Chapter 18: Damn it, So Brain Shutdown Isn't Considered Magic After All?

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Professor Quirrell’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class was the most anticipated course among the young wizards—even Harry, who had never previously been exposed to the magical world, found himself filled with unrealistic hopes for the class, influenced by Ron’s constant enthusiasm.

In the Great Hall, during breakfast time.

“Fred and George said this class teaches real combat—” Ron repeated this every five minutes, his eyes shining with excitement, “fighting against Dark Wizards…”

“We won’t be learning how to fight in the very first lesson,” Hermione, sitting opposite the three boys, closed her already-read textbook and lifted her chin to correct them.

“We’ll first study the basics of Dark Magic, how to defend against it, and only then proceed to practical exercises—”

“Yeah, Professor Granger,” Ron pouted, “like you’ve already taken the class…”

“…”

Hermione didn’t continue debating with Ron; she abruptly stood up and left the table without looking back.

“Honestly, I think she likes lecturing a bit too much—” Ron turned to Harry and Colin, complaining.

“Maybe we shouldn’t mock her like that…” Harry said uncertainly.

“Ron, she’s actually right,” Colin finished his last spoonful of porridge and packed his bag. “The first lesson should indeed be theoretical, and…”

Colin glanced toward the empty staff table.

“Don’t forget, our teacher is Professor Quirrell—he stammers even when saying two words in a row, so I seriously doubt the quality of his teaching.”

Colin wasn’t wrong; Quirrell’s class had already become a disastrous joke.

The classroom was filled with the scent of garlic. Some said Quirrell did this to ward off a vampire he’d encountered in Romania—

But Colin knew the strong garlic smell was actually to mask the rotting stench emanating from Quirrell himself.

Because of Voldemort’s possession, Quirrell’s body should have already begun to decay, much like those small animals possessed by Voldemort in the forests of Albania.

The first five minutes of class went relatively smoothly, as Quirrell read mechanically from his notes. But when Seamus impatiently asked how to defeat a revenant, Quirrell panicked.

His face flushed deep red, and he muttered incoherently about the weather.

Since Quirrell had tricked Colin yesterday, today Colin felt Quirrell was deliberately sneaking glances his way, as if waiting for him to approach after class.

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But Colin had no intention of engaging in a second, deeper encounter with Quirrell so soon—Voldemort’s initial possession was only a probe; if they were to truly form an alliance, Voldemort’s temperament would surely compel Quirrell to perform Legilimency on Colin to test his loyalty.

Not knowing if he, as a half-Death Eater, could resist this spell, Colin planned to find time to test himself—or at least learn Occlumency.

After all, Quirrell’s current abilities weren’t very advanced; a little training should suffice to fend it off.

Otherwise, in the original story, he could have Legilimens’ed Harry when Harry stood before the Mirror of Erised, to find out if Harry had obtained the Philosopher’s Stone.

“Colin, you’re right…” After class, Ron seemed to have lost all energy and means, and said listlessly.

“I’ve never been through such a dreadful class,” Harry also complained.

But Harry’s enthusiasm was clearly premature.

For Harry—or most Gryffindor students—the most unbearable class was always Snape’s Potions, followed by Professor Binns’ History of Magic.

The afternoon’s Charms class was much more bearable. Professor Flitwick, though needing to stand on a stack of books to reach the podium, taught at a level far superior to his height.

Even the dullest theory, when paired with Flitwick’s interesting anecdotes and occasional jokes, kept the young wizards happily engaged.

After dinner that evening, Quirrell didn’t come to find Colin as he had the day before—that would have been too suspicious.

But Colin didn’t return to the Gryffindor Tower with Harry and Ron; instead, he headed to the library.

He intended to find books on Occlumency.

“Occlumency?” Madam Pince, the librarian, looked at Colin suspiciously. A first-year wizard who had only attended two days of classes shouldn’t be delving into subjects like Occlumency, which weren’t part of Hogwarts’ curriculum.

“Is this something forbidden to learn?”

Colin looked at Madam Pince pitifully. He felt tears might soon well up—he truly couldn’t find any books on Occlumency, having seemingly searched the entire spell section.

“It’s not that it’s forbidden…” Madam Pince wasn’t fooled by Colin’s feigned sorrow, but Occlumency was indeed not restricted by year.

In fact, Occlumency was very safe, as it was even recorded in—

“The Power of Grief,” the borrowing period is one week at most.” Madam Pince placed a thick, worn book in front of Colin. “Please take care of the book.”

[If you tear, fold, soil, damage, throw, drop, or otherwise mistreat or desecrate this book, I will impose the most terrible consequences within my power.]

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This warning was on the borrowing slip, penned by Madam Pince herself. The sharp words alone conveyed how deeply she despised anyone damaging books.

After receiving the book and the borrowing slip, Colin understood why he couldn’t find the information in the Charms section.

Who would have guessed that The Power of Grief contained the secrets of Occlumency?

This book was even shelved in the Magic Theory section, where most volumes recorded dry structural principles—the foundational theories of magic—rather than evolved branch spells.

The library closed at eight; Colin chose to borrow the book and return to the common room to read it.

He had originally planned to find an empty classroom, but if he ran into Quirrell and the professor saw the book, it might interfere with Colin’s plans.

“Colin, are you crazy?” Ron looked incredulously at Colin, who had just come in clutching another thick book.

“It’s only been two days since school started!”

“I didn’t want to, but you can’t bring game consoles into Hogwarts,” Colin shrugged. “Besides reading, I don’t really have any other entertainment.”

“You could play chess with us, a rapid tournament—or go find Fred and George; they’re figuring out how to give Pygmy Puff haircuts.”

Ron pointed toward the large group gathered by the fireplace.

The Weasley twins each held a pair of scissors, facing a pink Pygmy Puff that had somehow wandered into the Gryffindor Tower.

These creatures, fluffy and round like giant cotton candies, were among the wizards’ favorite pets.

Many loved the adorable Pygmy Puffs—of course, that was assuming they didn’t mind their diet including human boogers.

Normal Pygmy Puffs were gentle, but the one the Weasley twins caught didn’t seem very afraid of people; it was now crawling all over one of the twins’ faces like a facehugger, eliciting gasps from the crowd.

“Better not,” Colin said, goosebumps rising; having a furry ball crawl over his face would surely be itchy.

Colin picked a relatively quiet corner and prepared to delve into the use of Occlumency—after all, when Harry attended one-on-one lessons, Snape only said, “Close your mind.”

Surely a spell couldn’t lack a proper incantation?