Snape stared in bewilderment, unable to pinpoint what had offended Professor McGonagall this time. He had no intention of asking, though. For one, he didn't care much for such petty drama. For another, he rarely crossed paths with her unless forced to. The woman was too principled—untouchable, really. Even someone as standoffish as Snape steered clear.
Time ticked on. Most students from the other houses had already filed out of the Great Hall, leaving only the Slytherin first-years behind. The young witches and wizards exchanged uneasy glances, class time looming. None dared speak up and nudge Erwin.
The professors up on the dais finally pieced it together. So that's why the hall had been so unnaturally quiet today—and why these Slytherins were acting like statues.
Snape glanced at his watch. "Erwin!"
Erwin snapped out of his book-induced trance, turning toward the voice. "What's wrong, Professor?"
"Watch the time! Get your first-year housemates to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom—now."
Only then did Erwin notice the empty hall. "Sorry, Professor! I got a bit absorbed. We'll go right away." He shot a puzzled look at the silent group. Why hadn't anyone reminded him? Mortifying.
"Alright, everyone, let's head to class," Erwin said, rising from his seat. The first-years scrambled to their feet, falling into line. Even Malfoy, seething with resentment, complied. He'd already slipped and called Erwin "Dad" once—a blunder he wouldn't repeat. But his father had strictly ordered him to leave Erwin alone, for reasons Malfoy couldn't fathom. No more jabs.
The Slytherins formed two neat rows, with Erwin at the front. They marched out, drawing surprised glances from the professors. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with interest. Erwin's sway over Slytherin had grown that much already?
Snape arched an eyebrow but nodded to himself. It made sense. These first-years' respect went beyond Erwin's role as the hidden prefect—it stemmed from the strength he'd proven. In Slytherin, power and cunning ruled. That's why those shadowy traditions persisted.
Erwin led the way to the classroom, the moving staircases unusually cooperative. After yesterday's stern warning, they'd learned he wasn't one to cross. Hogwarts truly was remarkable—full of clever, self-preserving quirks. Erwin appreciated that; he preferred diplomacy over threats, civilized as he was.
Once inside, the first-years settled into seats, half the room already filled with Ravenclaws. Today's lesson was joint, as Hogwarts often paired houses to foster inter-house understanding. It was one of the school's strengths, blending rivalry with reluctant camaraderie.
Erwin directed his housemates to spots, then scanned for his own. Only one prime location remained: right next to the ever-curious Miss Granger. Too far forward, and the garlic reek from Quirrell—Voldemort's hapless host—would overwhelm him. Too far back, and he'd miss easy opportunities to shine. Tough luck.
They sat, and Hermione leaned in. "What had you so absorbed in the Great Hall?"
"Just some Transfiguration notes," Erwin replied. "Fascinating stuff."
"Oh! By the way, my prefect says Defense Against the Dark Arts is the most exciting class—practical spells and all."
"It's intriguing, no doubt," Erwin said. "But keep expectations low. The professors rotate yearly, and while past ones were solid, Quirrell... well, you'll see."
"I've heard rumors," Hermione murmured.
Erwin let it drop. Hogwarts' Defense curse was infamous: Quirrell in first year, the fraudulent Lockhart in second, the imposter Moody in third, Umbridge in fifth. Pitiful lineup—small wonder Harry's era was a low point for the subject. No student could thrive under that.
The bell chimed, signaling the start. From a side door shuffled Professor Quirrell, trailing a pungent garlic haze that wrinkled noses across the room. Erwin grimaced but held his tongue. Some students whispered outright; Hermione pinched her nose.
"I know it's rude," she whispered, "but why does he smell so strongly of garlic?"
Erwin shrugged. "It's not just garlic, really. Something about his... condition." He suspected it masked Voldemort's own foul aura, conveniently suiting Quirrell's timid facade.
Quirrell's story was tragic, really. Unlike the parade of incompetents to follow, he had genuine promise. A rising star in the wizarding world, lauded for his talent and deep theoretical knowledge. The books painted him as an exemplary Defense professor—before everything unraveled.
Quirrell cleared his throat, stuttering through introductions. "W-welcome to D-Defense Against the D-Dark Arts. T-today, we'll d-discuss basic c-counter-spells."
The class dragged. His lessons meandered into tangents—vampire lore one minute, poorly explained hexes the next. Students fidgeted, the garlic fog thickening the air like a poorly brewed potion. Malfoy smirked at a classmate's stifled cough, but even he looked bored.
Erwin jotted notes sparingly, already miles ahead. Quirrell's grasp of theory was sound, buried under the stammer and stench, but practical demos? Nonexistent. When a Ravenclaw asked about the Shield Charm, Quirrell fumbled, waving his wand in vague circles that produced nothing but a faint shimmer.
Hermione raised her hand eagerly. "Professor, could you demonstrate a proper Protego? The textbook mentions variations for physical threats."
Quirrell paled. "E-er, perhaps n-next time. L-let's review the h-history instead."
Disappointing, but predictable. Erwin exchanged a knowing glance with Hermione, who deflated slightly. The Ravenclaws murmured in frustration; Slytherins just tuned out.
As the bell rang again, Quirrell dismissed them with a limp wave. "H-homework: r-read chapter three on w-werewolf defenses."
The students bolted, gasping fresh air in the corridor. Erwin lingered a moment, pitying the man. Talent wasted on a parasite's whim.
"See? I warned you," he said to Hermione as they walked.
She sighed. "It's not what I expected. But we'll make the best of it."
Erwin nodded. Hogwarts had its charms—and its curses. This class was firmly in the latter camp. Still, with the right push, even a garlic-choked disaster could yield lessons worth learning.