Tuesday morning’s Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson smelled overwhelmingly of garlic.
Professor Quirrell stood near the front of the room beside a row of burlap practice dummies.
After several weeks of copying notes and listening to stories that became less convincing every time he stuttered through them, the first-years had finally been promised a practical exercise.
The lesson was disappointingly basic.
Quirrell instructed them to drop their school bags, step away from an approaching threat, and draw their wands without crossing their feet or turning their backs.
His advice was sensible, but his severe stutter stretched each instruction until half the class forgot which movement they were supposed to practise.
Justin stepped backward onto his own bag and nearly sat on the floor.
Ron drew too quickly and caught his wand inside his sleeve.
Hermione completed the movement correctly on her first attempt.
When Ron nearly collided with Justin during the second attempt, she immediately began correcting the position of his feet.
“I can walk backward without instructions,” Ron muttered.
Hermione glanced at Justin, who was still retrieving his books from the floor.
“The available evidence suggests otherwise.” Susan completed her own turn beside Adrian and lowered her wand.
“The dummy has shown more aggression than Professor Quirrell,” she observed quietly.
Adrian watched Quirrell demonstrate from the front of the room.
The professor knew the correct movements, but every dropped book and scraped chair made him glance toward the door.
Whether the nervousness was part of his disguise or a consequence of sharing his skull with Voldemort, Quirrell looked more frightened than half the students.
The bell rang while Quirrell was still attempting to explain why students should never turn their backs on a threat.
Nobody remained long enough to hear the end.
Harry caught Adrian near the moving staircase.
“Ron told me about Cho’s challenge,” Harry said.
“Are you really racing her again after what happened the first time?” “I am.” Adrian shifted his bag.
“Congratulations on becoming Gryffindor’s Seeker.” Harry rubbed one aching shoulder as he described Wood’s training: repeated dives, sudden pull-ups, and catches made from increasingly ridiculous angles.
He sounded exhausted, but the grin remained on his face throughout the explanation.
“How do you stop overcorrecting in a turn?” Adrian asked.
Harry demonstrated awkwardly with his hands.
“I barely move the handle,” Harry said.
“I look where I want to go and lean into it.
The broom follows.” Ron arrived, catching the end of the conversation.
“Don’t worry, Adrian,” Ron joked.
“Cho might just solve your turning problem by putting you through a castle window.” Susan joined them in time to hear Ron.
“Hufflepuff generally prefers its players to notice the wall before they reach it.” They reached the next staircase and stopped.
Cho Chang was waiting by the banister.
“I thought the rematch deserved more than another paper message,” Cho said.
“Saturday afternoon.
Three laps through the low hoops.
We stay below the beginner boundary, and nobody interferes.” Her smile sharpened slightly.
“And this time, you do not get a head start.” Adrian raised an eyebrow.
“You’re removing the handicap?” “You asked for a rematch,” Cho pointed out.
“Not another demonstration.
The winner chooses one harmless act the loser must perform immediately after the race.” Susan stepped closer before Adrian could answer.
“Nothing that ends in the hospital wing, and nothing performed in front of the entire school.” Cho agreed without hesitation.
Whatever she had imagined apparently required neither medical attention nor the attention of the entire school.
Adrian held out his hand.
“Deal.” Cho clasped it firmly, gave Susan a brief approving glance, and continued up the stairs.
Cho had barely disappeared around the upper landing when Fred and George came down behind her.
From their expressions, they had taken their time passing the conversation.
“She’s going to make you wear Ravenclaw colours, junior,” Fred predicted as he stepped off the staircase.
“Probably somewhere a ribbon cannot politely cover.” George ignored his twin.
“Have you actually trained since the first race?” “I have not been on a broom since the lesson.” George sighed.
“You reach every turn expecting a fight.
You haul on the handle, lean the wrong way, and miss the line before the broom has a chance to respond.” “I have a faster solution,” Fred interrupted.
“We send Adrian through at maximum speed.
We place a cushioning charm on the nearest wall.” “We are not using the wall,” George said flatly.
“Madam Hooch allows supervised remedial practice on Tuesday afternoons.
I’ll ask whether she’ll let you use the beginner section after classes.” Fred looked disappointed.
“Supervised?” “Yes.
That means no walls, no Bludgers, and no pretending you misunderstood the word low.” George looked back at Adrian.
“Meet us beside the broom shed.
If Madam Hooch approves it, we’ll train you.” “I intend to watch,” Susan noted.
“Witnesses will be highly useful if Fred’s plan kills anyone,” George agreed.
The coming race followed Adrian through the rest of the morning.
At lunch, George leaned over the end of the Hufflepuff table and spread a piece of spare parchment beside Adrian’s plate.
He sketched three hoops and two turning markers.
Fred added an unnecessary stone wall at the end of the course, which Susan calmly crossed out.
George had already spoken to Madam Hooch.
She had approved one hour on a school broom and restricted Adrian to the low beginner course beside the main pitch.
She would supervise from the boundary while Gryffindor held its regular practice and had warned Fred that the permission would end the moment anything caught fire.
Harry passed on his way back from the Gryffindor table and reminded Adrian to lean before pulling.
Hermione, walking beside him with a book beneath one arm, glanced down at the parchment.
“Why has Fred designed every version of this course to end with Adrian hitting something?” “It is still being revised,” Adrian told her.
After the final lesson, Adrian, Susan, Fred, and George met beside the wooden broom shed.
The twins had set up one old school broom, three low training hoops, and two wooden marker posts.
There was no stone wall, only a stack of cushions Fred insisted upon for safety.
Susan sat on the fence with her school bag beside her, making no move to open her homework.
George demonstrated first, taking the nearest turn slowly enough for Adrian to follow.
He looked through the hoop before reaching it, leaned his shoulders and hips together, and let the broom carry him around the curve with barely any movement of the handle.
Fred went next, shooting through the hoops at a blistering, aggressive speed.
“Ignore everything after he mounted,” George instructed as Fred landed.
Adrian stepped up to the chalk line and pushed off slowly.
At the first wooden marker, his old mistake returned immediately.
He gripped tightly, pulled the handle, leaned away from the turn, and swung several feet wide.
He missed the hoop completely.
“Cho is going to eat him alive,” Fred announced.
“She is,” Susan agreed calmly.
Adrian circled back and landed beside the chalk line.
George walked over, placed one hand against his shoulder, and turned him toward the exit of the first hoop.
“Stop deciding where the broom should go after the turn begins,” George instructed.
“Look there first.
Move with it.
Let the broom do the easy part.” Adrian looked at the distant hoop.
“What part remains for me?” George pointed at the missed hoop.
“Not fighting it.” Adrian returned to the chalk line.
Fred raised one hand to begin the second attempt.
On the fence, Susan closed her unopened textbook and watched.
This time, Adrian looked through the centre of the hoop before his feet left the grass.
The broom still felt ready to argue.
Adrian loosened his grip and decided not to answer.
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