The classroom was eerily silent as Sky and Hermione entered, taking their usual seats near the middle of the room. Not the usual 'students-waiting-for-the-teacher' kind of silence, but the unsettling kind—like the room itself had forgotten how to breathe. There was no nervous chattering, no lazy banter about Quidditch, not even the usual groans of students dreading another lesson with their jumpy professor. Instead, all eyes were locked onto the front of the room, where Professor Quirrell stood, gripping the desk as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
Something was very wrong.
Hermione, always the first to sense trouble, leaned toward Sky. "Something's off about him."
Sky, who had been watching the professor with narrowed eyes, smirked slightly. "Understatement of the year. He looks like he crawled out of a crypt, realized he forgot something, and then crawled back in."
Hermione shot him a look, but even she couldn't argue against the observation. Gone was the usual nervous fidgeting, the wide-eyed stammering. Instead, Quirrell stood stiffly, unmoving, his breathing slow and wheezy, like every inhale scraped against something raw inside him. His skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor, and the thick shawl around his neck looked tighter than before, as if hiding something.
When he finally spoke, his voice was dry and rasping, devoid of any stutter. "Good morning, class."
Several students jumped, clearly expecting the usual quivering mess of a professor. But instead of his characteristic awkwardness, Quirrell sounded tired. Exhausted, even. Like someone had drained the last drop of life from him, but he was still stubbornly standing.
Sky leaned toward Hermione, whispering, "Did he get replaced by a ghost? You'd tell me if this was a Weekend at Bernie's situation, right?"
Hermione frowned. "A what?"
"Never mind. Muggle humor is wasted here."
Quirrell inhaled sharply, the wheeze sending a ripple of unease through the room. "Today, we will be practicing basic signaling magic. Green Sparks and Red Sparks. Simple spells, but effective… should you ever need a distress signal… or a warning."
Sky quirked an eyebrow. "Wow, what an inspiring vote of confidence. 'Today we learn how to call for help.' I feel so safe."
"Be serious," Hermione whispered. "These are actually useful. Green for safety, red for danger. It's a basic magical signal system."
"Oh, I agree," Sky said. "But have you noticed that Quirrell looks two sneezes away from turning into dust? Because I feel like those red sparks might be very useful soon."
Hermione shot him a warning look, but her concern for the professor was evident. Meanwhile, Quirrell had started moving, albeit sluggishly, toward the chalkboard. Each step looked like an effort, his arms twitching slightly as he reached out to scribble on the board. The words formed slowly—Verdimillious & Vermillious—but his writing was shakier than usual.
"Basic distress magic?" Sky muttered. "Finally, a lesson Hogwarts actually needs with all the potential and hypothetical chaos one might accidentally create."
Hermione moaned while hitting her head to her desk. "Please don't make me regret sitting next to you."
Quirrell turned back to the class, his sunken eyes scanning them in a way that made everyone uncomfortable. "Pair up and practice out the window. Green Sparks, Verdimillious… Red Sparks, Vermillious… focus on precision."
A collective murmur went through the students. No one dared to say it out loud, but the change in their professor was unmistakable. The nervous, bumbling coward they were used to had been replaced by someone cold, hollow—maybe a hint of desperation.
Sky grinned, nudging Hermione. "That's our cue to do absolutely nothing for the next hour."
"Sky!"
"What? I'm just saying, I think we've learned all we need to from this class. Like, for example, how to slowly wither away into a ghost while still technically being alive."
"That's not funny."
"It could be, with the right angle of morbidity."
Around them, students hesitantly raised their wands, aiming out the open windows as instructed, trying the spells. Small bursts of green and red light flickered against the bright sky outside, some sparking weakly, others fizzling out entirely before making it beyond the glass. A few managed to send sparks soaring impressively far, catching the attention of some curious birds who veered away in surprise. Then, Neville Longbottom raised his wand. With a newfound confidence—and a brand-new wand—he gave it a firm swish. A brilliant arc of green sparks shot out the window in a dazzling, controlled stream, illuminating the sky for a few glorious seconds before fading out in the distance. The students around him paused, jaws slightly slack. Even Neville himself looked surprised.
Quirrell, wheezing slightly but clearly impressed, gave the slightest nod. "Five points to Gryffindor… for proper execution."
A stunned silence followed before Ron Weasley clapped Neville on the back. "Blimey, Neville! Since when did you become a fireworks expert?"
Harry, standing beside him, grinned. "That was brilliant, Neville! You could probably signal for help from miles away with that."
Neville, face bright red, muttered something about his new wand working much better than his old one, still looking at the window as if expecting the sparks to return.
Sky, looking closely at the birds, had other plans. He had spent the last few minutes subtly enchanting a small satchel under his desk, whispering incantations that adjusted the space inside it, filling it slowly with conjured golden birds. Each time he muttered the spell, the bag would twitch slightly as another small feathery creature popped into existence, waiting inside the magically expanded space. He smirked to himself—birds have wings. Birds would fly.
Hermione, noticing his quiet focus, narrowed her eyes. "Sky, what are you doing?"
He barely glanced at her before responding nonchalantly, "An experiment."
Hermione started to repeat, "An experi…" Then her eyes widened in dawning horror. "Oh no."
What happened next was nothing short of glorious chaos.
With a swift movement, Sky stored the bag and then released it under Quirrell's desk, released the enchantment, and sat back with the casual air of someone who had nothing to do with what was about to unfold.
A moment later, the bottom of the bag gave out with a sharp pop, and dozens of small golden birds burst free. Wings flapped wildly as they shot into the air, their shimmering feathers catching the light as they zipped around the room in utter panic.
The reaction was instantaneous. Students shrieked as birds fluttered into their hair, perched on heads, and frantically flapped against the windows. Ron let out a yelp as one nearly collided with his face. Lavender Brown climbed onto her desk, waving her arms wildly as a bird stubbornly clung to her shoulder. Dean Thomas ducked just in time as another zipped past his ear at breakneck speed.
Right in the middle of it all sat Quirrell, frozen in sheer horror. As the explosion of birds erupted directly beneath his desk, he let out a wheezy, panicked gasp, jerking backward so violently that his chair scraped against the stone floor.
His arms flailed, but it was too late. The birds swarmed, landing on his lap, gripping his robes, and flapping in every direction. His breath hitched, his frame shaking, as sheer panic took over. He clawed at his shawl, desperately trying to bat them away, but the sheer number of flapping wings and darting movements overwhelmed him.
Desperate, Quirrell staggered back, knocking over his chair. "C-class dismissed!" he rasped, his voice desperate as he practically fled toward the door, nearly tripping in his haste.
She looked at Sky with deep skepticism, her gaze narrowing as she studied him. "You are far too entertained by whatever this is."
Sky, utterly unfazed, simply smirked as he continued casting very tiny sparks from his wand, alternating between red and green with the casual flick of his wrist. Each flicker of magic illuminated his smug expression as if he were conducting an entirely separate lesson by himself.
Hermione folded her arms. "Your responsible for this ridiculous chaos aren't you?"
"That depends on your definition of ridiculous," Sky mused, still rhythmically firing tinier versions of sparks out the window as if testing their aesthetic appeal.
"To some, this is mere spell practice. To others, it's art."
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "I was talking about all these birds."
Sky's smirk deepened. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
Hermione just took a deep breathe in a somewhat defeated tone. "Of course you don't. Why are you even practicing sparks at this time? The class was dismissed."
I just smirked. "Ever heard of Priori Incantatem?"
"no"
"You should look it up."