Sullivan was pissed. He'd given the gift, done everything they'd asked, put in all this effort—why couldn't they just give him a little recognition to complete the task?
Ravenclaw had Potions first thing in the morning, so Sullivan figured he'd give it one more shot.
But Snape didn't even glance at him the whole class, completely ignoring him. After the bell, Sullivan cornered the old bat. With friends like this, he could skip the polite stuff.
"Snape, I brewed that Cure for Boils potion perfectly. Don't you think you owe me some props?"
"Props? You mean for that sloppy stirring or the chaotic magic swirl?"
"I didn't call you out in class—that's the biggest props you're getting. Go tinker with your alchemy and quit wasting time on Potions!"
Snape fired back just as brutally, tearing Sullivan's performance to shreds.
Two failures in a row? Sullivan was fuming. Next up was Defense Against the Dark Arts with Quirrell for the Ravenclaws.
He'd been ready to skip it. He didn't know Quirrell, hadn't sent any gifts—fat chance of recognition there.
But weirdly, Quirrell sought him out: "P-Professor Sullivan , I h-heard you sat in on Professor McGonagall's and Professor Snape's classes this m-morning. Got time to g-guide my lesson this afternoon?"
Sullivan glanced at his LV3 Defense Against the Dark Arts skill and waved it off. "My DADA's pretty lousy. Can't help you there."
"N-no problem, Professor Sullivan . This is my f-first time teaching DADA too. Just come listen—m-maybe you'll have some tips I haven't thought of." Quirrell stammered through the invite.
No choice—Sullivan followed him into the classroom.
After the morning drama, the students barely batted an eye at Sullivan showing up. They were pumped for some Dark Arts know-how.
But Quirrell's lesson? Total snoozefest. Tiny voice, constant stuttering, and he was just reading straight from the book. No real teaching.
Soon, the young witches and wizards were half-asleep, propping their heads on their arms to avoid face-planting on desks. Some started goofing off underneath, and Quirrell didn't notice a thing, lost in his book.
Sullivan knew it was probably Voldemort on the back of his head messing with his brain, but this was unbearable.
He shot to his feet. "Professor Quirrell, I think Defense Against the Dark Arts should be hands-on. All the theory in the world doesn't beat letting kids cast a few spells—like Expelliarmus."
He'd just meant to vent and bail.
But Quirrell lit up. "Oh, Professor Sullivan , you're r-right! Why don't you d-demonstrate Expelliarmus for the class?"
Wait, what? Climbing right on that ladder, huh? Under the watchful eyes of the first-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Sullivan stepped to the front, wand out.
"The Expelliarmus incantation is: *Expelliarmus!* It knocks the enemy witch or wizard off their feet or sends them flying, making them drop their wand."
"Stress the 'Ex-' when you say it, and add a little wrist flick with some arc. That'll tweak the wand's flight path so you can snag it easier."
He pulled a dummy wizard from his Undetectable Extension Charm bag—a mannequin like you'd see in a Muggle shop window. One of his own inventions, of course.
This dummy wasn't just a target—it could store magic, fire spells back, and even double as a trap. Hide it in a corner, and bam—curses anyone who trips the trigger.
Right now, it was inactive, just standing there with a wand in hand.
Sullivan flicked his wand: "*Expelliarmus!*"
A red bolt blasted from the tip, slamming the dummy. It flew back, crashing into the back wall, wand soaring high—but a bit off-target.
Sullivan sidestepped left, caught it clean. Nailed the demo.
"B-brilliant demonstration! Thank you, Professor Sullivan !" Quirrell started clapping.
The kids snapped out of it, cheering and applauding.
Sullivan's DADA was only LV3, but he had Expelliarmus down pat. The praise felt good.
Then the system pinged: *Congratulations! Your stunning Expelliarmus in Defense Against the Dark Arts earned Quirrell's and the students' approval.*
*Side Quest: DADA Newbie Complete! +1 DADA Skill Point. Keep it up!*
Done? Just like that? Morning with those two: gifts, max effort—one says zero progress, the other calls him trash.
Afternoon DADA: casual suggestion, quick demo, boom—quest cleared. Magical much?
Staring at Quirrell now, Sullivan thought, *Hey, this guy's kinda handsome. Good dude!*
For the rest of class, Sullivan loaned out the dummy. The kids loved blasting it, howling "*Expelliarmus!*" even if half the spells fizzled.
Quirrell taught two sections that day: morning for Gryffindor and Slytherin.
After theirs ended, the Gryffindor lion cubs rushed to the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.
"So? DADA's super boring, right? Just reading the textbook."
But the others were buzzing: "Nah, ours was awesome! We were Expelliarmusing dummy wizards!"
Same class, same teacher—why the difference? Big question marks over the lions' and snakes' heads.
read more inpat***
ilham20