"Alexander! It really is him!!"
"Oh my God, I knew he wasn't all hype! He's a real genius! I'd believe it if you told me the professor wrote it himself!"
"Unbelievable—and he's only a first-year. This answer... did he memorize all of Encountering Faceless Ghouls and Dark Forces: A Self-Defense Guide?"
The students were stunned by Devrow's perfect exam paper.
Just a moment ago, many had doubted whether Devrow had simply scribbled nonsense and handed it in. But now, with Professor Quirrell's endorsement and the genuine exam paper laid before them, they finally understood.
Devrow wasn't just someone who attended classes with them—he could have taught the class himself!
"How is that possible!?"
A loud roar interrupted the discussion.
The crowd immediately quieted and turned towards the source of the sound.
Wells had once again become the center of attention.
Everyone stared at him silently, assuming he was about to question whether Devrow had cheated—understandable, considering Wells had always been Ravenclaw's top student.
Now, being completely outclassed by a younger first-year, it was no surprise he might lose his composure a little.
But surprisingly—
Wells wasn't questioning Devrow's integrity.
Instead, he glared at the previous speaker and roared,
"How could he have only memorized those two books!!!"
The crowd was left bewildered.
What did he mean?
Wells turned back toward Devrow, staring intently at him.
"I've seen the viewpoints he wrote down in many different books," Wells said, voice tinged with disbelief. "I'm afraid he's memorized all the books in the library related to Defense Against the Dark Arts—except for those in the restricted section!"
After saying this, Wells slumped back into his chair, shaking his head with a look of resignation.
"That's a real genius..." he muttered.
At those words, everyone around felt their scalp tingle.
Devrow truly deserved Professor Quirrell's earlier praise—
"He is the most outstanding student Hogwarts has ever seen!"
Devrow smiled faintly in response to Quirrell's compliment.
He hadn't expected Quirrell to be so vocal. Calling him the most outstanding student—wasn't he worried that someone "without a nose" might hear?
Devrow shook his head with a wry smile.
He could only explain it by assuming that the Cruciatus Curse had somehow drawn out Quirrell's original consciousness.
This class was the last one before lunch.
Devrow had overslept that morning and missed Professor Sprout's Herbology lesson.
But judging from Quirrell's attitude, it seemed Snape had already helped excuse his absence.
Nothing to worry about.
The students around him stood up and flooded towards the door, eager to get to the cafeteria.
For Devrow, lunch was different from breakfast.
You had to grab breakfast before 8 a.m. before the owls arrived with extra dishes.
But lunch? Lunch could be enjoyed much later. Hogwarts' magic ensured the food remained hot and fresh—bowls of porridge and platters refilled automatically.
Thus, Devrow sat quietly, waiting for the crowd to leave before he moved.
Many students cast admiring, even worshipful glances at him.
The scene earlier—everyone watching Devrow's exam paper together—had elevated his status from genius first-year to walking Defense Against the Dark Arts encyclopedia.
Some students even came forward to shake his hand.
Oh my God.
Devrow now fully understood what Harry must have felt like—this was incredibly awkward.
He forced a polite smile and shook every hand offered.
Within two minutes, his facial muscles were starting to cramp.
Finally, only one student was left—one last outstretched hand.
Devrow absentmindedly shook it, glancing up—and froze.
It was Wells.
The very same Wells who had been constantly badmouthing him behind his back.
Truthfully, Devrow had heard all the whispers and complaints.
But he never cared much—after all, his skills spoke for themselves.
Still, he hadn't expected Wells to come forward and shake his hand after class.
Wells said nothing at first.
Devrow awkwardly let go, thinking this interaction was over, when Wells gave a slight nod and said,
"Learning from you."
Then he turned and walked away.
Devrow stared after him, twitching the corner of his mouth.
"What a baffling guy," he muttered.
Shaking his head, he picked up the textbook he had borrowed from Quirrell and made his way toward the podium to return it.
At the same time, two girls sitting behind Devrow stood up as well.
Clearly, they had the same idea—delaying lunch to avoid the crowds.
As they walked past, they chatted animatedly.
"Oh, today's class was so interesting! That Imperius Curse... hehe, I really want to learn it. I'd make Mimi dance a tap dance!"
Devrow couldn't help but smile.
Great minds think alike. I'd love to see El tap dance too.
"Yeah, but the Cruciatus Curse—that one was seriously scary. I couldn't even bear to watch."
"Same here! But still, this was way better than last week's boring lecture. Plus, that awful smell is gone! It's so much more comfortable now."
Their voices faded as they exited the classroom.
Devrow stretched lazily.
"Yeah," he agreed softly. "Defense Against the Dark Arts without the garlic smell... Poor Potions, now officially the most unwanted class."
Chuckling, he walked up to the podium and handed the textbook to Quirrell.
"Thank you, Professor. I'll head to lunch now."
Quirrell accepted the book with a smile and adjusted the large scarf around his head.
The once-overwhelming garlic smell was now barely noticeable.
That was when Devrow froze.
Garlic smell? Faded?
His mind spun furiously.
Why had Quirrell been wearing a scarf loaded with garlic in the first place?
Wasn't it to hide Voldemort's presence?
So why...?
Devrow stiffly turned his head, locking his eyes onto Quirrell.
And he saw—
Nothing unusual.
Just Quirrell.
Sorting exam papers into a bag, Quirrell looked up and saw Devrow's stunned expression.
He smiled gently.
"What's wrong, Alexander? Is there a problem?"
Devrow's body shuddered.
He blinked rapidly, waving his hands.
"N-No, Professor! I'm fine! I'll be going now!"
Without waiting for a response, Devrow fled the room like a puff of smoke.
Quirrell watched him go, frowning slightly in confusion.
Then he simply shook his head, chuckling softly as he picked up Devrow's exam paper again, admiring the neat writing and perfect logic as if it were a masterpiece.
"Oh my God, he's really talented," he whispered.
Meanwhile, Marcus silently helped Quirrell pack up the teaching materials, his head bowed.
Huff! Huff! Huff!
Devrow sprinted down the corridor until he reached an area with more students around him.
There, he slowed down, gasping for breath.
But the panic on his face only grew.
Because just now, when he had examined Quirrell's "panel"—
He hadn't seen Voldemort.
No trace.
Nothing.
Devrow's face turned pale as he muttered under his breath,
"He's gone."
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