The thrilling magical duel in Defence Against the Dark Arts spread through Hogwarts as if it had sprouted wings, racing into every corner at an astonishing speed.
Whether in the ancient, shadowy corridors, the bustling common rooms of the four Houses, or the most remote edges of the Forbidden Forest, everyone now knew that the Savior, Harry Potter, had defeated the incompetent Professor Quirrell.
When Dumbledore heard about it, he was in the middle of leafing through a book of magic.
His hand suddenly stilled. A faintly meaningful smile appeared on his face as he slowly set the book aside. Peering over his half-moon spectacles, he looked toward Headmistress Dilys in the portrait who had just brought him the news.
"It seems," he murmured softly, "our young Savior has given us another surprise."
At that moment, the most disliked Headmaster in Hogwarts history, Phineas Black, shrilled,
"This is a complete disaster! A badly brought-up little wizard actually defeating a professor in class—this is trampling on the very order of Hogwarts!"
In Headmistress Dilys' portrait, her once-gentle smiling face grew a shade more serious. Her eyes were full of disapproval as she answered softly but firmly,
"Phineas, that's not fair. Harry has shown both courage and intelligence. In the wizarding world, true strength should never be shackled by status or seniority."
"Quite right!"
Aside from a few Slytherin Headmasters, the other former heads in the portraits all had a good impression of Gryffindor's Savior.
In fact, even some of the Slytherin Headmasters felt the same.
Dumbledore finally gave his verdict. "The potential of the young is limitless. We should be glad to see Harry growing like this. However, with Quirrell injured he'll need at least a month of rest. That leaves the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor… temporarily vacant."
Just then the office door slammed open with a loud bang. Snape strode in, and the face that was usually so gloomy was, for once, actually lit with excitement.
"I've heard Quirrell was actually brought down by Harry and badly injured," he said with a cold, satisfied snort. "Hmph. Quirrell, that fellow—he only ever puts on an act. He was never fit to be Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
"Dumbledore, let me take the position instead. My understanding of the Dark Arts runs deep. I'm completely confident I can teach the students magic that's truly practical and effective."
Just as Percy had said, everyone knew Dark Arts was Snape's greatest interest, and he'd had his eye on Quirrell's job for years.
Now that an opportunity had appeared, he naturally wasn't going to let it slip by.
Dumbledore thought for a moment, then nodded—but didn't agree outright. "You may stand in as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor while Quirrell is recovering. But once he's well again, you will return the post to him."
"But…"
Snape wanted to press the point, but when he saw Dumbledore give the slightest shake of his head, he knew he wasn't going to change the Headmaster's decision.
He drew in a breath and said, displeased, "Dumbledore, you'll regret this."
"Snape, I am the Headmaster," Dumbledore replied, unconcerned. He still had other plans for Quirrell.
Snape gave a cold snort and slammed the door behind him as he left.
He was already considering whether he should simply get rid of Quirrell in private.
The thought of that useless waste holding the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor filled him with a special kind of fury. It was an insult to him.
...
Defeating Quirrell boosted Harry's reputation to a whole new level. Now, wherever he went, he would be mobbed by a crowd of fanatical admirers.
Some of those fans were a bit too enthusiastic—borderline unhinged. The burning look in their eyes and their bold comments made him feel distinctly uncomfortable, and he could only smile wryly.
Time slipped by, and before anyone realised it, night fell.
The castle sank into shadow. Moonlight spilled like water over every corner of Hogwarts.
On this quiet night, another duel—this one hidden from the world—was about to begin: Pansy versus Hermione.
At midnight, in the Trophy Room, the glass display cases reflected the icy moonlight, and the whole room was still and silent.
Harry watched the two young witches in front of him with great interest. Hermione and Pansy stood on opposite sides of the room, the tension between them stretching taut.
At lunch, Pansy had challenged Hermione, demanding that they meet in the Trophy Room at midnight for a secret duel. Now, both sides had arrived.
Besides the two duelists, there was also Harry—the "alternate" main character of the whole drama—Ron, Draco Malfoy, and Draco's two cronies.
Right now, everyone except Harry was buzzing with anticipation, waiting eagerly for the show to begin.
At their age, young wizards loved nothing more than stories of crushes and romance. A "battle for love" like Hermione versus Pansy was the kind of thing they simply couldn't get enough of.
Ron was flushed with excitement. He grabbed Harry's arm and asked, "Harry, who do you think is going to win, Hermione or Pansy?"
Harry narrowed his eyes slightly. Rubbing his chin between thumb and forefinger, he thought for a moment and judged,
"It should be Hermione. She's always studying in the library and practising spells in private. She's at least at a second-year level by now. Pansy probably isn't her match."
Harry hadn't spoken quietly. Everyone in the room heard him.
Hearing Harry's confidence in her, Hermione lifted her chin, her bushy brown curls bouncing slightly as if she already had the victory in her pocket.
Pansy, on the other hand, looked distinctly deflated—but she still forced herself to sound strong. "I'll prove it to Harry. I'm the one who'll win!"
The atmosphere grew more and more intense. Hermione and Pansy stood facing each other, wands in hand, the tips glowing faintly.
Just as the duel was about to start, an uninvited guest suddenly arrived.
A translucent figure drifted straight through the wall without warning—it was Peeves, Hogwarts' most notorious mischief-maker.
His eyes, which were usually darting about aimlessly, lit up like two little lamps at the sight before him. He started bouncing excitedly in the air, letting out a shrill, grating laugh.
"Hee-hee-hee! Look what I've found—a whole bunch of little night-wandering students! Filtch, come quick, students out of bed!"
Peeves' piercing voice carried a long way through the silent castle. Before long, hurried footsteps echoed in the distance—that would be Filch, drawn by Peeves' screeching.
The young wizards immediately descended into chaos. They were so anxious they were practically hopping with frustration. Even Malfoy kept muttering under his breath, "We're done for… we're done for…"
If Filch really caught them, the consequences would be unimaginable.
Malfoy tried threatening Peeves, hoping to shut him up. "You keep your mouth shut, Peeves!"
But Peeves acted as though he hadn't heard a word, completely ignoring Malfoy's warning.
Not only that, he deliberately raised his voice even higher and bellowed, "Come and catch the students! Filch, if you don't hurry up, they're going to get away!"
In no time at all, a familiar, spine-chilling set of footsteps drew closer. A figure that made every young wizard nervous appeared in the doorway.
It was Filch.
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