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[HP: Return from Game of Thrones]-Chapter 31: The Ultimate Insult
🕑 Added 2025-09-22 18:58:10 +0000 UTCThe Charms class was taught by Professor Filius Flitwick, a wizard so diminutive he had to stand on a stack of books to reach the lectern.
Harry was deeply impressed by his first Charms lesson. Rarely had he encountered a professor so fond of teasing young witches and wizards, a stark contrast to the goblin ancestry that ran through Flitwick’s veins.
Before the lesson began, Professor Flitwick would take out the register and call out names. When he reached Harry’s name, he let out an excited squeal, only to topple off his stack of books and vanish from sight. It was hard to believe this man was the Head of Ravenclaw House.
Harry had heard that Flitwick was a dueling champion in his youth, yet his personality carried a comedic flair, full of humor and jest.
He was the polar opposite of Snape, which Harry found endlessly amusing. He didn’t mind this sort of professor at all.
Privately, Harry had asked Flitwick what a proper wizarding duel looked like. His instincts told him Flitwick was no mere braggart—his danger level was on par with Professor McGonagall and Snape.
Given his championship title, Harry, always erring on the side of caution, concluded that if he ever had to face the four Heads of House in a life-or-death duel, Flitwick would be the first to take out in a surprise attack—a purely hypothetical scenario, of course. Harry hadn’t killed anyone in ages, not since before the school year started.
Professor McGonagall was exactly as Harry had expected. From the moment he arrived at Hogwarts, he could tell she was not to be trifled with, though she lacked the bloodlust or battle fervor of some.
Strict and sharp-witted, she made her presence felt the moment they sat down for their first lesson, delivering a stern warning.
“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” she declared. “Anyone who dares to act foolishly in my classroom will be asked to leave and never return. You’ve been warned.”
Then, she transformed her desk into a pig and back again.
Transfiguration was indeed profound, no wonder it was a discipline separate from Charms.
This “pig transformation” spell demonstrated impressive control, though Harry reasoned it would be difficult to use on a high-powered opponent. A master like Dumbledore, for instance, wouldn’t be caught off-guard unless ambushed. Most wizards had an instinctive ability to dodge spells, so in a real fight, Transfiguration was likely more effective for altering the environment to attack.
Professor McGonagall was a registered Animagus, much like the Druids of British folklore. Skilled Transfiguration masters could train to become Animagi, transforming into a specific animal while retaining their magical abilities. McGonagall’s form was a cat.
Thanks to Harry’s skill panel, which allowed for rapid proficiency gains and permanent mastery, coupled with his exceptional intelligence (and charm), he could perform spells that others struggled through an entire lesson to cast.
In practical classes like this, he earned heaps of points and, under the professor’s guidance, delved into more advanced knowledge.
Hermione was quick to learn magic as well. In Transfiguration, for instance, her match-to-needle transformation was second only to Harry’s in precision.
She had done extensive preparatory reading and had natural talent, but as the saying went, “Why was Hermione born in the same era as Harry?” Her brilliance was somewhat overshadowed, though she no longer saw Harry as just another peer.
Transfiguration and Charms were already engaging subjects, but the class everyone truly looked forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Quirrell’s lessons, however, were practically a joke. His classroom reeked of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he’d encountered in Romania, fearing it might come back for him.
He claimed his oversized turban was a gift from an African prince, given in gratitude for helping him escape a reanimated corpse. No one was quite sure whether to believe the story.
First, when Seamus Finnigan eagerly asked how Quirrell defeated the corpse, the professor’s face flushed red, and he mumbled something about the weather.
Second, they noticed his turban gave off a peculiar smell. The Weasley twins swore it was stuffed with garlic, ensuring Quirrell was protected wherever he went.
Harry’s verdict? The man was quite the actor.
But such tricks could only fool children. Harry had already reported his suspicions to Dumbledore, who shared the same view: let Quirrell play his game and see where it led. Dumbledore assured Harry that everything was under control.
As for the other professors… that creep Snape likely knew Quirrell was up to something.
Their relationship was peculiar, like two predators wary of each other, each holding back for fear of consequences.
Snape was stronger than Quirrell, but there was something odd about that turban.
Wait a second—could Snape and Quirrell be involved?
No, they didn’t seem like lovers. Their interactions were stiff, their friendliness practically nonexistent, possibly even masking hidden conflict. There was no love there, but in wizarding Britain… who could say?
Perhaps it was a case of love turned to hate. Snape’s gaze toward Harry carried that same mix of love and loathing.
Before the school year began, Harry would sometimes walk the streets of London and spot all sorts of cases.
Such things were rare among wizards, but not unheard of.
Ugh, it was all because of his cursed charm—being targeted by creeps.
Harry even warned Ron and Neville that boys needed to protect themselves out there. Just because they weren’t as good-looking as Harry didn’t mean they were safe.
They might not be as handsome as Harry, but they also didn’t have his fighting skills. They needed to watch out for shady priests and creepy uncles.
Of course, he was joking. Harry was quite fond of jokes himself.
Friday.
“What classes do we have today?” Harry asked Ron, demonstrating his astonishing appetite as he ate.
“Double Potions with the Slytherins,” Ron replied. “Snape’s the Head of Slytherin House. They say he favors his own students. Now we’ll see if it’s true.”
Harry nodded. “I asked around with the other houses, and it’s true. He deducts points unfairly. Slytherin’s won the House Cup six years in a row. Sometimes I wonder how he gets away with it, especially with Dumbledore, a Gryffindor, as Headmaster. Maybe one day Dumbledore will pull some strings and let Gryffindor win a few cups in a row.”
“Dumbledore wouldn’t do that,” Ron said. “He’s probably like McGonagall—fair and impartial. McGonagall never favors Gryffindor; she treats everyone the same. Honestly, I think she’d make a great Headmistress.”
Ron thought Dumbledore’s speech at the Opening Feast had a touch of senility, but overall, he seemed normal enough.
“Who knows,” Harry said, finishing his last piece of bread and clapping Ron on the shoulder. “But we shouldn’t worry too much about points. It can turn your efforts into something artificial.”
Potions was the last class the first-years attended, and the person Harry was most wary of at Hogwarts wasn’t Dumbledore or Quirrell—it was Snape.
Not for any particular reason, just a gut feeling that the man was terrifying.
Few things scared Harry anymore, but everyone had their ultimate insult they couldn’t bear.
At the Opening Feast, Harry could sense, beneath Snape’s icy exterior, a burning, passionate love.
If it were directed at someone else, Harry might have thought Snape was a decent person—cold on the outside, warm within, a hopeless romantic.
But when that gaze was directed at him? The man was utterly deplorable!
