21-25

*Chapter 21: An Extremely Dreadful Incident*

Luke stumbled to the dining hall in a daze, utterly unfocused. He couldn’t recall a single word from the remainder of Defense Against the Dark Arts class—everything had gone in one ear and out the other.

Sitting at the table, absentmindedly poking at a salad leaf, his thoughts were already drifting to the private lesson scheduled for Sunday evening.

“Hey, Luke, buddy, snap out of it,” came the concerned voices of Harry and Ron.

“Oh? Hmm,” Luke finally realized it was mealtime.

“What’s up with you? You’ve been like this since class ended,” Harry asked, his tone full of worry.

“It’s Professor Quirrell’s extra tutoring session. I... I really don’t want to go.”

Luke looked like a man who had lost all hope.

“Extra tutoring in Defense Against the Dark Arts? That sounds amazing!” Ron’s face lit up with excitement. “Think about it! Professor Quirrell fought vampires! He must be incredibly powerful. Luke, you should be thrilled.”

Luke shot Ron a sidelong glance. “Si tacuisisses, philosophus mansisses.”

Ron glanced at Harry, then back at Luke, utterly baffled. “What are you even saying?”

A sweet but slightly smug voice chimed in. “If you kept your mouth shut, you’d seem a bit smarter.”

Ron turned to see Hermione Granger, her bushy hair and prominent front teeth instantly recognizable.

“You,” Ron said with evident annoyance. “Ugh, why are you always so rude?”

“That’s the translation of what Mr. Mountbatten said,” Hermione replied with an eye roll. “He spoke in Latin, a very ancient language.”

“Brilliant,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “Luke, you even know ancient languages now?”

Harry couldn’t suppress a chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Ron asked, confused.

“Nothing.”

Harry stifled his laughter, thinking about Ron’s drastically different reactions to Hermione and Luke.

“It’s just a language,” Luke said with a smile, nodding politely at Hermione. “Good afternoon, Miss Granger.”

“G-good afternoon, Your Highness,” Hermione stammered, suddenly flustered. Being from a Muggle middle-class family, she knew all too well about Luke’s background.

“I hope you don’t think I was rude to interrupt,” she added nervously.

“Not at all,” Luke said with a warm smile. “Call me Luke. This is Hogwarts, after all. We’re all classmates here.” He extended a hand, and Hermione quickly shook it.

Their hands barely touched before Luke withdrew his, saying gently, “I hope we can become friends, the clever girl of Gryffindor.”

“L-Luke,” Hermione stammered, still a bit flustered. “I’d be honored to be your friend.”

“She’s not good for anything,” Ron muttered with a mouthful of chicken, looking disdainful.

Hermione rolled her eyes but chose not to respond.

“Well, looks like your little zoo has a new addition,” came a teasing voice behind Luke. “A beaver? Very fitting for your collection of animals.”

Luke turned to see the speaker—a tall, elegant Slytherin girl. Today, she wore a white shirt with a green ribbon tied into a bow at the collar. Over it was a black coat with green trim, paired with a black pleated skirt that ended just above her knees. Her long legs, wrapped in black cotton stockings, were finished off with brown leather shoes. Luke silently admired her—what a proud and glamorous beauty of Slytherin House.

As always, she wore her signature white lace gloves.

“I’m not a beaver!” Hermione snapped, standing up angrily.

Ron quickly tugged her sleeve, whispering, “Are you crazy? That’s the most fearsome upperclassman in all of Hogwarts. Just let her call you whatever she wants. It’s not worth losing an arm over.”

Despite his words, Ron was clearly on Hermione’s side.

“Oh, the little beaver is angry now,” Katherine said, her emerald-green eyes flashing with a frosty light.

“I am NOT a little beaver!” Hermione cried, her front teeth biting her lip. Her lower lip turned pale, and tears shimmered in her eyes, ready to spill.

Luke set down his utensils and said sternly, “That’s enough, Katherine. Come with me; I need to talk to you.”

“Oh? Is our little Luke worried about his precious beaver?”

Though Katherine’s words were biting, she followed Luke out of the hall.

“She’s a bully! A total bully!” Hermione sobbed, tears streaming down her face as she cried to Ron and Harry.

“Levicorpus!”

“Protego!”

Katherine’s spell was blocked by Luke, who had been ready for her. She glanced at him coldly, her displeasure evident.

“Enough, Katherine!” Luke frowned at his upperclassman. He hadn’t expected her to cast a harmful spell on a fellow student right in the Great Hall.

Professor McGonagall stormed over, her sharp gaze fixed on Katherine. After a moment of tense silence, she said sternly, “This is an extremely dreadful incident! Miss Worre, for your behavior, Slytherin will lose fifty points!”

The Slytherins erupted in outrage, buzzing like an angry hive of bees.

Hermione collapsed into her seat, completely overwhelmed. She covered her face with her hands and cried loudly, tears streaming like a river. Ron patted her shoulder, whispering words of comfort.

Katherine smirked faintly before turning to sit at the Slytherin table. Wherever her gaze landed, the whispering students fell silent immediately.

Luke sat beside Hermione, unsure how to comfort her. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

“It’s not your fault, Luke,” Hermione said between sobs. “You’re a victim, too. Don’t blame yourself.”

“My friend has a terrible temper,” Luke admitted. “The fact that you stood up to her shows great courage. Even many older students wouldn’t dare.”

Pausing, Luke smiled awkwardly. “Still, no matter how ‘warm-hearted’ she might secretly be, there’s no excuse for her behavior.”

He winked. “Why don’t you join us for some spell practice? Maybe one day, you’ll be able to get revenge. Just imagine—you using Levicorpus to hang that bully upside down.”

(End of Chapter)

**Chapter 22: The Art of Being a Scoundrel**

 A dreamy look of longing appeared on Hermione's delicate face, but she quickly snapped back to reality. 

 "Don't do this, Luke. Aren't you overestimating me a bit too much?" Hermione couldn't imagine a day when she'd defeat that dark lord. Beside her, Harry and Ron nodded vigorously in agreement.

 "Every mortal has their moment of triumph," Luke said with a wink. "Who knows, maybe one day you'll beat her."

 Encouraged by his words, Hermione brightened up. She was so motivated that after lunch, she skipped her usual nap and enthusiastically dragged Luke, Harry, and Ron off to practice spells.

 **Hermione Granger**  
*Attributes: Charms (10), Potions (10), Transfiguration (10), Dark Arts (10), Defense Against the Dark Arts (10), Flying (1), Herbology (10), Divination (2)*

 "What a prodigy," Luke thought, marveling at Hermione's stats.  

 Though she didn’t possess the off-the-charts talent that Harry did, she was undeniably a genius. For instance, when Harry, Ron, and Malfoy practiced casting jinxes on him, they barely improved his shield charm proficiency by a single point. But when Hermione practiced for just a short while, her proficiency soared from 1 to 5—a truly impressive feat.

 ---

 Before heading back, Luke made a special trip to the Hogwarts kitchen. After politely asking if someone could help deliver tea to the eighth floor, a group of eager house-elves enthusiastically volunteered.  

 Not wanting to refuse their goodwill, Luke graciously assigned tasks: brewing tea, baking scones, and preparing cookies. Bowing elegantly to thank them, he left the kitchen under their adoring gazes.

 “Master Luke is… he’s so…” sniffled a house-elf named Aslo, wiping away tears. “He even thanked us... us lowly house-elves…”

 The other house-elves nodded in agreement. At Aslo's command, they bustled around, completing their tasks with renewed energy.

 ---

 When Luke returned to the Slytherin common room, the senior girl was still waiting for him. Tonight, however, her expression was icy. Without a word, she stood up and headed for the door as soon as she saw him enter.  

 Luke quickly followed her.

 "Why aren’t you off charming your sweet and kind little otter girl? Why come here for a scolding instead?" she asked coldly in the Room of Requirement.  

 Ah, mystery solved—her sarcasm clearly stemmed from the Lin Daiyu school of drama.

 "Why do you assume I’d be with Hermione?" Luke raised an eyebrow.

 "Who wouldn’t like a gentle girl like her? Especially one with a mop of fluffy otter hair," Catherine retorted sharply.

 "Me, for one," Luke said, settling into a chair and making himself comfortable. He tapped the table, and within moments, the house-elves appeared, filling it with tea and snacks.

 After quietly thanking the elves, he looked up. "What do you like to drink, Senior? Would tea suffice?"

 Catherine thought for a moment before reluctantly sitting down opposite him.  

 The beauty of the Room of Requirement was that it could provide anything—as long as it existed in the real world.

 "I don’t actually like gentle girls," Luke said, sipping his tea elegantly. "Gentle girls are kind to everyone. But I’d end up thinking they were only kind to me, which would make me smug and self-satisfied, only for things to end poorly. That’s why I avoid liking gentle girls."

 Catherine pursed her lips, clearly unconvinced. Yet, the way her fingers relaxed from gripping her skirt betrayed her softening heart.

 “It’s against school rules to cast malicious spells on fellow students—especially in the Great Hall. When you tried to hoist Granger upside-down with a Levicorpus in front of all those teachers, I had no choice but to intervene.”

 Morally flexible as ever, Luke continued without batting an eye. "Of course, I didn’t say, ‘She’s my friend, so please don’t do that.’ Frankly, I wouldn’t have minded if you did it—just not where the teachers could see. It would’ve cost us house points. I know you don’t care what your classmates think of you, but…”  

 He fixed Catherine with a sincere gaze. "You’re my best friend at Hogwarts. I wouldn’t want the teachers to have a bad impression of you either."

 Catherine, being the quintessential tsundere, was like a cat that needed gentle coaxing. Sure enough, the icy walls in her gaze began to melt. She sipped her tea, using the steam as a shield for her faintly flushed cheeks.

 “Best friend, huh...”  

 “Disgusting,” she muttered, before retreating to her little room.

 Luke let out a sigh of relief. Crisis averted.

 In truth, both the "palm" and the "back of the hand" mattered, but he had to admit the palm was thicker. He couldn’t afford to offend Catherine too much; her "wool" was too valuable to stop harvesting, and losing his human map of Hogwarts would be a disaster.

 While he was zoning out, Catherine emerged, tossing an old notebook at him.

 “This book belonged to the Half-Blood Prince…” Luke frowned. “What a melodramatic name…”

 Ah, wait—he remembered. This was the notebook Harry found in the sixth book. It belonged to Snape. That explained everything. 

“I stumbled upon it by chance. I’ve already memorized its contents, so it’s yours now,” Catherine said cheerfully.

 “Thank you,” Luke replied sincerely, holding the notebook. This was a huge help. 

Flipping through it, he quickly located the *Sectumsempra* spell. Written on the page was a note that read, “A merciless, cruel spell of unparalleled power, perfect for use on Potter’s disgusting face.” 

Still bitter, even after all these years, Snape couldn’t resist taking a jab at James.

 Not caring about who wronged whom back then, Luke focused on the spell. He removed the note, drew his wand, and aimed at the training dummy.  

 "Sectumsempra!"  

 No flashy effects, no dramatic lights—the dummy was instantly shredded to pieces.

 --- 

**Congratulations! You’ve learned the spell: Sectumsempra.**  
- Current Level: 8 (0/50,000)  
- Mana Cost: 6  
- Range: 60 yards  
- Casting Time: 0.2 seconds  
- Description: Summons blade-like energy to slash the target, causing irreversible damage unless reversed by the caster 

**Achievements Unlocked:**  
- *Mastery: Level 5 or above (Achieved)*  
- *Mastery: Level 6 or above (Achieved)*  
- *Mastery: Level 7 or above (Achieved)*  
- *Mastery: Level 8 or above (Achieved)* 

**Achievement Reward:** *Cruciatus Spell (Level 1)*   

- *Cruciatus Spell*  
  - Current Level: 1 (5/1,000)  
  - Mana Cost: 200  
  - Range: 1 yard  
  - Casting Time: 10 seconds  
  - Description: Permanently weakens a target’s skills, reducing their levels for every 2 seconds of casting. Can only be reversed by the caster’s counter-spell and used on severely weakened targets.

 Luke sighed. What kind of useless skill was this?  

 *(To be continued...)*  

*Chapter 23: Dumbledore’s Request*

However… starting off with an Eighth-Level Sectumsempra was entirely unexpected for Luke.

He had always known that he had a strong talent for the Dark Arts, but he hadn’t realized just how absurdly strong. A daring thought crept into his mind.

Should he… learn the Unforgivable Curses?

This idea was quickly dismissed.

---

After finishing their spell practice, Luke and Catherine stepped out of the Room of Requirement, only to find Dumbledore standing outside, hands clasped in his long sleeves, as if waiting for them.

“Professor,” the two greeted him in unison.

“Ah, youth,” Dumbledore remarked wistfully. “Although, pursuing romance at your age might be a bit premature.”

Catherine’s face instantly flushed red, and her gaze darted away. Luke, on the other hand, remained unfazed and directly asked, “So, Professor, why aren’t you asleep at this hour? Unless, of course, you were up because of… well… you know.”

Dumbledore paused, momentarily taken aback, then chuckled lightly. “Diligent students like you two are quite rare. If only all your peers were as studious.”

“You’re not here just to reminisce, are you?” Luke pressed. “You must have something in mind.”

Dumbledore reached into Luke’s pocket, retrieved a lemon drop, unwrapped it at a leisurely pace, and popped it into his mouth. Savoring the sweet lemony taste, he closed his eyes briefly before finally speaking.

“There’s something I’d like your advice on, Luke. You see, as an admittedly subpar headmaster, I’ve been pondering ways to encourage our students to show more enthusiasm for their studies. Unfortunately, my efforts have been… underwhelming. So, I thought perhaps someone like you, who’s attended school in the Muggle world, might have some ideas.”

Luke blinked.

“Oh, that’s all? I thought it was something serious.” Luke laughed. “I’ve got plenty of ideas for that.”

After all, he’d been through enough in his past life to become a master of surviving competitive environments.

“Then it’s settled,” Dumbledore said with a playful smile.

“Just don’t regret it later,” Luke replied ominously.

Dumbledore considered this, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his musings. “Ah, it seems Mr. Filch is on his way. I’d suggest you two prepare yourselves for some… inconvenience. Goodnight~”

And with that, Dumbledore made a hasty retreat.

Luke tapped the still-blushing Catherine on the shoulder. “Just so you know, Filch is coming up.”

---

Luke decided to give Dumbledore a little surprise later for leaving them to fend for themselves.

Meanwhile, Harry was diligently following Luke’s advice. He spent the previous night reviewing his Potions material and had even aced Luke’s impromptu breakfast quiz.

Draco, on the other hand, seemed unusually agitated today, his face twisted into an expression of frustration.

After breakfast, it was time for Potions—a full hour-long class in the cold, dreary dungeon. Half the period passed before Snape finally swept in, his black cloak billowing dramatically like a bat stalking its prey.

Standing by the lectern, Snape surveyed the classroom, his sharp eyes scanning the students. Picking up the roster, he began calling out names.

When he reached Harry, he paused.

“Oh yes… Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity,” he said in a slow, deliberate tone.

Harry, remembering Luke’s advice, kept his gaze steady and focused on Snape.

“Snape hates it when students avoid eye contact,” Luke had told him. “So, keep your eyes on him and pay attention.”

Harry found himself studying Snape’s jet-black eyes, which seemed as cold and hollow as his equally dark hair.

“This class does not require you to foolishly wave your wands around,” Snape began in a low, deliberate voice. “You are here to learn the subtle science and precise art of potion-making.”

His nasal tone and sluggish cadence filled the room.

“I do not expect many of you to truly appreciate the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron or the delicate fragrance of its vapors. You are unlikely to comprehend the power of a potion that seeps into one’s veins, enchanting the mind and ensnaring the senses.”

Here, his voice grew sharper. “I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death—”

He suddenly cut himself off. “But only if you aren’t the dunderheads I usually have to deal with.”

Silence fell over the room.

Luke glanced at Harry and saw him stealing a nervous look his way. Luke subtly gave him an encouraging nod.

“Potter!” Snape snapped. Harry visibly jumped. “What would you get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

“A powerful sleeping draught, sir—a Draught of Living Death,” Harry answered without hesitation.

Snape’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile as he stalked over to Harry’s desk. Staring intently into his eyes, he seemed almost pleased—until his gaze fell upon Harry’s face. Instantly, his expression soured.

Such brilliant eyes… ruined by that face.

Oblivious to Snape’s disdain, Harry stared straight back, determined not to falter.

“And tell me, Potter, where would you look if I asked you to fetch me a bezoar?”

“In the stomach of a goat, sir.”

Harry’s quick response left Snape raising an eyebrow.

“Well, well… Potter. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“They’re the same plant, sir. Also known as aconite.”

Confidence radiated from Harry now, his emerald-green eyes gleaming with pride.

Snape froze for a moment, his mind pulled back to a time long past—another pair of confident green eyes, watching him with the same ease and assurance.

It was a bitter reminder of his youth.

“Sometimes, fame isn’t entirely undeserved,” Snape finally muttered, his scowl deepening. “Five points to Gryffindor.”

The Gryffindor students erupted into cheers, while Harry beamed with newfound sincerity. The Slytherins, meanwhile, were dumbfounded.

“Quiet!” Snape barked. “For disrupting the class, Gryffindor loses five points!”

Harry’s grin vanished in an instant.

“Guess not,” Draco whispered to Luke, clearly enjoying Gryffindor’s misfortune.

---

When it came time to brew the Cure for Boils, Snape assigned everyone a partner. Luke ended up with Crabbe, who, unsurprisingly, wasn’t much help. Luke assigned him the simpler task of grinding dried snake fangs.

With the Prince’s handwritten notes in hand, Luke flawlessly brewed a perfect batch of potion. Snape nodded approvingly. “Impressive work, Slytherin. Five points.”

Meanwhile, Harry was busy preventing Neville from ruining yet another cauldron.

“Stop, Neville! Don’t add the porcupine quills yet!” Harry shouted, yanking them out of Neville’s hands just in time.

The class turned to look.

“Neville, you need to remove the cauldron from the fire before adding porcupine quills,” Harry explained. “Otherwise, it’ll melt the cauldron.”

“Well done, Potter,” Snape said, appearing behind Neville. “Gryffindor… three points.”

For a moment, Harry swore he saw a flicker of something in Snape’s eyes—a memory, perhaps.

---

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 24: Your Lily Has Wilted

To say the least, Snape’s attitude toward Harry in the original story wasn’t just because of his looks. In Snape’s eyes, Harry didn’t seem to inherit even the slightest trace of Lily’s talent for Potions. Instead, he only inherited his “deadbeat” father’s flying skills. It’s no wonder Snape was constantly annoyed.

Of course, it wasn’t Harry’s fault. Snape acted like such a villain that Harry couldn’t bring himself to feel even a shred of goodwill toward him. As a result, Harry didn’t take Potions class seriously at all.

Seriously, what’s with a grown man being so petty?

Harry actually had a decent aptitude for Potions; he just lacked someone to guide him.

After class, Luke deliberately stayed behind. To be honest, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about chatting with Snape. Having one sharp-tongued senior was already more than enough for him. But on Dumbledore’s orders, he braced himself and stepped forward.

“Well, what brings our distinguished Mr. Mountbatten to seek out his busy professor?”

Snape drawled sarcastically.

“Professor, this isn’t the place for such a conversation. Could we talk in your office?” Luke shrugged casually.

Snape stared at him for a moment before slowly replying, “Follow me.”

Snape’s office was as gloomy and eerie as ever. Luke tried his best not to look at the jars of specimens or strange animal innards. His eyes wandered around until they landed on a wilted lily on Snape’s desk.

“Well, Mr. Mountbatten, what’s so important that you needed to see me?” Snape asked.

“Professor, as your student and a member of Slytherin, I believe it’s necessary to offer some suggestions for the future of our house,” Luke said with a graceful bow.

“What could you possibly…” Snape began, but then he recalled Luke’s aristocratic background. Even Snape, who paid little attention to Muggle affairs, had heard of Luke’s grandfather and the infamous “Mountbatten Plan.”

Perhaps this boy was indeed a hidden gem? Or maybe Slytherin had lucked into something remarkable.

Snape changed his tone. “Hmm. Let’s hear it. If it’s reasonable, I’ll consider it.”

“Professor, you tend to protect Slytherin students too much. Some don’t even understand your nurturing intentions. Surely you’re aware of this?” Luke began.

“Hmph…” Snape snorted, his expression clearly saying, ‘I, Severus Snape, need not explain myself to anyone.’

“Look.” Luke pulled out a notebook with his plans sketched out. “As your most devoted student and admirer, I took the liberty of drafting a few ideas for the House Cup.”

“Go on,” Snape said, his eyes narrowing.

“My suggestion is to implement monthly quizzes and a midterm exam in Potions class. Use a percentage-based grading system, and send the results to the students’ parents,” Luke explained quickly but clearly.

“This way, if you deduct points from students with low grades, it will appear more justified—even their parents won’t object. Alternatively, if you’re too kind-hearted to penalize them, you could reward the high achievers instead. That seems fair, doesn’t it?”

Luke glanced at Snape and continued, “You could also calculate the average grades for each year in every house. The house with the highest average gets bonus points, and the one with the lowest loses points.”

“Interesting plan,” Snape said thoughtfully. “But… what if Slytherin doesn’t come in first?”

“I find it hard to imagine any Slytherin failing to excel in Potions,” Luke shrugged. “If such a student exists, they clearly don’t respect their Head of House.”

“Your ideas are intriguing, Mr. Mountbatten,” Snape admitted, though he added, “Not everyone has a keen interest in Potions.”

“As Head of House, your authority is unparalleled,” Luke assured him. “Why not implement a policy for evening study sessions from 7:00 to 9:00 PM for Slytherins? If you’re available, you could supervise. If not, appoint a respected class representative for each year to oversee it. What do you think?”

“I have no time to babysit you lot,” Snape replied in his usual snide tone.

“If you’re unavailable, leave it to me,” Luke said confidently.

“And what’s your motive for all this, Luke?” Snape’s eyes and tone were probing.

“As the saying goes, ‘Adversity builds resilience; complacency leads to ruin,’” Luke replied with a smile, choosing not to reveal Dumbledore’s involvement. “The wizarding world is far from peaceful. Dark wizards abound—especially the Dark Lord, who remains at large.

“A bit of extra effort at school could mean fewer injuries when facing dark wizards in the future. I don’t want to hear someday that my friends—Ron, Draco, or Harry—were killed by dark wizards.”

Luke shrugged. “Just imagine Potter’s green eyes before he—”

“Enough,” Snape interrupted sharply. “I understand your intentions. You may leave.”

“Of course, Professor.” Luke nodded. He couldn’t help glancing again at the wilted lily on the desk and kindly remarked, “Professor, your lily seems to have died.”

The moment he said it, he regretted it. Snape flicked his wand, and the door flung open with a bang.

“Get. Out,” Snape said icily, enunciating every word.

Luke quickly fled the office, suddenly recalling a dark, infamous joke from his past life:

“Why doesn’t Severus Snape teach Herbology?”

“Because his Lily is dead.”

Back in the Slytherin common room, Luke found Marcus Flint and Samir Lestrange chatting. Upon seeing him, they immediately stood up and handed him a stack of papers.

“What’s this?” Luke asked, momentarily forgetting what he’d assigned them. He sat down nonchalantly, crossing his legs.

“Our reflections and apologies, Your Highness,” they said, looking both nervous and eager to please.

“Ah,” Luke remembered. He skimmed through the papers. Though repetitive, the sincerity was evident—especially Marcus’s heartfelt piece. One line stood out: “There is only one sun in my heart, and it is you, Your Highness.” 

Well, great. I’ve turned into my own sycophant.

Without revealing his thoughts, Luke said calmly, “Professor Snape will soon introduce some new policies in the house. Prepare a list of students from each year who are suitable to oversee their implementation.”

---

(Chapter End)

Chapter 25: So-called Genius

"Yes, Your Highness." The two agreed without hesitation.

Luke tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest of the sofa. "Draft a list and hand it to me by tonight at the latest."

"Understood."

In the dormitory, Draco was lying on the bed, lazily kicking his legs. When he saw Luke walk in, he quickly got up and greeted him. Luke didn't respond, only staring at him with a sinister smile.

Yesterday’s account had to be settled.

"What's wrong, Luke?" Draco asked nervously. The grin on his roommate's face was downright eerie.

"You did something impressive yesterday."

Luke mimicked Snape’s slow, deliberate tone. The effect was remarkable—Draco’s expression instantly turned sour.

"Uh?" Draco looked dumbfounded.

"Yesterday, in Defense Against the Dark Arts class… you were quite active, weren’t you?" Luke said, pulling out his wand with a sly smile as Draco’s horrified eyes widened. "Let me think—Buck Teeth Bash, Fiery Roasty-Toasty, or Big Grin Howler. Which would you prefer?"

"If I have a choice…" Draco swallowed hard. "I’d rather not pick any of them."

"Then you’d better give me a good reason." Luke sat down opposite Draco, casually playing with his wand.

Draco, looking as anxious as a mouse cornered by a cat, swallowed again and stammered, "Then… then I’ll do anything you ask. Just don’t curse me, please…"

Draco was utterly spineless.

"Anything?" Luke raised an eyebrow.

"Anything!" Draco declared, looking as though he were about to face a firing squad.

"Alright." Luke patted Draco’s leg. "The house needs to implement some new rules. From now on… the first-year Slytherins will be your responsibility."

"Me?" Draco was startled but quickly overjoyed. "Oh… so that’s it. Don’t worry, Luke!"

"This might seem easy, but don’t mess it up." Luke stood, patting Draco on the shoulder. "Don’t disappoint me. Now, let’s go eat."

"Alright." Draco agreed enthusiastically.

As disciplined as ever, Luke tapped his plate at lunch, and the house-elves promptly served him a specially prepared nutritious meal—a privilege reserved for the young Montbatten heir, or so Aslow had confidently explained to Professor McGonagall.

It was an unassailable justification.

The Great Hall was missing Harry and Ron today. Who knew where the two were off causing mischief? Likely celebrating the points they had earned in Potions class earlier.

Luke spotted Hermione, her bushy hair bobbing as she nibbled on toast like a small beaver.

It had to be said—Catherine’s sharp tongue aside, her descriptions were always spot-on.

"Good afternoon, Luke." The beaver-like girl approached with her tray, sitting beside him. Draco’s face briefly flashed with disdain, but he dared not voice it. After all, she was Luke’s friend, and even if Draco didn’t like her, he had to respect Luke’s connections.

"Good afternoon, Hermione." Luke greeted her warmly, folding his napkin diagonally and placing it neatly on his lap.

After arranging himself elegantly, he noticed Hermione’s troubled expression and couldn’t help but ask with a smile, "What’s the matter?"

"Oh, I’m sorry, I just…" Hermione stammered, her face flushed as she nervously wrung her hands. "I was just trying to figure out how to ask you…"

To ease her tension, Luke smiled gently. "Is there something I can help you with, miss?"

"I just… wanted to ask how you’ve managed to reach such a high level of magic." Hermione’s face turned even redder.

"Me?" Luke thought for a moment before replying, "A little talent, coupled with relentless effort. Have you ever seen Hogwarts at three in the morning, Hermione?"

In truth, Luke’s talent wasn’t something granted by the system—it was innate.

Hermione froze, shaking her head.

"People often call someone a genius, but it’s really just one percent talent. What they don’t see is the ninety-nine percent of hard work behind it." Luke paused to swallow a bite of food before continuing, "Sometimes, talent isn’t even that important. If you want to become a wizard, even the clumsiest or most foolish wizard, as long as you are one, that’s enough."

"Many people waste their talent because they don’t put in the effort. On the other hand, some people who lack natural ability work extremely hard. In ancient Eastern wisdom, there’s a saying: ‘The slow bird flies first.’ You’ve seen my magical skills, but you haven’t seen the effort I’ve poured into them."

"Effort never betrays you. It might not always lead to success, but at least you won’t regret having tried," Luke concluded. His words were heartfelt, carrying the wisdom of both his current and past lives.

"I understand now." Determination lit up Hermione’s eyes as she clenched her fists. "Thank you, Luke. I know what I need to do."

With that, she left the Great Hall, brimming with enthusiasm.

"I don’t get it, Luke," Draco said, finally unable to hold back after Hermione had left. "Why do you talk so much with that Mudb— I mean, Muggle-born? Why bother?"

Luke didn’t rush to answer. Instead, he picked up his napkin, dabbed his lips lightly, and replied in a measured tone, "Draco, what do you think of the term ‘Mudblood’?"

"Obviously, it’s filthy, lowly…" Draco began instinctively.

"And what do you think pure-blood families like yours should represent?"

"Of course, nobility… natural-born aristocracy."

"See, Draco," Luke said with a faint smile. "As a noble pure-blood, you degrade yourself by using such filthy words. Don’t you see? The ‘nobility’ you pride yourself on is tarnished by your own actions."

Draco opened his mouth to argue but found himself at a loss for words.

"But… do you think Muggle-born wizards deserve the same status as us?" Draco asked cautiously, dreading a positive answer.

"Draco, you need to understand one thing," Luke said patiently, setting his napkin down. "As individuals, we are all equal. Don’t be so quick to argue—pure-blood families aren’t always dignified. Take your aunt Bellatrix, for instance. Do you really think she’s normal?"

Draco shuddered at the memory of his aunt’s maniacal behavior in family photos and shook his head vehemently.

(End of Chapter)