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After her free period, Aria went to her Defense Against the Dark Arts class which was taught by nonother than stuttering man Quirrell

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After her free period, Aria went to her Defense Against the Dark Arts class which was taught by nonother than stuttering man Quirrell. The man jumped from topic to topic constantly, never going into depth about anything. One moment he was talking about vampires and another he was telling them which mushrooms had dark properties.

All in all, a horrible class.

This was accentuated as Pansy regrettably wasn't seated next to her, leaving Aria with no one to talk to. The boy next to her wasn't in the mood despite Aria's best attempts to start a conversation or to introduce herself.

She was rudely ignored, so Aria settled for reading her textbook.

She was halfway through the second chapter when she realized the professor had stopped talking about Romanian Vampires.

"I-I-I don't believe i-in g-g-giving homework on the first week." He shakily told the class. "S-s-so h-have a n-n-nice d-day."

Aria packed her books up, eager to be finished with the lesson, and just when she was about to leave, Quirrell's voice called out to her.

"No, Miss Stark. Not you."

Just like her, Blaise, Theo, and Pansy stopped in their tracks, looking back at their friend and then at the professor.

He didn't stutter.

"Don't wait for me, I'll catch up." She reassured, shoving her phone back into her pocket as she walked toward Quirrell's desk.

"I know this might sound odd, but do you remember what happened the night Voldemort attacked your home?" The man asked, staring intensely at the girl.

Aria's shoulders tensed instantly at the question, a cold sense of dread washing over her once she noticed his eyes. Were they always red?

"No." She answered honestly, grip tightening on her bag. There was no need to pretend like she didn't know what he was talking about. She wasn't that stupid.

"Nothing?" He pressed on, leaning closer on his desk. "Are you absolutely sure?"

Unsurely, Aria nodded. Ironic.

So that whole stuttering thing was an act, huh?

"Shame." Quirrell drawled disappointedly, shifting his gaze down toward the girl's trembling hands, then back up to her eyes.

"How did you get that scar, next to your eye?" He asked, gesturing with his hand toward said scar.

"It's always been there." She responded, frowning as she absentmindedly traced the abused skin. "Why are you asking me this?" She demanded, eyeing the professor suspiciously.

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