For Stelle, the Hogwarts schedule was like an interactive quest log in a game waiting to be cleared.
Defense Against the Dark Arts?
It sounded like a dungeon that would drop rare materials.
With the eager anticipation of a player about to tackle a brand-new raid, she followed the crowd with light steps into a classroom thick with the smell of garlic.
But Professor Quirrell’s opening remarks were a total disaster.
He stammered his way through a textbook chapter on warding off vampires, the pungent garlic odor acting as the classroom’s most prominent line of defense.
Most of the time, he struggled against his own disobedient tongue and an all-pervasive terror.
The lesson was so fragmented that the young wizards felt both drowsy and strangely embarrassed.
Ron Weasley muttered under his breath, “I bet he could bore a vampire to death just with that stutter.” Stelle, however, sat up straight.
Her grey hair framed an expressionless face, her golden eyes staring unblinkingly at the trembling professor on the platform.
She looked like the most attentive student in the room, but in reality, she had already secretly doodled three cloves of garlic in various shapes on her parchment.
When Professor Quirrell emphasized once more that garlic was a “c-c-classic…
d-d-deterrent…” Stelle calmly raised her hand, her face wearing her usual expression of slightly detached focus.
Professor Quirrell flinched like a startled goblin.
“Y-Yes, m-miss…?” “Professor,” Stelle’s voice was clear and steady, but her question made the classroom fall dead silent.
“If vampires hate garlic, wouldn’t consuming massive quantities of it effectively cast a continuous taste-dispelling barrier on ourselves?” She paused, then added, “In theory, would that count as a form of biological magical armor?” The classroom was dead silent for a second before erupting into a few muffled snickers.
Seamus Finnigan buried his head in his arms, his shoulders shaking violently.
Professor Quirrell’s mouth hung open, his turban seemingly tightening slightly.
“B-Biological…
armor?
N-No…
the s-smell…
is t-too…” Stelle nodded thoughtfully as if she had just acquired some valuable data.
She casually drew a stick figure clutching its nose and running away next to her garlic sketch, then pressed on in an academic tone.
“Then what is the effective range of garlic?
Do vampires have an exceptionally keen sense of smell, or do they react to the concept of garlic itself?
If we used Transfiguration to make a fake garlic clove that smelled like garlic, would it have the same effect?
Or, if we coated a wand in garlic essence, would the spells cast carry an anti-vampire attribute?” Her questions grew increasingly bizarre, striking like a rapid combo against Professor Quirrell’s fragile nerves.
He looked on the verge of fainting, only able to repeat feebly, “T-Traditional…
must be…
h-hung…” Stelle finally stopped questioning and sat down quietly.
She looked slightly disappointed, but she secretly drew a tiny victory crown on her garlic stick figure in the corner of her textbook.
For the rest of the class, she appeared to be listening intently.
In reality, her fingers were absentmindedly drawing a little cloaked figure being blasted away by a garlic bomb radiating wavy lines representing odor, with a tiny “WIN!” labeled next to it in the margins.
With no practical exercises and no wand demonstrations, the entire class ended in a blur of Professor Quirrell’s stuttering and the brief, surreal storm Stelle had stirred up.
When the bell rang, most of the students left with a mixture of relief and confusion.
Stelle walked out with the crowd, the fresh air outside instantly reviving her spirits.
She stretched, temporarily packing away her wild theories on garlic.
She didn’t have any complicated takeaways, only a few clear thoughts flashing through her mind: *Garlic tactics: pending development.* *Professor Quirrell: voice pack severely corrupted.* *Hungry.* The final thought acted like a clear horn, instantly blowing away all the bizarre musings of the classroom.
Just as she was about to execute her Trailblaze mission to the kitchens, two identical, bright-grinned, red-haired heads blocked her path.
“Hey!” “Look who it is!” George and Fred spoke up with grins.
One of the Weasleys said, “If it isn’t her!” “The young lady who proposed the genius concept of biological magical armor!” the other seamlessly chimed in, his eyes shining with the excitement of finding a kindred spirit.
“We just happened to be passing by.” “And accidentally overheard a stroke of pure genius!” Their antics caught the attention of Ron and Harry, who were waiting nearby.
Ron wore a “here we go again” expression, while Harry watched with curiosity.
“We have to say,” one of the twins lowered his voice, as if sharing a top-secret plan, “a garlic-scented personal barrier—it’s brilliant!
Way beyond N.E.W.T.
level!” The other leaned in closer, offering a warm invitation.
“We’re currently developing some little trinkets to make life more interesting.
We think you might have a unique perspective.
Any interest in…” “Are you serious?” Ron couldn’t help but interrupt, his voice tinged with disbelief.
“Are you two actually taking that garlic armor seriously?” Harry nudged him gently, though his own face carried a similar look of curiosity.
Stelle stopped and looked at Ron and Harry, her face wearing an innocent expression that practically said, *Is there a problem?* “It’s just a hypothesis,” she said, blinking.
“Hypotheses require practice to be proven.” Then she looked back at the twins and added, “Feasibility: pending testing.” “That’s the spirit!” Fred clapped his hands.
“Thinking outside the box!” George added.
They both pointed at Ron and Harry at the same time, eagerly extending an invitation to Stelle.
“Ignore our little brother; he lacks imagination.
We think you might be able to…” Right then, Stelle’s stomach let out a soft rumble.
It wasn’t loud, but in the brief lull in conversation, it was perfectly clear.
The twins froze at the same time, blinking.
Stelle patted her stomach and spoke to the two creative upperclassmen with absolute pragmatism.
“I’m hungry.
I need to explore the kitchens.” She spoke with total composure, as if this were the most important matter in the world.
After a moment’s thought, she added, taking their friendly overtures as a positive sign, “I’ll find you after I’ve eaten.
Don’t worry, I’ll be there.” She even patted her small bag earnestly, as if giving her word.
George and Fred exchanged a look.
Far from feeling rejected, their smiles widened.
This straightforward, completely unpretentious attitude was exactly to their liking!
“The kitchens?
Excellent choice!” “The cream cakes there are legendary!” “Then we won’t delay you from your primary objective!” “Good luck!
See you around, Miss Galactic Baseballer!” They had clearly already heard about her bizarre self-introduction.
The twins grinned, stepping aside to clear her path and making a dramatic show of gesturing her through.
Stelle gave them a nod of farewell, turned briskly, and went on her merry way.