voldemort, the incredibly powerful Dark Lord. Whether he created it himself or learned it from ancient books, he was definitely a wizard who could fly.
"I wonder when I'll be able to learn the Flight spell." He didn't expect to be taught this magic by Voldemort, nor did he want to have anything to do with the psychopathic bald man.
Flying lessons are something to consider on Thursday; what he needs to do now is to finish his other classes step by step.
On Tuesday, during Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Quirrell, still wearing his turban, stammered through the garlic-smelling classroom, delivering a lecture that no one was listening to.
Ethan Jones learned his lesson after the first time and sat in the last row, away from the podium, to minimize his exposure to the garlic's biochemical attack.
When Quirrell turned his back to them to write on the blackboard again, Ethan Jones saw something shiny on the back of his head once more.
"Here we go again!" This wasn't the second time. During the first week of class, he thought he might be seeing things, but during the second week, he saw it four or five times in one class. He knew then that he was really seeing a "ghost."
After a while, he got used to it and pretended not to see it. After all, defeating Voldemort wasn't his job, so he figured it was better to avoid trouble and just go to school peacefully.
Seeing the fragments of Voldemort's soul repeatedly was making him feel uneasy. He was already annoyed by Quirrell's mental attacks, and the visual attack of the fragments of Voldemort's soul only made him more frustrated.
Having barely managed to get through the class, he glanced at the textbook, which had only covered less than half a chapter, and speechlessly packed up his things to go eat.
"Jones, just a moment." It was Quirrell.
"Huh?" He stopped packing his things and looked at the professor who was walking towards him with a puzzled expression.
Draco and his friends quickly fled the classroom, giving him a gloating look before they left.
Ethan Jones glared at the group before turning to Quirrell, taking a breath and asking, "What does the professor want with me?"
"This, it's not convenient to talk about it here, let's go, let's go upstairs." Quirrell was still stammering.
Ethan Jones did not want to get close to Voldemort's vessel, especially not to be alone with him in his office.
He tried his best to decline, saying, "I'm in a hurry to eat, Professor. Why don't we just talk here? There's no one else here."
"Upstairs." Quirrell said firmly.
Ethan Jones, enduring the onslaught of garlic, thought:
"Voldemort's goal is the Philosopher's Stone. He shouldn't do anything else until he achieves his goal. I should be safe for now."
"But what if he casts the Imperius Curse? Can I withstand it?" He pondered all the possible scenarios.
Quirrell urged, "Jones, you, you're hesitating, what?"
"It's nothing, Professor. I was just worried my friend would be angry; she's waiting for me to eat." He made up a lie casually.
However, under Quirrell's watchful eye, he finally decided to go anyway.
"It shouldn't be a big problem. It wouldn't do me any good to cast the Imperius Curse on me. I'm not Harry Potter."
He comforted himself with this thought, and followed Quirrell upstairs with a nervous heart.
Surprisingly, the smell of garlic in Quirrell's office upstairs was very faint; he judged that it was probably just the smell of Quirrell's turban.
After returning to his office, Quirrell seemed like a completely different person, immediately relaxing.
He sat down in the chair and let out a long sigh: "That feels good."
Just as he was about to take off the turban, he suddenly caught sight of Ethan Jones out of the corner of his eye, whom he had just forgotten about. He paused, then quickly wrapped the turban tightly around himself.
He quickly stood up and said, "Sit down, sit down, Mr. Jones."
Ethan Jones shook his head: "I won't sit down yet, Professor. Please speak quickly, I'm afraid there won't be any food left if I go back late."
Quirrell didn't listen to what he was saying at all and forced him into the chair: "I'll go get you something to eat."
Ethan Jones's muscles stiffened; he had almost made a move.
"Professor, you don't stutter anymore?" he kindly pointed out Quirrell's act of revealing his identity.
He quickly picked up his disguise: "Oh, I, I, sometimes, I'm a little better."
Quirrell brought over a small plate of cookies, but Ethan Jones didn't dare eat a single one, fearing they might be poisoned.
Quirrell picked up a piece, popped it into his mouth and chewed it, along with a sip of hot tea.
"Jones, you are very attentive in class. As the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, I am very pleased." Quirrell dropped the pretense and spoke fluently.
Ethan Jones remained silent, inwardly rolling his eyes: "Which eye of yours is taking me seriously? I was reading an extracurricular book during class!"
"So, I intend to teach you something more advanced and profound." His features furrowed, and he stammered again.
Upon hearing that he intended to teach him something, Ethan Jones's alarm bells went off, and his expression turned serious: "What does the professor intend to teach me?"
"First, some interesting magic." Quirrell said with a mysterious smile.
He took a stack of handwritten magical knowledge from his desk and handed it to Ethan Jones.
He glanced through it and found that it contained some magical theory and some spells, which were probably Dark spells.
He knew perfectly well that this must be Voldemort's doing, and he didn't know how he had caught Voldemort's eye.
He lowered his voice, as if afraid of being overheard: "Professor, this, this is Dark Magic?"
Quirrell's lips curled up: "Not bad. Look, you're very interested in defensive magic, so I'm going to teach you some real Dark Magic so you can understand this knowledge from both positive and negative perspectives."
"Isn't Dark Magic supposed to be evil?"
"Nonsense! This is just magic!" Quirrell exclaimed, somewhat agitated.
Ethan Jones, fearing he might lose control, quickly said, "Yes, yes, Professor, please don't be angry. If there's nothing else, I'll be going now."
"Okay, you, you can go now."
He waved his hand, and Ethan Jones, feeling as if he had been granted a pardon, quickly slipped away.
In the empty office, a deep voice rang out: "Idiot! You almost gave yourself away!"
"Ah! I was wrong, Master, I was wrong!" Quirrell screamed, but the excellent soundproofing blocked his scream.