Chapter 32: The Timid Quirrell

Whether it was because they shared the experience of having points deducted, after Halloween the time Harry, Hermione, and Ron spent together began to increase rapidly.

Although Ron and Hermione still had the occasional small friction between them, so their relationship couldn't quite be called inseparable, it was pretty close.

At least in class after Halloween, the three of them always sat together.

The beginnings of a trio were taking shape.

Silven also found it quite magical... he didn't know if it counted as the guidance of fate, but although the process had deviated a little, Harry had still found his external brain in the end.

And what happened that day in the fourth-floor room... Silven had thought the school would at least make a token investigation, but it turned out there was nothing at all.

The professors seemed to have agreed on it beforehand, all keeping their mouths tightly shut about anything regarding the three-headed dog, or the troll, and even if a student took the initiative to ask, the only answer they'd get was one of Peeves's pranks.

The whole thing was as if it had never happened.

Oh, except for Quirrell, who had taken leave, hadn't come to class for several days, with Snape substituting the whole time, according to his way of putting it:

"Your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor has been frightened by a prank and needs rest." His tone was full of disdain and contempt for Quirrell.

He looked to be in a good mood, and would occasionally crack a little joke about Quirrell during class.

But correspondingly, Harry wasn't very happy.

Snape's dislike of Harry didn't seem to change because of the different class, and even seemed to be intensifying a bit; if Defense Against the Dark Arts needed a student lab assistant, then that person would be Harry, one hundred percent.

If the textbook content really didn't require it, Snape would even create the conditions himself.

The first thing Harry did every day when he opened his eyes now was check the class schedule; if he saw Defense Against the Dark Arts or Potions, he would always curse Snape for five minutes, and then be listless the whole day.

In a certain sense, Harry was probably the only person in the whole school hoping Quirrell would get better soon.

After all, although Snape targeted Harry, his classes really were much more interesting than Quirrell's, and most people liked them quite a bit.

Harry's prayers seemed to have worked.

The second week, Quirrell reappeared in Hogwarts castle.

Except he looked even stranger than before — the most obvious sign being the strange smell on him.

Before it had been the smell of garlic; now there was also an added whiff of rotten onion.

"This is knowledge I learned from a tribe of wizards," he explained in one Defense Against the Dark Arts class. "This kind of smell can drive away multi-headed magical creatures."

Silven had reason to suspect that the "multi-headed magical creatures" Quirrell referred to was the three-headed dog Fluffy.

Harry had told him about what happened that day; the specific circumstances were unclear, but the parts concerning Quirrell were crystal clear.

Simply put, he had been scared to the point of vomiting, and threw up all the way from the fourth floor to the school hospital.

In a certain sense, being able to vomit for that long could also be considered a remarkable talent.

Only Quirrell himself wouldn't admit it; he hemmed and hawed for a couple of sentences and that was that. When Ron impatiently asked him what exactly had happened that day, Quirrell's face went bright red, he mumbled incoherently, and then came the sort of things no one could understand — something about "the care and prevention of magical creatures," something about "guarding against even colleagues," and the like.

He also brought up the weather and the onions in the school kitchens, which made everyone burst into laughter, and the classroom was filled with a joyful atmosphere.

Unfortunately, this couldn't change the fact that Defense Against the Dark Arts had become boring again.

In this atmosphere, Hogwarts also entered November.

The weather was getting colder and colder, and most people had switched to thicker robes and cloaks.

These past few days Harry had become especially busy, because the Quidditch season had started, and team members had to do three special training sessions a week, each more than two hours long.

As a complete novice, Harry's training volume was even greater; he went out early and came back late every day.

Fortunately, first-year courses were few, so in the gaps between wholeheartedly preparing for the match, Harry could also finish his homework — of course, on the premise that Hermione was willing to help him.

Harry was now immensely grateful to have a friend like Hermione; tempted by homework, he didn't hesitate at all to abandon Ron and choose to stand with Hermione.

This left Ron sulking for quite a while, until one day Harry sneakily placed the homework Hermione had helped revise in front of Ron.

After that Ron gave up struggling, throwing his hands up as clean as could be.

Hermione's personality was very annoying, but if she was willing to help deal with these troublesome assignments, then she was the most popular witch in all of Hogwarts, bar none.

Silven didn't join up with the already-formed trio; these past few days, through the school's owls and his own channels, he had purchased a batch of wand materials.

Originally he had wanted to ask his grandfather Ollivander for help — not only would it be convenient, it would also save quite a bit of money — but the owls couldn't find him.

The owl he had hired for three nuts flew around once, then brought the letter back completely unopened; it hadn't found Ollivander.

Silven wasn't too surprised by this result.

In fact, ever since that night when Silven had sent the Red Cap Nerve Wand off by express, his grandfather seemed to have become a bit abnormal — for example, he had sent back three blank parchments in a row.

From Wednesday to Friday, one reply every morning, but not a single word on any of them.

Not the kind of letter written in special ink — just blank parchment.

Later on he simply vanished, no one knew where he'd gone off to be reclusive, and even the owls couldn't find him.

With no choice, Silven could only grit his teeth and spend his own money to buy things.

Fortunately, the things he wanted weren't expensive, and the deposit from Malfoy had been a great help.

Incidentally, Malfoy still hadn't come looking for him, as if he had completely forgotten about it.

After that came a long wait.

It wasn't until a few days later at noon that Silven finally received the parcel he had been longing for.

At that moment he was chatting with Hagrid by the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

These past few days Hagrid had collected quite a few good things — five unicorn tail hairs, a handful of centaur tail hairs, a small bundle of hippogriff feathers, three two-foot-long spider legs...

Looking at so many good things, Silven suddenly felt a bit guilty, and couldn't help but reflect on whether his behavior that day of using his wand to blow up Fluffy's mouth had been a bit excessive.

Then a parcel slammed into him.

A dusty gray owl dropped a brown-paper package and flew off without looking back — its service attitude was atrocious.

But Silven just rubbed his struck shoulder, not minding in the slightest.

The lot in Knockturn Alley delivering the goods after taking the money was already hard to come by; who would care about service attitude?

"Such a big parcel — what did you buy?" Hagrid asked casually.

"Dog Shutup Stick..." Silven blurted out.

"What?"

"Ah, it's nothing." Silven hurriedly waved his hand. "I need to head back first. I'll come visit again on the weekend."

(End of chapter)