Harry Potter: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me from Studying

Ever since he inadvertently overheard Quirrell and the possessed Voldemort, Wade stopped frequenting isolated, deserted corners. When he didn't have class, he spent most of his time in the Umbrella Room.

Fortunately, Michael's enthusiasm for Quidditch had finally waned—probably because Ravenclaw lost to Hufflepuff in their match, and two students were injured, making Quidditch seem less interesting to him.

During Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Wade paid close attention to Quirrell. Facing his students, Professor Quirrell was still the timid, pathetic Quirrell. When a mischievous student asked about his fall in the stands, he just stammered awkwardly, "I—I wasn't paying attention—it seems—it seems someone pushed me—"

The students' faces showed disbelief—what student would dare to prank a professor? They all thought Quirrell had simply gotten too excited and lost his balance but was too embarrassed to admit it.

Of course, no one would suspect Wade. In their minds, he had always been the epitome of a good student—respectful of professors, diligent in his studies, never causing trouble, a typical Ravenclaw.

After class, Padma quickly packed her bag and excitedly ran over to ask, "To the Umbrella Room for homework?"

Quirrell's teaching ability wasn't great, but his homework-assigning skills were almost on par with Professor Snape's, always requiring essays over a foot long, which gave even Ravenclaw students a headache.

However, after studying in the Umbrella Room for a while, Padma felt as though she had cracked the code for writing essays and even enjoyed it. This was probably because after quickly finishing her homework, watching her classmates groan about the difficult and lengthy assignments, tearing their hair out in frustration, the swelling sense of superiority brought her immense joy.

Wade had seen her chatting in the Great Hall more than once—

"How much homework do you have left?"

"Hmm? Still so much unfinished? I only took forty minutes to write my essay yesterday. It felt quite simple, actually. Why haven't you even started the introduction? Were you not paying attention in class?"

After a few such instances, everyone stopped wanting to talk to her, so Padma always stuck with her sister. But judging from Parvati's expression, she only tolerated Padma's boasting to "reference" her homework.

Wade was tempted to tell her not to be so boastful, but Michael stared fixedly at the smile on Padma's face at the other end of the long table, then said, "Don't you think she's cute like that? It's like her face is shouting, 'Aren't I amazing?' 'Come praise me!'—"

He unconsciously smiled: "Both clumsy and smart—like a little kid."

...Fine.

Wade swallowed the words he was about to say.

He suspected his mindset was too old, that he considered problems too realistically, which was why he didn't appreciate such silly, adorable quirks in a little girl.

At that moment, Padma excitedly looked forward to going to the Umbrella Room, but behind her, Michael was winking and subtly hinting at Wade.

Wade glanced over, then turned his gaze back, saying, "You two go ahead. I have a question I need to ask Professor Flitwick."

Michael was overjoyed, giving a thumbs-up and wiggling it twice to show his thanks.

Padma was a little disappointed: "—Alright."

The two left together, and Wade gathered his things and headed up to the seventh floor.

He wasn't deliberately creating an opportunity for Michael; he genuinely had something to discuss with Professor Flitwick.

Professor Flitwick's office was on the seventh floor. Students rarely climbed this high, so it was very quiet. In the long corridor, only the portraits occasionally murmured.

Speaking of which, Wade had never seen another portrait as active as Griffiths. Most portraits in the castle often just stretched or turned their heads; some he had never seen leave their frames.

Like Miss Claudia, for example.

Wade arrived before an oak door, upon which an eagle was carved. It saw Wade, flapped its wings, and seemed to speak to itself: "Wade Gray approaches for a visit."

A moment later, it said, "Entry permitted."

The oak door slid open, and Wade stepped inside.

Professor Flitwick's office style was identical to the Ravenclaw Tower—the room had an arched structure with thirteen windows, offering views of the Ravenclaw Tower and the Owlery. Sunlight filtered through the colored glass, casting dappled light on the floor.

Most of the furniture in the room was miniature, perfectly suited to Professor Flitwick's height. Only the bookshelves were exceptionally grand, hundreds of books stacked from floor to ceiling. Thick stacks of parchment also lay on the floor; most of these were Professor Flitwick's own organized notes, which he sometimes lent to his favorite students. Wade currently had two such books in his bag.

"Oh, Wade."

Professor Flitwick's voice came from above. Wade looked up to see the professor standing on a tall, self-gliding ladder. The ladder retracted section by section, finally becoming a low step, from which Professor Flitwick simply hopped down.

He said cheerfully, "I was very pleased with your essay on the Softening Charm. Child, do you have any new questions today?"

"Yes," Wade said, taking out the borrowed notes. "I've finished learning all of Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three, and I'd like to ask you to test my proficiency."

"No problem, hmm... cast a Cheering Charm first!" Professor Flitwick said.

For the next while, Wade sequentially demonstrated over a dozen spells typically learned in third year, succeeding every time. Professor Flitwick was so excited he almost fainted!

"Oh, Wade! Oh, Wade! You are absolutely a genius!" He kept repeating, "It's only been three months! I've watched you go from knowing nothing to this level today! You're progressing too quickly! At this rate, you'll reach O.W.L.s level in less than a year! You are destined to become an extraordinary figure!"

Wade smiled and said, "Professor, I'd like to continue borrowing the fourth-year textbook and notes."

"Of course. I've been ready for you! I knew you'd finish before the Christmas holidays." Professor Flitwick waved his wand, and several books flew from the desk. They were Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four, which Professor Flitwick had once used himself, along with research materials he had consulted for teaching, lesson plans, and excellent essays left by previous students.

Professor Flitwick had taught at Hogwarts for decades, long reaching a point where he only needed to bring a wand to class. But the materials he wrote in earlier years, he had never thrown away. Instead, he meticulously organized and collected them, and even now, he continuously repaired and updated them.

Wade's eyes allowed him to quickly learn a spell. But with the same Fire-Making Spell, some people could only light a cigarette, some could ignite a bonfire, and others could use it to incinerate a city.

This was a difference in power.

And in control, some people's Fire-Making Spell would inexplicably blacken their own faces, while others could bring the ignited flames under their control, allowing them to transform, burn, and extinguish at will.

This difference wasn't just due to magical power; it was more about the wizard's understanding of the spell's essence.

Wade's eyes allowed him to "learn." Textbooks and library books helped him "understand." But the materials from Professor Flitwick's office let him touch the line of "control."