Chapter 68: Professor Quirrell

Since that day of debate, Professor Quirrell’s gaze at Allen during class had changed.

Allen even began to regret speaking so much to Quirrell that day, fearing he might expose his identity as a transmigrator. But then he thought: the theories and strategies he’d mentioned already existed in the Muggle world—they’d merely peak thirty years from now.

Besides, he’d been just talking nonsense back then; Quirrell probably hadn’t taken it seriously.

Time quickly arrived at Saturday night, and Allen once again arrived punctually at Quirrell’s office door.

Just as he was about to knock, the door opened on its own, leaving Allen momentarily stunned.

“Allen, come in quickly! It’s still cold outside! Don’t catch a cold!” Quirrell’s voice came from inside, surprisingly warm.

Allen was baffled by Quirrell’s attitude—previously, every time he came for tutoring, he had to wait ages after knocking before Quirrell opened the door, making Allen suspect the bachelor professor had been doing something private and was hastily cleaning up after hearing the knock.

But Allen had never found suspicious tissues in Quirrell’s office, so the thought faded away.

Still, this was the first time Quirrell had opened the door so early—and now he was actually concerned about Allen’s health? That was unprecedented! Allen thought to himself.

Quirrell’s unusual behavior left Allen confused; he couldn’t figure out what was going on, so he decided to play it by ear.

Allen stepped cautiously into the office and found Quirrell sitting behind his desk, smiling warmly at him.

“Sit down quickly! Would you like something warm to drink?” Quirrell said cheerfully.

Allen felt strangely alienated by Quirrell today—he couldn’t speak for a moment.

Quirrell paid no mind to Allen’s silence and patiently asked: “I have hot chocolate, hot milk, and tea leaves from the East—which would you like?”

Allen snapped out of it and hurriedly replied: “No, Professor, I’m not cold! No trouble needed!”

Quirrell ignored his refusal and made the decision for him: “Then tea it is. I acquired some leaves during my travels—said to come from faraway the East. Let’s drink them today!”

He waved his wand and soon, a steaming cup of tea floated gently to Allen’s side.

Allen took a careful sip—it was a familiar taste: Tieguanyin. He hadn’t drunk tea in ages, so he took several more sips.

Quirrell watched Allen’s tea-drinking motions and asked casually: “Given your eye and hair color, are you of Chinese descent?”

Allen stared at Quirrell in surprise—ordinary wizards couldn’t distinguish Muggle-wizard ethnicities, yet Quirrell had asked such a question. It was unexpected.

Quirrell noticed Allen’s expression and raised his cup: “I see you enjoy tea. I heard people from the East love tea, so I assumed you were Chinese.”

Allen quickly raised his own cup and answered: “Maybe I am. I’m an orphan—I don’t know who my parents were. Now that you mention it, I think I probably am Chinese...”

He took a few more sips and raised his cup again: “This tea is delicious!”

“You’re an orphan?” Quirrell said, surprised. “I thought you came from a Muggle political family—you knew so much about politics.”

He’s finally asking about my origins. Quirrell really is starting to suspect me, Allen thought silently.

But Allen’s expression remained perfectly calm.

“My political knowledge is common in the Muggle world—Muggle newspapers report on it daily.”

Allen quickly explained.

Quirrell didn’t contradict him—he merely smiled faintly at Allen.

Allen’s skin prickled under that smile; he quickly lifted his cup and drank more to mask his unease.

But Quirrell showed no intention of pressing further. Instead, he walked over to Allen’s side and said: “Let’s stop playing games. Given our relationship, some things don’t need hiding. I’ll cut to the chase—I’ll speak plainly.”

Allen was genuinely taken aback by Quirrell’s openness and quickly replied: “Professor, please go ahead—”

“You know I only began teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. Before that, I taught Muggle Studies.”

“And privately, I’ve been writing a book on Muggle politics. Your conversation last week deeply inspired me and gave me many new ideas.”

“So I’d like to invite you to co-author this book with me. When it’s published, your name will appear as co-author—what do you say?”

Quirrell’s words made Allen pause: No wonder Quirrell reacted so strongly after hearing him—he had this motive! The wizarding world really is isolated. I just talked nonsense, and now it’s treated as gospel. Still, publishing a book? That’s worth considering—but my name on it won’t help me at all!

The more Allen thought about it, the more pleased he became—and he made his decision.

“Professor, publishing a book is a great thing—I’ve seen how expensive books are in Diagon Alley,” Allen hinted subtly.

Quirrell immediately caught the implication and said cheerfully: “Of course! I’ll not only list you as co-author—I’ll give you thirty percent of the royalties as thanks.”

Hearing this, Allen perked up instantly.

“How much is thirty percent?” Allen asked eagerly.

“My last book earned me five hundred Galleons. With your contribution, this one should at least double that,” Quirrell said calmly.

“Three hundred Galleons?” The number surprised Allen. “Is writing that profitable?”

“We’re writing a book that will spread far and wide—of course it’s profitable,” Quirrell said, sensing Allen’s interest and pressing further.

But Allen suddenly changed his mind. He gritted his teeth and said: “What if I don’t want my name on it? Could you give me fifty percent of the royalties instead?”

“No! How could you not be credited? That would be an insult to your contribution of knowledge,” Quirrell replied, feigning reluctance while secretly rejoicing inside.

Allen, however, assumed Quirrell feared leaving evidence and pressed on: “Professor, don’t worry—I’ll write the book for you, and you’ll be the sole author. We’ve got an Unbreakable Vow—there’s no risk of anything leaking.”

Now it was Allen who was tempting Quirrell.

Quirrell put on an act of inner turmoil, hesitating for a long moment before finally saying:

“Deal!”