The first class on the next morning was Herbology.
The weather was bright and sunny—but unfortunately, Andrew couldn't enjoy it at all.
Self-studying Transfiguration turned out to be even more draining than he had anticipated. Transfiguring complex objects was an incredibly tough challenge for him.
He had to mentally visualize every intricate detail of an object before casting, and firmly believe he could recreate each component with magic—none of which was easy. Whether due to unclear mental imagery or lack of confidence, the results always ended up as flawed, obvious failures.
After an entire night of effort, all he managed to transfigure was a hammer…
Yes, a plain and solid hammer. The old-fashioned kind: wooden handle, metal head, and a small wedge to fix it in place.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep or simply too much practice, but his head was pounding now.
"No, I don't think it's the reading. It's probably the result of eating too much ice cream," Kevin cut in cheerfully—completely ignored by Andrew.
But Kevin didn't get a second chance to speak—because they had arrived at the greenhouse. All Herbology classes took place inside, and Professor Sprout emphasized hands-on learning.
"These are dittany plants, essential for healing. They're highly effective against most magic-related injuries and can instantly stop bleeding from mundane wounds.
"Of course, what's most important is that they require very little care, have high yields, and are quite common in the wild.
"Their most distinctive trait lies in the flower. Though if you understand the leaves, actually…"
Before the explanation ended, Andrew had already confirmed one thing: if he wanted high marks in this subject, it was going to take real work.
Not that he couldn't remember the details—it just didn't interest him much…
He took out his pencil and began sketching some traits of the dittany in his notebook.
This action caught Professor Sprout's attention. She walked over with a pleased smile… and then froze.
After what seemed like a struggle—like she was swallowing discomfort—the always-kind professor finally forced out a comment in a calm tone:
"Using drawings to mark key traits is a good approach. One point to Ravenclaw."
…
'You don't have to force yourself, Professor.'
Andrew calmly closed his notebook to shield it from view—he was well aware of his lack of skill. If he could draw any better, he would have already found ways to earn money with it—even basic illustrations would sell better than this.
The rest of the class involved identifying various herbs. Andrew's notebook soon contained several more… "masterpieces" only he could decipher.
Professor Sprout didn't attempt to look at his notebook again.
After class, most students were strolling leisurely—until someone mentioned that the next class was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Then they all broke into a mad dash for the common room.
Other subjects were great, sure, but nothing quite matched the thrill of learning spells used for real combat.
Andrew, however, had zero urge to rush. If it weren't a required class, he'd be avoiding it altogether.
Even in a speedrun summary of Hogwarts, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would be a central character. If there were any safe and secretive way to report a teacher, Andrew would've done it already.
'Aside from easily traceable anonymous owl letters… is there any way to slip a note onto Dumbledore's desk that might make him investigate this guy?'
After thinking hard with no solution, Andrew sighed and returned to the common room to wash up and change clothes before heading to class.
+++
"Do you smell that?"
"Garlic… really strong garlic…"
Even before reaching the classroom, freshly washed students realized their efforts had been wasted.
By the time they arrived, some students' expressions were already twisted.
The brutal truth: Professor Quirrell, who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, had decorated the classroom with garlic—lots of it.
"Full physiological and psychological assault…"Andrew even dragged his dormmates to the back, with a very solid excuse: "You've all seen Quirrell's big scarf, right? I think it's just a loop of garlic—he's using the scarf to hide it so he doesn't look too weird."
This totally made-up theory was somehow accepted by most of the class.
Despite everything, Andrew still had a bit of hope for this lesson. After all, he could only learn from class directly—no asking questions like in other subjects where he could shamelessly ask the professor in groups.
Here, that wasn't an option. Other teachers might brush you off, but this one? If he suspected anything strange, he might just decide to get rid of you—no second thought needed.
If they'd placed him in Slytherin and given him a decent backstory, maybe Andrew could've safely leeched some knowledge… but now—best to maintain a distant, innocent student–teacher relationship.
Even with all his internal ranting, Andrew had to admit: this "strongest" professor was genuinely skilled in the classroom. Though he stuttered on purpose, it wasn't from lack of confidence—the entire lesson flowed smoothly.
But his roommates weren't letting him off the hook.
"Didn't see you go ask a question. What's the matter, you really that into it?"
'That'll get me killed. Don't joke about that.'
Andrew quickly made something up. "I'm not that interested in this subject. I prefer Transfiguration—something about the control over matter."
"Tsk, such a practical wizard—admit it, it's because it gets you more points."
"I won't deny that's part of it," Andrew said seriously.
"Pfft!"
"Come on, let's eat… I really hope there's no garlic in the food or I might remember something unpleasant…"
"What could be worse than having an entire class with no spells taught?"
"Oh, there's worse. Judging by today, we're not getting any spells next class either…"
Amid sarcastic complaints, the students at the back started laughing and bickering as they headed to the Great Hall, while those up front sped up—creating a subtle but visible divide between the two groups.