"It's better not to expect too much." Harley shrugged, spreading her hands in mock helplessness. "I heard from some Hufflepuffs that Professor Quirrell's teaching level is only slightly better than Professor Binns."
Harley had long since shed the quiet, reserved image she might have had. Now, she was practically a Hogwarts socialite. She had acquaintances across all four houses and even upper years knew her name.
Everyone groaned in unison. "Only a little better than Professor Binns, the human sleep potion? That's terrifying!"
Ron leaned in conspiratorially. "George and Fred told me that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is cursed."
That got everyone's attention. Even Neville, who had been picking at the hem of his robe, perked up. Jerry nudged Ron eagerly. "Go on, tell us!"
Seeing that he had everyone hooked, Ron grinned with satisfaction. "The professor changes every single year! No one lasts more than one. There's always some accident, and they have to leave. Some don't even make it to the end of the school year. It's like a curse!"
Gasps and murmurs spread through the group. Some students were already placing bets on whether Quirrell would last until next term.
Hermione frowned and turned to Ted. "Is that true? There's nothing about a curse in 'Hogwarts: A History.'"
Ted chuckled. "Just because it's not written in a book doesn't mean it isn't real. And just because something's in a book doesn't make it true. You have to think critically. But yeah, what Ron said is accurate."
It wasn't exactly a well-kept secret. Any upper-year student could confirm it. Defense Against the Dark Arts had become a revolving door of professors. Some left due to bad luck, others due to sheer incompetence, and a few had to be admitted to St. Mungo's. The position had such a bad reputation that even highly qualified witches and wizards avoided applying for it.
Class started soon after. Professor Quirrell shuffled into the room, hunched over with his purple turban wrapped tightly around his head. A strange, musky odor followed him. His eyes darted around the room as if he expected something to jump out at him.
"G-g-good morning, class. I-I am Professor Q-Quirrell, and I w-w-will be teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."
Harley, unable to resist, muttered under her breath, mimicking his stammer, "H-h-hi everyone, I'm Q-q-quirrell."
Several students stifled their laughter.
It wasn't even his first year at Hogwarts—he had previously taught Muggle Studies before taking a year off to 'travel.' Supposedly, he had gone to Albania. And now, here he was, smelling strange and acting like a bundle of nerves.
Of course, Ted knew exactly what had happened in Albania. That was where Quirrell had encountered Voldemort and, whether willingly or not, brought him back to Britain. It was poetic in a way—Voldemort had spent years coveting the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, only to be rejected repeatedly by both Headmasters Dippet and Dumbledore. Now, thanks to Quirrell, he had finally found a way into the classroom.
It was almost funny. Almost.
The first lesson was about dealing with ghouls.
Ted couldn't help but compare the wizarding world's ghouls to the ones he knew from games.
"Can they collect wood? Eat corpses to restore health? Summon minions?"
Of course not. Wizarding ghouls were entirely different creatures. They weren't mindless undead monstrosities but rather magical pests. They tended to take up residence in attics and barns, feeding on insects and small rodents.
In fact, Ron's family had a ghoul living in their attic. It wasn't dangerous—just noisy. It liked banging on pipes at random hours, like some kind of deranged percussionist.
The term 'ghoul' was just another example of how wizarding vocabulary often lumped entirely different creatures under the same name. Over time, those distinctions had been forgotten, leading to plenty of confusion.
Though ghouls could bite, they weren't particularly dangerous. Some wizarding families even believed that having one in the house was a sign of good luck, going so far as to treat them like pets.
Considering how chaotic magical households already were, that tracked.
Defense Against the Dark Arts, despite its name, focused heavily on magical creatures rather than dark magic itself. Their textbook, 'The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection' by Quentin Trimble, reflected that—most of its pages were filled with information on identifying and repelling dangerous magical creatures.
It was a bit like a Muggle law class in that sense. Criminal law didn't teach you how to commit crimes, just as Defense Against the Dark Arts didn't actually teach dark magic. Instead, it taught students how to recognize and counter threats.
At least, that's what it was supposed to do.
If today's class was anything to go by, Quirrell wouldn't be much help in that department. His lecture was disjointed, his voice barely above a whisper, and he kept nervously glancing over his shoulder as if he expected something to attack him mid-lesson.
Harley leaned over to Ted and whispered, "Ten Sickles says he doesn't last past Christmas."
Ted smirked. "You're on."
...
By the time class ended, Professor Quirrell had stuck to his script the entire lesson, barely looking up from his notes. It was as uninspiring as it was predictable.
As soon as the students spilled into the corridors, complaints erupted like fireworks. Most were groaning about how unreliable Quirrell seemed. Defense Against the Dark Arts was already doomed, or as Ron put it, "It's a sinking ship, and we're all on board!"
Neville, however, remained silent. Unlike the others, he actually liked Quirrell. He saw a bit of himself in the nervous professor—timid, unsure, easily overlooked. It wasn't exactly admiration, but there was a quiet understanding between them.
With the excitement of "The Boy Who Lived" dying down, the reality of who Neville was became clearer to the students. He wasn't exceptional. He wasn't powerful. He wasn't even particularly confident. And as the weeks passed, whispers about him became less about awe and more about skepticism—especially fueled by Malfoy, who took every chance to mock him.
Still, Ron, Jerry, and Harley defended Neville whenever they could. Their friendship had formed a solid foundation, even if they, too, had their own doubts.
"Maybe You-Know-Who was just having an off day when he fought Neville?" Ron muttered under his breath one evening.
Harley smirked. "Neville's greatest strength is that he has no real weaknesses. His biggest weakness? He has no real strengths."
Hermione, meanwhile, had been trying to remain optimistic about Quirrell, but after today's class, even she couldn't deny the truth. She sighed, disappointment evident in her expression. "I was really hoping Professor Quirrell would just be nervous on his first day, but… maybe this is just how he teaches."
Ted, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. "This isn't his first time teaching, actually. Before this, he was the Muggle Studies professor. He was in Ravenclaw back in the day and was considered pretty talented."
Hermione perked up. "Then why is he… like this?"
"Rumor has it something happened during his break abroad. He went traveling, apparently to gain experience, but came back… different." Ted paused for effect before adding in a hushed tone, "I heard he ran into vampires or something worse while in Albania. PTSD, maybe."
Hermione frowned, the disappointment on her face deepening. "So Defense Against the Dark Arts is going to be like this all year?" The thought clearly pained her.
Ted shrugged. "Well, only for a year at most."
"Because of the curse?" she guessed immediately.
"Bingo. Every Defense Against the Dark Arts professor gets replaced after one year. You can ask any upper-year student—this position is practically a revolving door. No one lasts."
Neville's eyes widened. "Not even Dumbledore can break it?"
"Doesn't seem like it. If he could, he would've fixed it by now," Ted pointed out. "I mean, think about it. Every year, Hogwarts has to hire a new professor, and somehow they all end up leaving—either by choice or… not." He paused for dramatic effect. "Honestly, at this point, it's like Hogwarts sacrifices a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor every year."
The group went quiet as they all considered the bizarre pattern.
Harley frowned. "That actually makes way too much sense."
And the more they thought about it, the more unsettling it became.
Out of all the professors from the movies in his past life, only Lupin, Moody (the real one), and Snape had survived their year. Everyone else? Gone. Some literally.
Even Voldemort himself hadn't been immune to the curse.
Ted couldn't help but chuckle as he mused. 'Imagine cursing a job so badly that it ends up backfiring on you years later.'
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