The Hogwarts Great Hall.
Scattered along several long tables were young wizards eating lunch.
The air was filled with the smells of fried fish, chips, and steak.
Lucien cut his fried fish, once again inwardly complaining about the culinary desert of Britain.
He missed home-cooked food.
At home, he could have a chef prepare whatever he wanted, but at Hogwarts…
Wait, House-elves should be able to learn how to cook different cuisines, right?
He’d find an opportunity to ask them; it would be a good way to improve everyone’s meals.
Screech, screech— Lucien looked up at the source of the noise.
Harry, sitting opposite him, still looked miserable, sawing at the steak on his plate with such force it was as if it were his mortal enemy.
“Snape is definitely targeting me!” Harry said indignantly.
“I said very clearly that I didn’t know the answer, and Hermione was right there with her hand up wanting to answer, but Snape just kept picking on me!
What did I even do to offend him?” Watching Harry bury his head in his food, Lucien suddenly thought of something.
“Harry, when Snape was…
lecturing you, were you looking down then as well?” Hearing Lucien ask him, Harry looked up, chewed the beef in his mouth a few times, and swallowed hard.
“Yeah, Lucien, you should have seen it!” Harry suddenly put down his knife and fork, took off his glasses, widened his emerald-green almond eyes, and put on a stern face: “Oh, Pott-er, tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?
Can’t answer?
Then where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” Pfft— “Cough, cough, cough…” Ron, who was drinking mushroom soup, almost sprayed it out when he heard Harry’s vivid imitation of Snape’s voice.
But seeing Lucien and Hermione sitting opposite him, Ron quickly covered his mouth, choking and coughing incessantly.
Seeing Harry’s imitation, the corners of Lucien’s mouth also twitched, unable to stop from curling upward.
This kid actually has quite a sense of humor.
Harry spread his hands helplessly and put his glasses back on.
“Lucien, Snape was practically in my face.
If I hadn’t looked down, his spit would have covered me!
And another thing, at the end he even sat directly across from me and just stared at me intently.
I could almost smell the grease in his hair.
I really want to give him a bottle of shampoo!” Lucien looked at Harry with some surprise.
He didn’t expect this kid to have a sarcastic streak.
He’d rather be beaten to death than lose in momentum or a war of words, eh?
Ron, who had just caught his breath, glanced at Harry and said gloomily: “Then you could give him Potter-brand shampoo—the one from your family.
That way, when Snape finishes you off, he might do it a bit more mercifully.” Seeing these two jokers about to start a comedy routine, Lucien spoke up in time to stop them, asking Harry an unrelated question: “Harry, you wear those glasses because you’re nearsighted, right?” Harry nodded.
Lucien continued: “Have you ever considered taking your glasses off during class, especially during Potion Class?” Now, not only was Harry confused, but Hermione and Ron also looked at Lucien in bewilderment, wondering what he was up to.
“But if I take off my glasses, I really won’t be able to see the writing on the blackboard.
Won’t Snape target me even more then?” Hearing Harry’s question, Lucien couldn’t help but complain in his head.
Heh, it’s precisely because you’re always wearing those glasses that look exactly like your father’s that Snape targets you even more.
Lucien snapped his fingers.
“That’s simple.
There’s a potion called Eye Bright Potion that can restore vision for two or three hours.
It’s part of the first-year Potion Class curriculum; it shouldn’t be hard to brew.” Faced with Lucien’s suggestion, Harry scratched his head.
“Sorry, I’m not very good at brewing Potions.” Lucien gave him a deep look.
“How long have you even been in contact with Potions?
Why dismiss yourself so easily?
And…
there’s no need to hate the knowledge just because you dislike the teacher.
Knowledge itself is neither good nor bad.” Harry nodded somewhat blankly; he couldn’t fully understand Lucien’s meaning, but it felt like it made sense.
“Also, after you take off your glasses.
If Snape still chases you with questions or scolds you.
Just stare him in the eyes!
Even if you’re being scolded until you’re in tears, you must keep staring at him.” Now Harry was even more baffled, while Hermione and Ron looked back and forth between the two.
They wondered if Lucien had some kind of grudge against Harry—why else would he give him such advice?
This time, it was Ron who voiced the doubt for his best friend.
“Uh, Lucien, is that really useful?
Won’t it…” Lucien waved his hand and said plausibly: “When you haven’t mastered the knowledge a teacher is providing, you should show even more drive to work hard and learn.
And the eyes are the windows to the soul.
You need to use eye contact to express to Snape: although I’m a slow learner now, I’m determined to study hard!” Lucien’s theory left the trio stunned.
It felt like something was wrong, but they couldn’t seem to find any fault in it.
Seeing that he had finished eating, Lucien picked up his books and prepared to stand up.
“Is your first class this afternoon also Defense Against the Dark Arts?” The three nodded repeatedly, expressions of anticipation and excitement on their faces.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was different from the more lifestyle-oriented magic taught in Charms Class; it was a magical discipline specifically for combat.
Harry seemed the most excited; the morning’s Potion Class had really suppressed him, and he couldn’t wait to get in touch with real magic!
Seeing the longing for this course on the three young faces, Lucien showed a slightly pitying look and shook his head.
“Let’s go, time for class.” — Afternoon.
In the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
After the bell rang, the long-awaited Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Professor Quirrell, arrived late with his head wrapped in a long cloth.
However, as Quirrell himself entered the classroom, a pungent odor was brought in with him.
Some young wizards couldn’t help but raise their hands to cover their noses.
Lucien simply tapped his wand, applying a layer of an Air-Freshening Charm around his mouth and nose, filtering out that smell of garlic.
“H-hello, everyone, I-I am Qui-Quirinus Qu-Quirrell.
Your D-Defense Against the D-Dark Arts teacher.” Hearing Professor Quirrell’s stuttering self-introduction, the young wizards looked at each other, and the classroom was suddenly filled with the noise of whispering.
“Q-quiet, please, n-no talking.” Ron couldn’t help but whisper next to Lucien and the others: “Is this really the Defense Professor?
A stutterer is okay?
He’s not a substitute, is he?” Hermione said in a hesitant tone: “Maybe, maybe this teacher’s theoretical knowledge is very good and his strength is also very great?” Even Hermione herself didn’t sound convinced.
“A-alright, let’s b-begin with Ch-chapter One…” And so, Lucien listened as Quirrell went from the significance of Defense Against the Dark Arts to the current situation of defense, then to its development, and finally to future expectations…
Lucien narrowed his eyes, almost as if he were hallucinating.
Isn’t this just like that professor from my university before I transmigrated—the one who had decent academic ability but whose teaching was absolute rubbish?
Where on earth have I ended up?
Is this still Hogwarts?