After breakfast, Eda, Fred, and George headed off to class. Their first lesson that morning was Professor Flitwick's Charms class.
Professor Flitwick was one of the more kind-hearted teachers at Hogwarts. He didn't constantly enforce strict classroom discipline, nor did he bother students who fell asleep in class (if they managed to do so); as long as you didn't disrupt his teaching, he generally turned a blind eye.
If he noticed that all the students seemed distracted or disengaged, he wouldn't continue with the lecture. Instead, he'd lead them in magical games or tell interesting stories to lift everyone's spirits, and only then return to teaching.
Today's Charms lesson was about the Cheerful Charm—a spell that could elevate a creature's mood and make people feel happy.
Professor Flitwick first explained the incantation and key points of pronunciation, then broke down the wand movements. Under his guidance, the students began waving their wands and reciting the spell.
Eda usually performed very well in class, but today was different—it was as if she had fallen from the sky back into the dirt.
Her exhaustion from a sleepless night kept crashing over her; she only wanted to get through the motions and then rest during the practice session by laying her head down on the desk for a short nap.
Compared to Transfiguration, Charms was much simpler and less rigorous. Professor Flitwick was also famously good-tempered, so zoning out, daydreaming, or even taking a nap during his class wasn't a big deal.
He moved around the room, correcting students' mistakes one by one. He noticed Eda's lack of energy, but didn't say anything. In his view, everyone had lazy days now and then, and an occasional lapse from Eda wasn't a problem—as long as it didn't become a habit.
When it was time for free practice, the classroom filled with the sounds of wand swishes and incantations.
The room turned into a joyful sea of laughter and spellwork. But Eda and the twins didn't immerse themselves in that cheerful ocean. Instead, all three of them lay facedown on their desks in perfect unison and quickly drifted off to sleep.
Fortunately, none of them snored—otherwise, that would've been far too disrespectful to Professor Flitwick.
The three of them slept straight through the end of class.
If Angelina and Lee Jordan hadn't woken them up, they probably would've kept sleeping.
Rubbing her numb arm, Eda stood up. After that short nap, she actually felt even more tired. She and Fred and George shuffled their way to the Great Hall, and after lunch, they drifted just as lazily to the classroom.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was coming up—a class even more suited for napping.
After all, Quirrell couldn't teach anything useful anyway, so they might as well catch up on sleep.
Angelina and Alicia looked at the drowsy Eda. They both knew that after they'd fallen asleep last night, Eda had definitely left the dorm and stayed out for quite a while—there was no way she'd be this tired otherwise. After three years of sharing the same dorm, they'd gotten used to occasionally waking in the night and finding Eda missing.
At first, they'd ask her where she went the next day, but eventually they stopped. If it was something Eda could talk about, she'd share it during conversation. If it wasn't, asking was pointless.
The twins had already flopped down onto their desks, but Eda was still up, fiddling with her gold-rimmed glasses. She'd had them for two years now, but still had no idea what they were actually for.
Eda only ever remembered them when she needed to hide her dark circles. Every time she wore them, her appearance lost some of its sharpness. Even her gaze seemed softer, making her look like a delicate and gentle young lady.
Right before class began, Quirrell appeared at the classroom door. He peeked cautiously inside, and only when he saw that no one was paying attention to him did he finally walk in and step up to the lectern.
His behavior drew a burst of laughter from the students, and Quirrell laughed along with them—but his smile was awkward and forced.
Compared to the beginning of the school year, Quirrell had grown noticeably thinner, his complexion paler—he looked like he'd been through a lot.
His sickly appearance made him seem even more pitiable, but all of it was trouble he'd brought upon himself. He had no one else to blame.
The bell rang, signaling the start of class, and Quirrell began his awkward teaching once again. He was miserable delivering the lecture, and the students were just as miserable listening to it—both sides tormenting the other.
Eda took off her glasses and laid her head down on the desk once more. Even as the classroom grew increasingly noisy, she still fell asleep quickly.
Quirrell made a half-hearted attempt to quiet the students and maintain order, but no one listened to him—he had never earned their respect. No matter how rowdy things got, he kept droning on, though his gaze drifted to Eda, who was sleeping.
On Halloween, Quirrell had released the troll into the school to create chaos and give himself a chance to approach the corridor on the right side of the 3rd floor. Unfortunately, just as he was about to enter, Snape arrived and disrupted everything.
Quirrell had hidden nearby, careful not to be discovered. Just when he thought the three-headed dog would maul Snape, Eda and the twins showed up. Not only did they save Snape, but they didn't suspect him in the slightest.
Quirrell had seen it all. He hated Snape for ruining his plans, and he hated Eda for trusting Snape so fully.
From that moment on, he knew Snape's presence would interfere with his plans. He had to find a way to distract Snape—or better yet, bring him down—so his plan could continue.
In the classroom, Quirrell stared at the sleeping Eda. He hadn't expected that, in addition to Snape, this girl—so well-known among the students—would also become an obstacle on his path to success.
Every time she looked at him, Quirrell felt like she could see straight through him. The mockery in her gaze made him feel like a clown!
When his plan finally succeeded, Quirrell swore he'd make her pay for her foolishness.
Meanwhile, Eda, in the middle of a pleasant dream, had no idea a metaphorical cauldron had been dumped on her head—and by the year's main villain, no less.
If she found out, she'd cry out in protest, swearing to Merlin she was innocent: she never looked at Quirrell with mockery—it was just his guilty conscience. In her eyes, he was simply an idiot.
Quirrell's so-called clever tricks only worked on the likes of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were still naive and inexperienced. If they had thought a little more, asked a few more questions, they wouldn't have fallen for it. In the school, aside from those who didn't care, who didn't think there was something suspicious about Quirrell?
Those in the know were all watching his performance, hoping he would put on an even more entertaining show. Only Quirrell himself was still smug, proud of his "brilliant" acting and "flawless" plan.
Time is always shrouded in mist.
For example, Eda felt like she had only closed her eyes for two minutes, but when she opened them, the entire Defense Against the Dark Arts class was already over.
Everyone was packing up their things and leaving in groups. Quirrell stood awkwardly at the podium, watching each student file out—none of them said a word to him.
Only the first-years—Harry, Ron, and Hermione—treated him kindly, offering him a smile of encouragement and support.
Eda packed her things, ready to leave as well, but she clearly felt the malice in Quirrell's gaze as it landed on her. She paused and asked coldly, "Is there something you want?"
No title, no courtesy—a blatantly rude question.
Even when Eda had disliked Snape the most, she still addressed him as "Professor Snape," because his abilities deserved respect. But Quirrell had shown nothing worthy of respect.
The worst thing he ever did, in her eyes, was accepting the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Misleading students—now that was more despicable than any evil he might have done.
"N-No… nothing," Quirrell stammered. "Not a thing… nothing at all."
"If there's nothing, I'll be going," Eda said. As she walked out, she glanced back at Quirrell.
She knew she hadn't misread it—there had been malice in his eyes.
But Quirrell couldn't admit it. That kind of gaze didn't match his "harmless" persona. And when that persona breaks down, everything comes crashing down with it.
Quirrell smiled as he watched Eda leave, but he felt something was off. The way she looked at him today was a little different—less sharp, more gentle.
All that can be said is: Quirrell was overthinking it again.
If Eda had really injured Filch last night, today he would've found out just how dangerous this "obstacle" of a girl could be.
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