At noon, the entire Great Hall of Hogwarts was steeped in a strange atmosphere.
After a full morning of lessons, the upper-year students had suddenly discovered something rather unsettling…
Their new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor did not appear to be as harmless as he looked.
According to the seventh-year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students, he was an extraordinarily powerful wizard—one who was proficient in terrifying Dark Arts.
With a casual gesture, he could seize a person’s soul, while his voice resembled a demon’s whisper, pouring directly into the minds of his victims.
Several older students had supposedly been subjected to his Dark Arts and were still lying in the hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey’s care.
Whether they would live or die remained unknown!
Naturally, after hearing all this, no one found it strange that he had handed out a test the moment class began and forced the students to recite the essays they had written about their summer holidays.
When the sixth-year students learned what had happened to the seventh years, chills ran down their spines.
Their Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor had not sent them to meet Merlin with a single Killing Curse.
It was truly a blessing in disguise.
Compared to the fear and lingering unease among the upper years, the younger students were filled with resentment and despair.
Their own Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons did not involve surprise tests or terrifying Dark wizards who might claim their lives at any moment…
But with Professor Quirrell teaching them, the subject had become a complete joke.
The classroom reeked of garlic, which was supposedly intended to ward off a vampire he had encountered during his travels.
Combined with Quirrell’s constant stuttering, his lessons were nothing short of torture.
Of course, the surprise assessment in Transfiguration had also become one of the students’ chief complaints.
Only a handful of professors were seated at the staff table.
“Professor Moriarty.”
McGonagall set down her silver cutlery, suppressed amusement glinting in her sharp eyes.
Hermes raised his gaze.
Picking up the napkin beside him, he gently wiped the corner of his mouth.
“I’m listening, Professor.”
“Did you know?” McGonagall’s voice rose half a pitch above its usual tone.
“The children are now claiming that you bewitched me with the Dark Arts, and that is why I subjected them to an unprecedented test in Transfiguration.”
As she finished speaking, the corners of Professor McGonagall’s mouth curled upward despite her efforts to restrain them.
Even the stern lines around her mouth seemed to soften.
However, she quickly realized that she had allowed her composure to slip.
Drawing a deep breath, she restored her usual severe expression.
She picked up her cutlery again as though nothing had happened.
A faint note of grievance entered Professor McGonagall’s voice.
Her morning lessons had already ended.
She had merely deducted a few House points from the students who failed, but such a mild punishment was obviously not enough to leave a lasting impression on them.
Then, as though remembering something important, her expression abruptly became serious.
“Did you truly use the Dark Arts on those students?”
“How could that be possible?” Hermes leisurely cut into the steak on his plate.
“Whatever else I may be, I am still a professor at Hogwarts.
How could I cast such spells on my students?”
McGonagall nodded.
“Then those rumors…?”
“Nothing more than a few minor applications of sound and mental magic.
They are far from qualifying as the Dark Arts.”
“It’s good that you know what you’re doing.”
Seeing that he understood the limits, McGonagall did not question him further.
Nevertheless, she knew that magic affecting the mind was often closely associated with the Dark Arts, which made it particularly dangerous and complicated.
After lunch, Hermes and McGonagall went their separate ways.
He had no lessons scheduled for the afternoon, so he intended to explore the school grounds.
After all, when he first arrived, Professor McGonagall had only shown him around the interior of the castle.
As for the grounds beyond its walls, he had merely caught a brief glimpse of them from the back of the Thunderbird.
Just as he rounded the corner near a staircase, a pungent odor assaulted his nostrils.
A moment later, Quirrell, wearing his distinctive purple turban, approached Hermes.
“Sa—Professor Moriarty…
Good afternoon.”
Quirrell’s voice trembled like a taut string on the verge of snapping.
“Good afternoon, Professor Quirrell.”
Hermes frowned slightly and took an almost imperceptible step backward before nodding indifferently.
“Is there something you need?”
“My…
my physical condition is n-not very good, so…
I wanted to ask if you could substitute for me for a few days.”
Upon hearing this, Hermes narrowed his eyes.
“Y-Yes.” Quirrell shuddered violently.
“I…
I’m terribly sorry.
It’s an o-old injury.”
His expression was somewhat guilty.
After all, this was only the first day of the school year.
Asking a colleague to cover his lessons so soon was inappropriate no matter how one looked at it.
“It happened while I was in…
Romania, with a vampire…”
Before he could finish, Hermes raised a hand and stopped him.
“How long will you need?”
“Two…
No, perhaps a week?” Seeing that Hermes appeared willing to agree, Quirrell immediately breathed a sigh of relief and hurriedly made his request.
“Later, you can—”
Hermes abruptly stopped mid-sentence.
After considering the matter for a moment, he continued, “Find a student and have them deliver your timetable to my office.”
“Th-Thank you very much, Professor Moriarty.”
“The t-timetable will be…
delivered shortly…”
A flash of joy crossed Quirrell’s pale face.
As though afraid Hermes might suddenly change his mind, he left behind that hurried promise and scurried away with his head lowered.
Hermes watched Quirrell disappear around the corner, his gaze lingering on the back of the man’s head, which remained tightly concealed beneath the purple turban.
He knew perfectly well what was hidden beneath it.
He also knew Quirrell’s true purpose for coming to Hogwarts.
That was precisely why he found it so strange that Quirrell had asked him to take over his lessons on the very first day of the school year.
He could not tell whether Quirrell’s condition had genuinely deteriorated to the point that he could no longer continue teaching, or whether the man simply wanted more time to roam freely through the castle.
At that moment, Fawkes suddenly glided past one of the corridor windows.
The phoenix’s clear cry echoed through the skies above Hogwarts.
Upon seeing him, Hermes quickened his pace.
Evidently, someone had already learned what had happened and wished to speak with him.
After only a few steps, however, Hermes paused.
Then he changed direction and headed toward the staircase leading to Dumbledore’s office.