Chapter 8
Gabin disliked Defence Against the Dark Arts for two main reasons.
First, Quirrell himself was a mediocre teacher. He stammered through every lesson, his explanations were vague and unclear, and he carried a strong smell of garlic that made it impossible to focus on anything else—even distracting yourself felt impossible.
Second—and far more serious—Voldemort was still attached to him. Because of that, Gabin never dared open his magical perspective during those classes, let alone do anything else. If Voldemort noticed him even slightly, there was no way he could handle it right now.
Even just a fragment of Voldemort's soul was countless times more dangerous than a troll. No matter how talented he might be, he was still only a first-year. Staying low-key was the only sensible choice.
As a result, Gabin felt deeply uncomfortable during Defence Against the Dark Arts—much the way most students looked during History of Magic.
Fortunately, Quirrell and Voldemort were focused solely on the Philosopher's Stone and Harry Potter. They paid almost no attention to him.
Time passed slowly and steadily. Gabin's life remained simple and orderly.
Classes, practice in the Room of Requirement, studying in the library, and Forbidden Forest patrols—these four things filled his entire November and kept him satisfyingly busy.
The Forbidden Forest patrols happened once a week, every Friday evening.
As Hagrid's assistant gamekeeper, Gabin accompanied Hagrid into the forest to check the outer areas, making sure no dangerous creatures wandered too close to the school and threatened the students.
In return, Hogwarts waived his tuition fees and gave him one Galleon a month for living expenses.
There was no other option. As an orphan, he had no money at all—let alone enough to pay for school.
Even his wand and textbooks had been bought for him by Dumbledore on loan.
The patrols weren't difficult; if anything, they were easy. With Hagrid and Fang along for company, and only covering the forest's outer edges, Gabin basically just went for a walk every Friday night. For a first-year wizard, the job was extremely friendly.
And every so often, he even got a little bonus surprise.
This Friday was no different. Gabin left the Room of Requirement, ate dinner in the Great Hall, then returned to the Gryffindor common room to change before meeting Hagrid.
"Hey, Gray—over here! Have you finished your History of Magic essay yet?" Ron's voice called out the moment he stepped through the portrait hole. Clearly, they'd been waiting for him.
Gabin walked over to the trio's table. Harry and Ron both had pieces of parchment in front of them covered in messy, scribbled writing.
And only a single short paragraph each.
From the way they were scratching their heads in frustration, it was obvious they couldn't squeeze out even a second paragraph.
Ron looked up at him with pleading eyes; Harry's expression was a mix of embarrassment and quiet hope. Gabin gave a small smile, pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, and placed it in front of Hermione.
Hermione immediately took out her own completed parchment and slid it across to him. Neither of them said a word. There was a quiet, unspoken understanding between them.
"Ugh, Gray, that's not fair," Ron groaned, dropping his forehead onto the table. Harry let out a long sigh.
Gabin shrugged, flicked his wand to leave two floating words in the air, then turned toward the dormitory stairs.
"Good luck."
Ron stared helplessly at the words hovering in front of him, then turned his gaze back to Hermione.
"Hermione…"
"No. You only get to see it after you've finished writing your own. That's how you actually learn something," Hermione said firmly, clutching her parchment.
The two boys let out dramatic wails of despair, but they had no choice. They hunched over their parchments again, desperately trying to wring a few more drops of thought out of brains that felt as dry as old rags.
Meanwhile, Gabin tucked Hermione's History of Magic essay away safely—he'd read it tomorrow.
Ever since the troll incident, Hermione's relationship with him had noticeably improved.
They'd gone from ordinary classmates to proper good friends. They talked more often in everyday situations.
Whenever they studied in the library, if Gabin arrived first, Hermione would deliberately choose the seat right beside him. They worked side by side, occasionally discussing questions.
Of course, she always made a point of asking, very casually:
"Gray, is anyone sitting here?"
Or:
"The library's really full today… Gray, can I sit next to you?" As if the only reason she was sitting there was because there were no other seats available. It was classic twelve-year-old behavior: wanting to be close to a friend but too proud to admit it outright.
And if Hermione got to the library first, Gabin would find that she had already "reserved" the seat next to her with a stack of books.
When she saw him coming, she would quietly move the books aside—but she never waved him over. She just kept reading, watching him from the corner of her eye.
Gabin always played along with the slightly childish but very endearing game. He'd walk over, ask if the seat was taken, and she would answer—no.
If he ever chose a different table instead, he would soon feel a small, indignant stare boring into him from across the room.
It was, quite honestly, adorable.
Of course, this was only one small part of their daily lives. Most of the time Gabin practiced magic alone in the Room of Requirement, while Hermione spent hers with Harry and Ron, plotting ways to get back at Malfoy.
After Gabin had left those two lines of text floating in the air during the troll aftermath, not only had McGonagall and Snape understood—he knew Hermione had figured it out too.
She had confronted Harry and Ron, and the three of them had teamed up to plan revenge on the insufferable Malfoy.
As for why they didn't ask Gabin to join… probably because Malfoy only had two cronies, and the trio didn't want to gang up unfairly.
Or possibly because they could never find him—Gabin spent most of his free time in the Room of Requirement rather than the common room, so their day-to-day contact was limited.
In the dormitory, Gabin changed out of his heavy school robes into lighter, more practical clothes. He tied his sleeves tightly at the wrists, put on sturdy, waterproof high boots, and tucked his wand securely against the inside of his left forearm.
Even though patrols were usually safe, it never hurt to be prepared. Hogwarts still had plenty of dangerous things lurking around.
He left the common room, walked out of the castle, crossed the wide lawns, and arrived at Hagrid's hut.
The sky was already dim—around six o'clock in the evening.
Outside the door, Gabin first gave Fang's big head a vigorous rub until the boarhound snorted and trotted away. Only then did he knock loudly.
"Who's there? Who's knockin'?" came a rumbling voice, followed by a series of loud thumps and crashes. Finally the door swung open.
A massive figure filled the doorway—wild, tangled hair, a thick, bushy beard, and two bright beetle-black eyes.
"Oh, it's you, Gray. Friday again already? Time flies." Hagrid's voice softened noticeably. He gave his own head a couple of thumps with one enormous hand, as if trying to wake himself up.
He'd clearly just been asleep.