Unlike others who were focused on learning the Leg-Locking Curse, Harry's attention was on the back of Professor Quirrell's head.
What exactly required stuffing so much garlic in there to cover up? Could it be that Professor Quirrell had some sort of festering wound, or was he cursed by someone?
He wasn't exactly trying to solve Professor Quirrell's problem; he was just purely curious.
When they returned to the Gryffindor Common Room, everyone started enthusiastically discussing Professor Quirrell.
"I bet that turban of his is filled with garlic too," Fred and George said, taking turns: "So that no matter where he goes, he's protected against vampires."
"Then why don't you just ask him?" Ron said, holding a can of Coca-Cola, "Or simply yank it off; aren't pranks your favorite thing?"
The twins exchanged a glance and said in unison, "Oh, Little Ronnie, we don't want to be expelled."
"Or even worse," George said.
"Receiving a Howler from mom," Fred added.
The two exchanged a look and high-fived each other.
"They really don't know which is worse," Ron muttered to himself.
Harry's little Biting Kale had also been discovered by the twins, who often dropped by his dormitory, appearing very interested in the biting plant.
Fred even reached out to try it, but fortunately, he reacted quickly and didn't get bitten by the kale.
After attending classes at Hogwarts for a few days, Harry discovered an astonishing fact: the magic levels of his classmates were all quite poor, with some reaching new lows, each with their own style of ineptitude.
For those young wizards from Muggle families, this was understandable since no one had informed them they were wizards when they received their Hogwarts acceptance letter, much less taught them magic.
But even those so-called pure-blood families didn't produce young wizards who were much more advanced than the others.
Especially Malfoy's two sidekicks, named Crabbe and Goyle, couldn't even learn Fluorescent Flickering, or so people said.
Even Ron, with his ill-fitting wand, managed to light it up smoothly after just two attempts.
Darn it, how did wizards devolve to this state?
Harry felt deeply distressed.
How could the magic world improve with these useless guys?
An immature idea started to form in his mind. Maybe... restart the Dueling Wand society?
No one had mentioned the existence of such an organization during his time at Hogwarts.
On Friday morning, Harry got up early and had breakfast with his classmates at the dining table.
Not seeing Hedwig today felt strange to him, as by now, she usually perched beside him, occasionally pecking at his ear for a bite of toast, or napping on his shoulder. Harry thought perhaps she was addicted to human company; otherwise, she wouldn't come to the dining hall every morning and stay with him until he went to class, only to return to the owlery.
He didn't have to wait long before Hedwig returned, delivering a note.
It was from Hagrid, with messy and scrawled handwriting.
Dear Harry: I know you have no classes on Friday afternoon. I wonder if you could come by for tea around three o'clock? I'd love to hear about your first week. Please send me a reply with Hedwig.
Harry borrowed a feather pen from Ron, quickly jotting down on the back of the note: "Sure, I'd love to, see you soon." Then sent Hedwig off again.
The Magic Potion Class was with Slytherin, and the two houses sat separately in the classroom, with an aisle in between.
Draco seemed to have forgotten the lesson Harry taught him with the Floating Spell. He was still making snide comments at Ron and Hermione, trying to provoke either of them.
However, Ron ignored him completely, as did Hermione, and he didn't dare say "Mudblood," so after failing to amuse himself, he turned his attention to Neville.
Just as he started talking, the classroom door banged open, and Snape swept in with his black robes billowing.
"You come here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he said, leaning on the lectern at the front of the room, speaking in a near whisper, yet everyone heard every word.
Like Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape had a natural intimidation that ensured order in his classroom.
"Since there's no silly wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I do not expect you will understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
After his brief introduction, the whole class fell silent as if stunned by his words.
Hermione nearly slid off her chair, leaning forward, eager to prove she wasn't a dunderhead.
Snape surveyed the room, seemingly pleased with their reactions.
"Mr. Potter," he said, addressing Harry: "Our new celebrity."
Harry looked up, unsure why Snape had singled him out.
"Tell me, Mr. Potter," Snape's oily drawl matched his greasy hair: "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry was stunned.
He had been to the Victorian Era and was close to the Herbology Professor Miss Galick then.
The age of exploration had begun a flourishing of species, horticulture, and the culture of plants on the European Continent. The strict etiquette of the Victorian Era limited social interactions, so the upper echelons began using flowers to convey hidden messages.
The society's fascination with exotic plants led to a surge in publications about flowers and their meanings, the emotions they embodied being recognized and widely spread.
As a Herbology professor, Miss Galick adored Victorian flower language and had taught Harry many little things about it.
According to Victorian flower language, the "asphodel" Snape referred to (not narcissus) was actually a type of lily that symbolized "my regrets will follow you to the grave," while wormwood signified "absence" and "bitter sorrow."
Combining this with Slytherin's usual character traits, Harry understood that Snape felt immense sadness and regret over his parents' deaths.
The professor's character was really peculiar, Harry thought. If he had been good friends with my parents, why not just say so?
But then again, if they could say it directly, they wouldn't be Slytherin.
Harry's green eyes looked straight into Snape's black, emotionless eyes, with a calm tone.
"It's okay, Professor."