Hogwarts: The Plants I Grow Will Mutate Chapter 61-70

Chapter 61. Duel

In truth, Harry really wanted to duel Malfoy.

Although Adrian Wesson had told him to consider the consequences—he had considered them.

If they weren’t caught, nothing would happen.

Even if the professors did find out, it would only count as being out after hours.

At most he’d earn a few days or weeks of detention and lose a handful of points.

Detention… the Weasley twins had long since told him there was nothing to it. For Gryffindors, getting detention was an everyday occurrence; when they were first-years, they were often caught for being out after hours.

A little past ten at night, Harry was still talking with Ron about which of the few spells he knew might work against Malfoy.

“I’m thinking I’ll start with the Levitation Charm,” Harry said. “And then? Maybe a fire spell—ah, that might not work; I don’t know how to put the flames out…… What about a Severing Charm? Though I feel like it might be weaker than my fingernails……”

“Where did you learn so many spells?!” Ron found it more and more suspicious the longer he listened.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Harry explained. “I studied a bit during the holidays.”

Ron shut his mouth, only thinking Harry felt a bit unfamiliar.

The Gryffindor dormitory had five to a room. In this one, besides Harry and Ron, there were three other students: Dean, Seamus, and Neville.

At the moment, Dean and Seamus had already drifted off to sleep; Neville, having broken his arm, was still being treated by Madam Pomfrey.

“Come on, Harry, it’s about time,” Ron glanced at the clock, climbed down from his bed, and beckoned to Harry. “We should go. You know where the Trophy Room is, right?”

“Give me a second.”

Harry thought for a moment and went over to the Chinese Chomping Cabbage on the windowsill.

After some consideration, he decided to bring the Chinese Chomping Cabbage along as well. If he couldn’t beat Malfoy, at least he could have it take a good bite out of Malfoy’s backside.

Harry gently jostled the Chinese Chomping Cabbage’s leaves.

It was still asleep; roused, it couldn’t help baring its teeth.

“Little one, give me a hand,” Harry hurried to stroke the cabbage’s leaves—this would calm it down. “Can you make yourself a bit smaller?”

Sensing Harry’s familiar scent, the Chinese Chomping Cabbage drew back its fangs and obediently shrank to the size of Harry’s fist.

“Brilliant.”

Harry quickly slipped the Chinese Chomping Cabbage into his pocket.

“Hurry up—what are you dawdling for?” Ron urged from the door.

“Coming.”

…..

Hogwarts was silent in the dead of night, the corridors lit only by faint moonlight spilling across the floor through the windows.

The two tiptoed down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room.

In the gloom, Harry and Ron felt their way forward, until…

“You actually dare to do this! Harry, and Ron.”

They jumped. Turning, they saw Hermione sitting in a chair with her arms folded, staring at them coldly.

“You’ve been waiting here for us this whole time?” Ron couldn’t believe it. “Just for this? Are you barmy!”

“I nearly told Percy,” Hermione said icily. “He’s a prefect—he would have stopped you.”

“Oh, Percy, that git…” Ron muttered, seemingly unimpressed.

Harry, on hearing Hermione, felt angry—and a bit relieved.

“At least you haven’t told him yet, have you?” he said to Hermione.

Hermione drew a deep breath. “Don’t think I’m making empty threats—I really will.”

Harry said nothing more, only tugged Ron towards the door.

But Hermione kept following them, muttering, “Harry, you can’t just think about yourself; you should care more about Gryffindor! Do you know how many points Gryffindor will lose if you’re caught out after hours? All the points I got from Professor McGonagall will be wiped out.”

Harry stopped and turned, a trace of impatience in his voice. “I’ve earned quite a few points in Herbology and Charms too. Even if we lose some, it’s not for you to manage. Besides, I’ve already agreed to Malfoy. If I don’t show, what do you think Slytherin will say about us?”

Hermione was choked off, her face growing uglier.

Harry and Ron, however, headed straight for the door, paying her no mind.

In Harry’s eyes, since he’d agreed to the duel, he had to keep it.

Not going would be the act of a coward.

When Harry and Ron reached the door, they found Hermione had come out after them as well.

As she was about to go back, she suddenly discovered the door had closed; the portrait hole’s frame was empty—the Fat Lady had vanished.

With that, Hermione had no choice but to go along with Harry and Ron.

“I was only trying to persuade them to go back,” she murmured under her breath, as if convincing herself. “Now that I can’t get back, there’s nothing I can do.”

The three had barely gone a few steps from the common room when Harry suddenly felt his foot land on something soft.

“Awoo~”

A low, pained yelp came from under Harry’s foot, and then a familiar voice, tinged with grievance and alarm, sounded: “Who stepped on me!”

All three were startled by the voice and hastily looked down.

Neville Longbottom was curled up on the floor, rubbing his toes, his face twisted in pain.

He had clearly only just come back from Madam Pomfrey’s; bandages still clung to his arm, and he looked rather the worse for wear.

“Neville?!” Ron’s eyes went wide as he hissed, “What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be in the Hospital Wing?”

Neville lifted his head, a little embarrassed and aggrieved, and said quietly, “I forgot the password to the common room. The Fat Lady isn’t here, so I can’t get in, so… so I waited here to see if anyone could help me.”

Hearing this, Harry was at a loss for words. “Why didn’t you find a professor to help?”

Neville’s face flushed scarlet. He ducked his head and mumbled, “I… I was afraid of losing points. If I went to a professor because I forgot the password, they might think I’m too dim and take points from Gryffindor…”

“Professors wouldn’t take points for that,” Hermione sighed, casting a sidelong glance at Harry and Ron. “If certain people had your sense, that would be for the best.”

“All right, Neville,” Ron seemed not to have heard Hermione at all and said to Neville, “the password is ‘Pig snout.’ When the Fat Lady comes back, you can go in. Now, we’ve got important business to handle. See you.”

With that, Ron turned to go.

But Neville clutched at his leg and pleaded, “Don’t leave me… I’m scared on my own…”

Harry and Ron exchanged a look and sighed helplessly.

“All right, Neville—stick close and keep quiet,” Harry whispered.

And so, their little party gained one more member.

Chapter 62. Night-time Wandering

Harry kept feeling that Neville and Hermione were only here to make trouble.

One of them kept chuntering in his ear, and the other made a huge racket every now and then.

He suddenly felt that getting safely to the Trophy Room on the third floor was nothing short of Merlin’s protection.

At last, they reached the Trophy Room in one piece.

The room was deathly quiet, with no sign that anyone was there.

“It shouldn’t be like this,” Ron stopped before a shelf crammed with trophies, then looked at Harry, who wore the same puzzled expression. “There’s no one here.”

“Watch out for Malfoy.” Harry kept his wand in hand, eyeing the surroundings warily.

But after they searched for a while, they still didn’t see a single person.

“Could it be you’ve been tricked? I’m guessing Malfoy deliberately lured you here, then set some kind of trap……” Hermione said from the side, her eyes darting about uneasily—she was really afraid Professor McGonagall would pop out of some corner.

Hearing this, Harry stopped dead, realising something was wrong.

Malfoy had chosen this time on purpose—perhaps with another aim in mind.

Which meant……

Sure enough, shortly after they entered the room—

Footsteps sounded from the corridor, and the group froze at once.

“Where are you? You little miscreants……”

That familiar voice… Filch!

Judging from the footsteps, Filch was heading straight for the Trophy Room.

By now Harry was almost certain this was Malfoy’s doing.

Malfoy must have deliberately drawn them here and then tipped off Filch!

……

With almost no hesitation, Filch opened the Trophy Room door.

And at that very moment, Harry and the others had already left through the other door.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!”

They tore off at a sprint.

They had no idea how long they ran before they finally tumbled into an abandoned classroom.

After making sure they had shaken Filch off, they leaned against the wall and let out long breaths.

Hermione felt as if her legs no longer belonged to her.

Whatever the case, she was an accomplice as well—if they were caught, that would make four of them!

Four people losing House points—she had no idea how long it would take to earn them back.

“Are we safe?” Hermione squatted in the corner, drenched in sweat. “I told you earlier……”

She had already repeated that line more times than she could count.

“Damn Malfoy,” Ron snarled, swinging a fist. “When I see him tomorrow, I’ll—”

Hermione shot him a glare. “You should have listened to me from the start.”

After a brief rest, they took stock of where they were.

They were in a classroom piled high with junk.

“I can’t run another step……” Neville flopped across a half-broken desk, panting hard.

Harry, for his part, had tossed the whole business of duelling Malfoy out of his head.

For them, there was only one goal now: avoid Filch and his cat prowling nearby and get back to the Gryffindor common room.

……

Hogwarts Castle spread in every direction, and under cover of night it was like a maze.

They wandered round and round until they came to a flight of stairs that rose and fell.

“Are you sure it’s this staircase?” Ron looked uncertainly at Harry. “I don’t recognise it at all. Are we lost?”

Though Harry very much wanted to say they weren’t, at that moment he realised, dismally, that Ron was right.

They were lost.

If he’d known, he should have brought that rough map of Hogwarts.

Just then—

“Hallo—how are you? Anyone about? Not human’s fine too……”

A faint voice drifted from the corridor next door.

The four of them looked at one another.

“Doesn’t sound like Filch,” Ron murmured. “Shall we take a peek?”

When a bunch of Gryffindors stick together, their courage grows by the yard.

They tiptoed round the corner—then stopped, dumbstruck.

Peeves was trussed up hand and foot and hanging upside down from the corridor ceiling, swaying like captured game. His eyes were vacant, as if he had just suffered some inhuman torment.

“Peeves? How did you end up tied like that?” Ron couldn’t help jeering, more than a little gloating.

Only two days ago, Peeves had tried to sabotage their way to Potions; seeing him like this now put Ron in an instantly better mood.

Harry, however, stared at the ropes binding Peeves and felt a jolt of familiarity.

Wasn’t this a teacher’s magic? He’d seen it plenty of times—Incarcerous.

At Ron’s words, Peeves’s once-vacant eyes bulged, and the whole not-a-person grew agitated.

He writhed desperately in his bonds and screeched, “I didn’t do anything! I was only passing by! He didn’t say a word—just strung me up here for hours! Hours and hours!”

“Don’t mind it,” Hermione said nervously, watching the surroundings, afraid Peeves’s shrieking would draw others over. “We have to go—this place is dangerous.”

Seeing them turn to leave, Peeves panicked. “Wait! Don’t go! You can’t leave me here! Let me down and I’ll tell you a secret!”

“What secret?” Neville asked weakly.

“Don’t mind him.” Harry tugged Neville to go.

“Oh.”

“Oi—wait! Wait!”

Peeves made a last, frantic effort, but no one paid him any attention.

Just as the four were about to turn and leave, the rope around Peeves’s ankles vanished—the duration of the Binding had ended.

“Plop.” Peeves hit the floor, bounced a few times like a blob of wobbly jelly, then shot back up off the ground.

“Ha ha! Freedom!” Peeves planted his hands on his hips and laughed, his voice echoing along the corridor. “You little runts, daring to ignore the great Peeves! Now you’re in for it!”

Peeves let out an ear-splitting yell, loud enough that Harry clapped his hands over his ears.

With that ruckus, never mind Filch nearby—Fred and George Weasley roaming the next floor over would have heard it too.

“Run!” Harry shouted, and the four of them spun round and bolted the other way.

……

They sprinted on, through corridors, staircases, and corners, until Peeves’s shouting could no longer be heard.

But it seemed Lady Luck wasn’t on their side.

Just as they were catching their breath by a suit of armour, thinking they were safe, a sudden light flared from the corner—accompanied by the sway of Filch’s lantern.

Chapter 63. May I Start Screaming Now

In her panic, Hermione cast Alohomora and opened a locked door beside them.

Harry had no time to marvel at Hermione’s knack for locks. He shoved everyone into the room, pressed into the corner, and held his breath, terrified of making the slightest sound.

He pressed his ear to the door and listened as Filch’s footsteps faded away, and only when they were gone did he let out a huge sigh and sag to the floor.

Just then, Neville’s trembling voice sounded by his ear: “May I start screaming now......”

Harry turned his head—and the sight before him nearly knocked the breath out of him.

A massive body filled the entire room—a gigantic monster with three heads. Each head was taller than he was, fangs bared, drool drip-drip-dripping onto the floor.

“What... is that?” Hermione said, shaking so hard her voice was barely audible.

All three heads of the three-headed dog turned toward them at the same time, six eyes gleaming viciously in the dim room.

Its nose twitched; it had clearly caught their scent.

Suddenly, the middle head yawned open, revealing razor-sharp fangs, and a long tongue lashed out like a gigantic whip sweeping straight at Harry.

A foul stench hit him—like rotting meat mixed with sulphur—and he almost choked.

Everyone instinctively shrank back, their backs pressed hard to the wall, nowhere to run.

And then, just as despair crashed over Harry, something unexpected happened.

The Chinese Chomping Cabbage sprang out of his pocket and bounced beneath the three-headed dog like a rubber ball.

In an instant, it swelled to the size of one of the dog’s heads, opened a mouthful of equally sharp teeth, and clamped down hard on the dog’s left thigh.

“Awooo!”

The three-headed dog howled in pain, the sound shaking the entire room.

All three heads swung toward the Chinese Chomping Cabbage at once, trying to shake it off, but the cabbage refused to let go, biting down with a death grip—and then it gave a savage yank.

“Rip!”

It tore away a great hunk of flesh. Blood gushed at once, splattering across the floor.

The coppery reek flooded the room, so strong it made one retch.

But they were all too stunned to think of pinching their noses.

That must hurt terribly... Harry couldn’t help thinking.

Having done all this, the Chinese Chomping Cabbage finally let the dog go. It spat the meat onto the floor, shrank back to its normal size, and bounced into Harry’s arms.

The three-headed dog was still in agony.

But with its target suddenly vanished, it could only bare its fangs and roar madly; its violent movements set the chains behind it clanking in sharp, rapid bursts.

“Run!”

Someone shouted, and Harry snapped back to himself, stuffed the Chinese Chomping Cabbage into his pocket again, and groped for the doorknob behind him.

“Bang!”

Harry slammed the door. The monster’s roars were cut off on the other side.

They bolted into the corridor, feet pounding, their echoes chasing them down the hall.

This time, Lady Luck seemed to be smiling on them. Apart from a ghost crouching in a corner staring vacantly, they met no one on the way and made it safely back to the Gryffindor common room.

No one, however, felt like celebrating.

They collapsed onto the rug, at a loss for words for a long moment.

Hermione was the first to recover. “What... creature was that?” she murmured.

“Some kind of monster.” Harry had caught his breath by now. He clambered up and sat on the sofa, his hands still trembling slightly.

“Look at the mess you lot have made,” Hermione burst out, her voice quivering. “You’d better realise how foolish tonight was! Oh, heavens, we nearly died.”

“You were in it too!” Ron shot to his feet, fuming. “Don’t think you’re above it all.”

“All right!” Harry tugged Ron’s sleeve, trying to head off the row. “We’re not hurt, are we?”

Only then did Ron sit back down, bracing himself with his hands behind him. “The school must be mad, keeping a dangerous monster like that here.”

Harry nodded his agreement.

Silence fell again.

“In fact, it was guarding something,” Hermione said as she headed for the dormitory. “I saw it standing on a trapdoor... Right, I’m going to bed.”

After she left, Harry and Ron stared at each other.

Neville, meanwhile, had lain down on the floor the moment they came in, curled up and motionless.

Only when Harry went over did he realise Neville had already fallen asleep.

“By the way, Harry, something started fighting that big dog,” Ron said suddenly, as if remembering, and looked at Harry.

Harry blinked, then hurriedly pulled the Chinese Chomping Cabbage from his pocket to check on it.

It had returned to normal size and lay quietly in his hand, its leaves slightly curled, perfectly still.

“This little fellow!?” Ron’s eyes bulged, as if he could hardly believe it. “Merlin’s beard... it’s actually that tough? I thought it only fancied robes and shoes.”

Harry was just as surprised as Ron—but even more grateful. Thank goodness he’d brought the Chinese Chomping Cabbage along before they set out.

“It’s tired, Ron. Don’t bother it. Let’s get back to the dormitory.”

Back upstairs, Harry carefully cradled the Chinese Chomping Cabbage and set it back into the flowerpot on the dormitory windowsill.

It needed a good rest to recover its nutrients.

Maybe tomorrow he could use Owl Post to buy some plant fertiliser.

After that, he and Ron hauled Neville from the common room back to his bed.

“See you in the morning, Harry,” Ron said from his mattress.

Harry nodded, but his thoughts had already drifted to the three-headed dog—and the trapdoor beneath its feet.

There must be something hidden down there.

.....

Early the next morning.

As Harry changed into his robes, he heard Neville chatting with Seamus.

“I think I had a nightmare last night,” Neville said, rubbing his eyes. “When I got up this morning, I barely had any strength.”

Harry decided not to bring up last night with Neville.

Ron, meanwhile, was still snoring in bed.

Harry went to the windowsill to check on the Chinese Chomping Cabbage—the true hero of last night.

It looked just as wilted as it had before.

When Harry prised its mouth open to check, he noticed a few red smears of dried blood still caught between its teeth.

“I need to brush your teeth.”

Cradling the Chinese Chomping Cabbage, Harry headed for the bathroom.

Chapter 64. Unicorn Tail Hair

At breakfast, Harry was still steeped in last night’s brush with danger.

However, what delighted him especially was that when Malfoy appeared in front of him, he could give him a meaningful smile, and then…

“Coward.”

After that, he could contentedly take in Malfoy’s expression—as if he’d swallowed an entire sour lemon—then, in excellent spirits, cut a slice of pumpkin pie and slowly lift it to his mouth.

.....

In the afternoon, Adrian Wesson stood by the Black Lake, preparing the magical creatures needed for next week’s Care of Magical Creatures lesson—a large pack of Crups.

These Crups had all been sent over by Roskin; according to her, every Crup had received professional training.

A Crup is a dog bred by wizards; as its name suggests, its tail is forked like a swallow’s tail.

Only, when a Crup reaches six to eight weeks old, wizards are legally obliged to use a painless Severing Charm to remove the tail, to avoid attracting the attention of Muggles.

Of course, if you’re unwilling, you can choose not to dock it—only you can’t let a Crup appear in front of Muggles.

These Crups were prepared for the fifth-years, because material related to this creature often turns up in the O.W.L.s.

“Right, line up, little fellows!” Adrian Wesson clapped his hands.

At the sound of Wesson’s command, the Crups stood in a neat row all at once, as if on parade, leaving nothing to criticise.

Wesson nodded in satisfaction; Roskin hadn’t exaggerated—Crups were unbelievably clever, especially the ones she had trained herself.

“Roll over,” Wesson ordered next.

This time, however, every Crup turned its gaze on Wesson in unison, without making the slightest move.

“Roll over,” Wesson repeated.

The Crups still didn’t budge, only stared at Wesson in unison, a look in their eyes that seemed… disdainful?

“……”

All right, they seemed a bit too clever.

In that case, he could only resort to special measures.

In the end, by threatening to withhold dinner, Wesson successfully got all the Crups to roll over—very reluctantly.

.....

By the time Wesson finished drilling the dogs and got them back into line,

Hagrid hurried past him, as if he hadn’t seen Wesson at all, not even offering a greeting.

He even ignored the Crups.

Wesson was momentarily puzzled.

Ordinarily, if Hagrid saw a whole pack of Crups, he ought to come charging over in high excitement.

“Hagrid?” Wesson waved to him from a distance. “What’s the matter with you?”

Only then did Hagrid come back to himself. He turned his head and looked at Wesson.

“I’ve got something urgent!” Hagrid shouted, sounding rather anxious. “Fluffy’s hurt—I’ve got ter tend ter him.”

Fluffy?

Wasn’t that the three-headed dog?

Wesson was a little puzzled as to what could injure a three-headed dog.

Could Quirrell have made his move early?

Seeing that Hagrid was about to leave, Wesson quickened his pace to follow.

“Need a hand?” he asked as he caught up.

Hagrid glanced at him, seemed to hesitate for a moment, but in the end still nodded and beckoned to Wesson. “Come with me.”

Wesson immediately lengthened his stride and jogged along with Hagrid.

“What on earth happened?”

Hagrid’s brow was furrowed; his voice was low. “This mornin’, when I went ter feed Fluffy, I found a mighty deep wound on his left leg—blood everywhere…”

“Doesn’t sound good.”

As Wesson and Hagrid headed into the castle,

the Crups watched their hastily retreating backs and couldn’t help looking at one another.

.....

Hagrid led Wesson all the way to the fourth floor of the castle—to the room where the Philosopher’s Stone was being protected.

In fact, the Stone hadn’t been stored there yet; it was still with Dumbledore for the time being.

Hagrid unlocked the room with a key and went in with Wesson.

The air was thick with the smell of blood.

Sure enough, just as Hagrid had said, Fluffy was curled up in the corner of the room, three heads drooping, letting out low whimpers.

On its left leg there was a very deep wound—a mess of blood and torn flesh; the fur and the floor around it were already stained scarlet.

“I found he was hurt this mornin’,” Hagrid said, stepping forward to stroke one of Fluffy’s heads, sounding rather heartsick. “Oh, yeh poor thing… don’ be scared, mate, I’m here.”

Wesson wanted to approach Fluffy as well, but whenever he drew near, Fluffy bared its fangs at him.

“Seems he doesn’t like me,” he said, and then stepped aside to let Hagrid tend to Fluffy’s wound.

While Hagrid worked, Wesson stood to one side and carefully examined the state of the room.

His gaze swept slowly over the floor, and suddenly, beside a pool of blood in the corner, he spotted an inconspicuous leaf.

The leaf had been stained almost dark red, blending in with the floor—perhaps that was why Hagrid hadn’t noticed it.

Wesson frowned, stepped forward, crouched, and scrutinised the leaf.

“Eldra.”

[Type: Chinese Chomping Cabbage leaf]

All right—Wesson could more or less guess what had happened in this room last night.

Aside from Harry’s Chinese Chomping Cabbage, who else could it be?

After pocketing the leaf, Wesson said to Hagrid, “Any idea, Hagrid? Why would Fluffy be injured?”

Hagrid was busy smearing ointment on the wound. Hearing Wesson’s question, he looked up, seeming rather helpless. “I ain’ exactly sure, Wesson. But I don’ reckon it was an intruder. Judgin’ by the scene… I’d say… his three heads had a fight.”

“His three heads had a fight?”

Hagrid nodded. “Yeah. Fluffy’s three noggins sometimes quarrel with each other—an’ even have a go. They share one body, but each head’s got its own mind. Sometimes they’ll kick up a right row over food or some other triflin’ thing. But this time… bit his leg—tha’s odd…”

Hearing Hagrid’s words, Wesson couldn’t help feeling a little doubtful.

When a three-headed dog got hurt, did one head hurt—or did all three hurt at once?

“All right, Wesson, hand me the bandage from me bag,” Hagrid said, having used up nearly a whole basin of ointment. He pointed at the bag by Wesson’s feet. “It’s in there.”

Wesson crouched and opened the bag Hagrid had indicated, reaching in to rummage.

However, he didn’t find any bandage; instead, his hand came upon a great hank of white hair, as if shed by some large animal.

“Hagrid,” Wesson looked up, “there’s no bandage in here—just some hair.”

“That’s it,” Hagrid confirmed.

Wesson could only heft the great bundle of hair over to Hagrid.

“This is unicorn tail hair,” Hagrid explained, beginning to wrap Fluffy’s leg with practised ease. “Bandages made out of it hold firmer than common cloth an’ won’ stick ter the wound. Helps it heal faster.”

“……”

Wesson remembered that even a small bag of unicorn tail hair cost ten Galleons.

Chapter 65. Still a Troll

“Alright.”

Hagrid finally finished tending to Fluffy’s wound. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and only then had time to say to Adrian Wesson, “’Course, there’s still the chance someone broke in. I told Dumbledore about it this morning. He just told me not to worry and to take good care of Fluffy.”

“Is there anything I can help with?” Adrian asked when he saw that Hagrid had finished treating Fluffy.

“’Course,” Hagrid nodded, then patted one of Fluffy’s heads. “Music helps him feel better. Come on then, Adrian—can yeh sing?”

“?”

And so, the two of them howled away like banshees in the cramped room.

In fact, someone had once described Adrian’s singing as a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

Thank goodness, Fluffy didn’t seem picky about music and soon drifted off to sleep.

“That was really something, Professor Wesson.”

“You too, Hagrid.”

Time passed day by day, and Fluffy was soon lively again.

His injury didn’t cause any further stir.

Besides that, Harry officially joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team and received a broomstick from Professor McGonagall. He began practising three times a week.

As for Adrian Wesson, in addition to teaching and tending his plants each week, he added one more task: frequenting the Hogwarts library.

In truth, Adrian had never stopped exploring knowledge.

Just as he had once said:

The most important thing for a wizard is to keep learning!

Ever since he learned that the Philosopher’s Stone held a certain attraction for the Tree of Wisdom, he had been searching the Hogwarts library for material on alchemy and the Stone, hoping to find a lead.

Alchemy was a very mysterious magical craft, widely used to create all manner of magical products—potions, devices, even living creatures. The most famous of these, of course, was the Philosopher’s Stone.

Adrian had once taken the alchemy course at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, it was extremely difficult. At the time, he had learned only some theory.

However, after searching the library for quite a while, he found very little on alchemy and the Stone beyond the course set texts.

He had no choice but to set his sights on the Restricted Section.

Of course, as a professor, Adrian no longer needed to obtain permission to enter the Restricted Section as he had when he was a student.

So long as he didn’t anger Madam Pince, he could wander there as much as he liked.

For a while, Adrian spent nearly all his spare time on alchemical research.

The eve of Hallowe’en.

In fact, Adrian had nearly forgotten that Hallowe’en was approaching.

It wasn’t until Madam Pince put a grimacing carved pumpkin on the desk by the library doors that Adrian realised Hallowe’en was the next day.

That afternoon, when he arrived at the Great Hall, he found Professor McGonagall directing the professors as they decorated.

Seeing Adrian, Professor McGonagall hurried over. “Ah, Professor Wesson, you’re just in time. We need another pair of hands… We must be quick! I want everything ready before the feast.”

“Happy to help.”

Adrian’s task was to help Hagrid turn a huge pile of pumpkins in the corners into jack-o’-lanterns.

Hagrid was using a massive cleaver to shave off the excess. Unfortunately, his movements were too rough, and he accidentally split one pumpkin clean in half.

Adrian used magic to set Hagrid’s pumpkins to rights.

First he scooped out the pulp and seeds, then he traced a grimacing face across the rind with his wand, and finally he put a candle inside. Very simple.

In only a few minutes, Adrian had finished a whole heap of jack-o’-lanterns.

After setting all the lanterns on the tables—

“Whew,” Hagrid wiped his brow. “I’m no good at fiddly work.”

“If you’d be willing to use magic…” Adrian flicked his wand and poured Hagrid a glass of water. “None of this would be a problem.”

“No, no, no…” Hagrid waved his hands at once. “I can’t use magic—yeh know that, don’t yeh?”

Seeing how flustered Hagrid was, Adrian shrugged and didn’t press.

He did know. Hagrid might say he didn’t use magic, but who knew what he did in private?

Adrian remembered the pink umbrella he carried—the wand hidden in the handle.

Clearly, in this respect, Hagrid wasn’t as honest as he looked.

When all the preparations for the feast were finally finished, Professor McGonagall breathed a sigh of relief, and even her expression softened a little.

She looked around and nodded in satisfaction.

The Great Hall was transformed: countless floating jack-o’-lanterns hung from the enchanted ceiling; orange light poured through the carved faces onto the floor; a great cloud of bats and ghosts drifted in slow circles overhead, letting out eerie laughter from time to time.

The ghosts loved Hallowe’en as well.

Adrian saw Nearly Headless Nick tirelessly fussing with his head.

“Thank you, everyone,” Professor McGonagall said. “If there’s nothing else, please take your seats. The students will be here any minute.”

At the High Table, Adrian kept sifting through the original course of events.

He remembered that Quirrell was supposed to release a troll tonight and then take advantage of the chaos to try to steal the Philosopher’s Stone.

“Professor Wesson?”

Professor Flitwick’s voice drew Adrian out of his thoughts.

He looked up to see the elderly Charms Master eyeing him in puzzlement.

“What is it?” Professor Flitwick asked with concern. “What were you thinking about? You looked miles away.”

“No, nothing,” Adrian came back to himself, managed a small smile, and said, “I was thinking about Professor Quirrell… Oh, it must be difficult to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. I’ve heard his lessons haven’t been going too well lately.”

Professor Flitwick nodded in agreement. “Ah, Professor Quirrell… Indeed, I’ve heard a few things from the students. Still, he seems to have some new ideas lately. Just the other day, he actually brought in a troll and said he’d show it to the upper-years in class. Can you imagine? A troll! In a classroom!”

“…”

Adrian fell silent for a moment. It seemed Quirrell did have a particular fondness for trolls.

“Doesn’t sound very safe,” Adrian shrugged.

“But it’s a promising change,” Professor Flitwick said with a pleased smile. “Students won’t like a professor who only drones from the textbook. I rather approve of Quirrell’s approach.”

So Adrian understood: the story hadn’t changed entirely—Quirrell had still made ready a troll.

Even so, it was bound to be wasted effort.

Releasing a troll to sow chaos—how foolish.

Once the troll was loose, everyone’s attention would focus on Quirrell, Dumbledore included.

After all, Quirrell was the one who had brought it in.

Could Quirrell really slip past Dumbledore’s eyes?

Certainly not.

Chapter 66. no chapter in raw

Chapter 67. An Unexpected Fight

Adrian Wesson’s guess was right.

Sure enough, halfway through the feast, Quirrell came crashing into the Great Hall, crying out in terror: “Troll! In the dungeons!”

No sooner had he said it than he pitched forward onto the floor.

The Hall erupted at once, students’ voices rising in a jumble.

“Silence!” Dumbledore rose at once, touched his wand to his throat, and repeated in a ringing voice, “Silence!”

Only then did the students gradually quiet down.

Professor Flitwick froze for a few seconds at the sight, then let out a slow sigh and said to Adrian beside him, “I take back what I said earlier—Quirrell really ought to be steadier… in any case, a Hogwarts professor fainting at the sight of a troll… this is simply disgraceful.”

At that moment, Adrian suddenly noticed Snape slipping quietly away from the table and heading outside.

“Prefects!” Dumbledore said coolly. “Lead your Houses back to the dormitories!”

The students moved at once.

In fact, a single troll was not so frightening; never mind the professors—quite a few upper-year students could handle it as well. But for the sake of the first-years’ lives, sending everyone back to the dormitories was the right choice.

Amid the chaos, Adrian’s eyes swept along the Gryffindor table, searching for Hermione.

After all, in the original course of events, this was where the friendship of the three began; Hermione ought to be in the girls’ bathroom off the dungeons right now, waiting to be rescued by Harry and Ron.

Mm. Hermione wasn’t here—so it looked like the plot was proceeding normally.

When all the students had left the Hall, Dumbledore ordered the staff table: “All professors, to the dungeons—find the troll.”

The professors moved at once; Adrian also rose and followed the others towards the dungeons.

Upon reaching the staircase down to the dungeons, Professor McGonagall suggested, “Let us split up, everyone—that will be quicker. If you can, ask the portraits on the walls for the troll’s whereabouts; some portrait is bound to have seen it.”

Dumbledore nodded his agreement. “A good idea.”

“Ah, right,” Dumbledore seemed to think of something, turned to Adrian, and said, “Professor Wesson, might I trouble you to return to the Great Hall? See to Professor Quirrell—we can’t leave him lying alone on a cold stone floor.”

Adrian, of course, agreed; Harry and the others’ lives needed no intervention from him—with Dumbledore here, that would hardly be a problem.

He nodded and replied, “Of course, Professor Dumbledore. I’ll look after Professor Quirrell.”

However, when Adrian returned to the Hall, he discovered that Quirrell had vanished.

As expected, Adrian sighed: Quirrell must be on his way to the room on the fourth floor by now.

That was precisely the goal of the chaos he had created—to draw all the professors away, then take advantage of the confusion to try to steal the Philosopher’s Stone.

Adrian set off for the fourth floor at once.

Dumbledore had explicitly indicated that he was to keep an eye on Quirrell; he couldn’t just slack off. Besides, if anything unexpected happened and Quirrell actually got his hands on the Stone, that would be troublesome. Though Adrian felt the chance of that happening was virtually zero.

The fourth-floor corridor was deathly quiet. Only the torches on the walls gave off a faint light, throwing Adrian’s hastening shadow across the stone.

Just as he was about to reach the entrance to the off-limits corridor, he suddenly heard a low tread of footsteps from behind.

Adrian stopped at once, cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, then slipped behind a suit of armour, watching warily in the direction of the sound.

A tall figure stepped out of the darkness, a sweep of black robes throwing a wide shadow across the wall.

It was Snape!

Adrian’s mind stirred. So he was here for Quirrell as well.

Snape’s expression was severe; his eyes swept keenly about, as if searching for something. He already had his wand in hand, evidently ready to cast at any moment.

As he passed the armour where Adrian was concealed, Snape’s footsteps suddenly halted.

“Come out,” he said icily in Adrian’s direction. “A big rat.”

Adrian knew he had been discovered.

He sighed, lifted the Disillusionment Charm, and stepped out from behind the armour.

In truth, he wasn’t doing anything sneaky at all; there was no need to be hiding here in the first place.

“It’s me, Professor Snape,” Adrian said coolly, wand in hand but not pointed at Snape.

Snape’s brow creased slightly; a flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by indifference. “Ah… looks like I was right, Professor Wesson. What are you doing here?”

Adrian shrugged, his tone light. “The same as you.”

At Adrian’s words, Snape let out a short laugh.

“The same… is it?” He raised his wand, eyes fixed on Adrian like a hawk. “I’m no thief.”

“?”

Adrian was taken aback.

Did Snape think he was here to steal the Stone?

That was quite a misunderstanding.

Before Adrian could explain, Snape moved.

“Expelliarmus!”

With a flick of his wand, a red jet of light shot straight at Adrian.

Adrian’s response was just as swift; a twist of the wrist, and he knocked Snape’s spell neatly aside. The red light skimmed past his shoulder, struck the wall, and burst with a soft crack.

“Professor Snape,” Adrian said evenly, though his eyes had grown more guarded, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding between us. I’m not your enemy. Let me explain.”

Snape kept his wand lowered yet continued to circle, never taking his eyes off Adrian. “Ah… a misunderstanding, is it? Your behaviour hardly looks like you’re clearing one up.”

Seeing that Snape looked like he wouldn’t believe a word he said, Adrian sighed again.

Why just won’t this man listen!

If that’s the case—

Then…

We’ll have to fight first.

Although Snape hadn’t levelled his wand at him and kept circling, Adrian knew full well that Snape was on the highest alert. At the slightest move, a spell from Snape might well be flying at his face.

“Incarcerous!”

Adrian struck first. Several cords shot from the tip of his wand like nimble vipers, darting to coil around Snape.

Snape reacted quickly, swept his wand, and knocked aside several of the cords, but one he missed wound round his left arm.

“Sectumsempra!”

A flash of silver—at once, the cord coiled upon him was sliced into several pieces.

“Hmph,” Snape sneered, a glint of disdain in his eyes. “Professor Wesson, is this your explanation? Proving a ‘misunderstanding’ with those feeble spells of yours?”

Chapter 68. Sectumsempra

Severus Snape’s Sectumsempra was indeed a very powerful spell.

If it had been an ordinary Cutting Charm, severing those chains would not have been so easy.

Moreover, when Sectumsempra was cast there was almost no warning and no flashy effect; precisely because of that, it was all the more deadly.

Adrian Wesson, who had once secretly learned this spell, understood that all too well.

"Sectumsempra!"

Snape’s attack drove straight at Wesson again, with no intention of holding back.

Wesson had been on guard; the instant Snape lifted his hand, he reacted at once.

"Protego!"

At the very moment Snape raised his hand, Wesson pre-emptively cast the Shield Charm.

Snape’s curse struck a transparent shield with a crisp clang, then glanced aside

and slammed into the corridor wall.

A deep crack split the stone at once; chips flew and dust billowed.

Wesson let out a slight breath, but he did not relax his vigilance. He knew Snape’s offensive would not stop there.

"Stupefy!"

A red bolt shot straight at Wesson. He twisted aside in a flash and flicked his wand back. "Expelliarmus!"

Snape’s reactions were lightning-fast. Imitating Wesson’s earlier motion, he gave his wand a light upward flick and deflected the spell.

"Useless," he said. "A word of advice, Professor Wesson: put your wand on the floor."

Just then, Wesson retreated at a quick pace—and at the same time, countless vines burst from beneath his robes.

Fortunately, when he had gone out today he had let Devil’s Snare parasitise his body; at present, the Devil’s Snare was no mean fighting force.

The tendrils spread and spread; in almost an instant they had taken over most of the corridor’s walls and floor,

and even the ceiling.

The corridor’s appearance turned eerie in a heartbeat.

Though surprised inwardly, Snape’s expression stayed calm.

The moment the Devil’s Snare appeared, he knew exactly how to deal with the plant.

"Incendio!"

A surge of blazing fire roared from the tip of his wand, straight at the tendrils groping towards him.

At the instant flame met vine, the tendrils hissed and shrivelled to ash; a scorched stink spread through the air.

However, the Devil’s Snare seemed inexhaustible. The parts just burned away were quickly filled in again.

Standing within the encircling vines, Wesson remained composed.

With a light sweep of his wand, the tendrils, under his command, rapidly contracted and formed a thick barrier in front of him, planted between himself and Professor Snape.

"It was Professor Dumbledore who sent me," Wesson’s voice carried through the wall of vines to Snape’s ears. "I have no wish to be your enemy, Professor Snape. But if you insist on attacking, I won’t sit here and wait to die."

Snape, however, clearly had no intention of letting the matter drop.

Another invisible blade of rushing air sliced through the Devil’s Snare barrier, grazed Wesson’s face, and whipped past his ear.

Though Wesson was already moving to evade, a fine cut still opened on his cheek, beading with blood.

Just as Snape prepared to cast again, a great mat of tendrils swept in from the ceiling.

This forced Snape to abandon further use of Sectumsempra and switch to flames to drive the Devil’s Snare back.

"Incendio!"

A jet of fire shot at the incoming mass of vines—however, this time Snape miscalculated.

"—!"

To his surprise, several iron chains suddenly sprang from within the Devil’s Snare, their surfaces glinting with a cold metallic sheen—apparently unaffected by flame.

Like snakes, the chains whipped round Snape’s right hand and bound his wrist tight.

Snape’s brow creased; he had clearly not expected chains hidden within the vines.

He tried to move his wand, but the chains were powerful, clamping his motion fast. Veins stood out on his right hand where the links were tight; his wand could barely twitch.

"Professor Wesson!" Snape’s warning snapped out.

As he made to act again, Wesson swept his wand, casting a spell with which he was all too familiar.

"Sectumsempra!"

An invisible, razor-edged current of air shot straight for Snape’s arm.

Snape twisted aside, but hampered by the chains, the spell skimmed his arm and left a wound neither too deep nor too shallow.

His expression changed; under the pain of Sectumsempra, he involuntarily loosened his right hand.

Clatter.

The sound of the wand striking stone rang out sharp and clear.

Wesson, of course, did not waste the opening. With a thought, the Devil’s Snare scooped up Snape’s wand

and passed it to Wesson’s side.

With his other hand, Wesson picked up Snape’s wand lightly and regarded him in silence.

Snape’s face was so dark it might have dripped blood. Clutching his wounded right arm with his left hand, he stared at Wesson, his expression grim.

Wesson, meanwhile, recalled all the Devil’s Snare from the passageway back onto himself, then walked slowly up to Snape.

He smiled at him, then held the wand out and said sincerely, "Professor Snape, I think there’s been some misunderstanding between us. I don’t want to be your enemy; I only hope you’ll calm down and hear me out."

As it turned out, when you’d won the fight, whatever you said tended to work.

Snape finally listened to Wesson.

However, he did not take the wand at once. Instead, he asked coldly, "Where did you learn that spell?"

Wesson hadn’t expected that to be Snape’s first question.

"Ah—you mean Sectumsempra?" Wesson blinked at him, then explained, "From an old textbook someone left behind. The Half-Blood Prince… quite the moniker. What do you think of it, Professor Snape?"

Snape was silent for a moment, then took back his wand and put it away.

"Your spellwork is still lacking," he replied coolly. "If it were me, I’d have cut the entire arm off."

Wesson shrugged, entirely unbothered by Snape’s manner—he was used to it.

"Can you trust me now, Professor Snape?" Wesson slipped his own wand away and said lightly, "Dumbledore trusts me. You can certainly extend me a little more trust."

"Hmph."

Snape only let out a cold snort.

A moment later—

"Episkey!"

At the sound of the incantation, Wesson was surprised to feel the bleeding cut on his cheek begin to knit itself closed.

Looking up, he saw Snape holding his wand aloft.

So Snape had seen to his wound first.

That let Wesson exhale in relief; he had no wish to start fighting Snape again.

After that, Professor Snape finally began to tend to his own arm.

Chapter 69. Dealing with the Troll

Just then, a beast-like roar reached the two of them.

"Let’s go, Professor Snape," Adrian Wesson breathed a sigh of relief, finally latching onto a topic. "Looks like the professors have found the troll."

When Wesson and Severus Snape arrived at the scene, most of the professors were already there.

Even Quirrell was there.

Compared with the original story, the plot did not seem to have changed much.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were standing with their heads bowed, receiving a lecture from Professor McGonagall.

When Wesson arrived, Harry glanced up at him, looking a bit ashamed.

But Wesson didn’t think there was anything to be ashamed of.

Reckless, yes—but he appreciated it.

So he gave Harry a reassuring look.

There were many professors present and, by unspoken agreement, everyone left the task of dealing with the three little ones to Professor McGonagall.

Of course that was reasonable—after all, she was Head of Gryffindor House.

While Professor McGonagall was lecturing them, Wesson patted Quirrell on the shoulder.

Quirrell almost jumped out of his skin.

"Don’t be nervous, Professor Quirrell." Wesson gave him a kindly smile. "I’m just a bit curious—where did you get the troll?"

Quirrell’s face turned instantly pale. He stammered, "I… I… th-that troll, I found it in the F-Forbidden Forest… I locked it i-in a c-classroom."

The Forbidden Forest? Wesson nodded.

Indeed, there were big brutes living there; Wesson had run into them back when he was at school.

Even so, he felt Quirrell had overdone his performance at the Hallowe’en feast.

He could capture a troll alive in the Forbidden Forest, yet faint because it got loose?

That made no sense at all.

At that moment, Professor Flitwick shuffled over in his little steps, puzzled. "Professor Quirrell, I have a question—how did you let the troll get out?"

Wesson glanced at Professor Flitwick and noticed the disappointed look on his face.

No wonder—Quirrell had been a Ravenclaw, and Professor Flitwick was his Head of House.

Quirrell hunched his neck, voice trembling and eyes unfocused. "I… I locked the troll in an underground classroom… but… but when I went back to check, the troll was gone… and… and there was a big hole in the wall…"

Professor Flitwick’s voice leapt an octave; his naturally high tone became even more piercing. "Oh, Professor Quirrell, how could you be so careless…"

Before long, Professor McGonagall had the sequence of events.

It was more or less what Wesson had imagined—Harry and Ron went to look for Hermione, and the three of them together brought down a troll.

In any case, for three first-years who had only just started school to defeat a troll together was praiseworthy.

In the end, Professor McGonagall awarded five points each to Harry and Ron, and deducted five from Hermione—net gain of five points to Gryffindor.

For the three of them, that was probably a decent outcome.

For Wesson, it was not a perfect evening—not only had the Hallowe’en feast fallen through, he had also got into a duel with Snape, and the newly healed scars on his face still throbbed faintly.

Perhaps he could pop down to the kitchens later.

After Harry, Ron, and Hermione left, only the professors and an unconscious troll remained.

Which raised the next question: how to deal with this troll?

"Professor Wesson."

Hearing his name, Wesson looked up and found Dumbledore smiling at him.

"The troll is yours to handle, Professor Wesson," Dumbledore said. "Take it outside or deep into the Forbidden Forest—as you wish. Just be sure it’s a good distance from the castle."

"Leaving it to you," Professor McGonagall added with a nod. "Be careful, and don’t let it get out again."

None of the other professors raised any objections.

Wesson could only agree.

Then, before he could reply, Dumbledore announced, "All right, everyone, tonight’s business is concluded. You’ve all worked hard—back to bed."

The professors nodded and left one after another.

Before leaving, Snape shot Wesson a cold, warning look. "Don’t do anything unnecessary."

Wesson glared right back.

It seemed Snape’s suspicions weren’t laid to rest—but this time Wesson felt Snape wouldn’t go so far as to tail him.

Soon, only Wesson was left.

What to do, then?

He looked at the unconscious troll and nudged it with his foot.

The troll stirred at once, rolled over, and began to snore.

…Could it really sleep like this? Trolls indeed.

To Wesson, the troll in front of him was of no use.

Nothing on a troll was worth much.

Except perhaps its whiskers, which might be used as wand cores—

But Wesson doubted anyone would actually use a wand with a troll-whisker core—unless the person had a brain just like a troll’s.

Only someone like that would deserve such a wand.

After casting a Levitation Charm on the troll, Wesson had some Devil’s Snare tug the floating bulk along as he headed for the Forbidden Forest.

Near the forest’s edge, he ran into Hagrid.

Hagrid’s towering figure emerged from the shadows, a swaying oil lamp in his hand.

"I’ve been patrollin’ round here," he explained. "Some students might try ter sneak out in tonight’s commotion."

Then he noticed the troll bobbing along behind Wesson and stared. "Yeh found the troll, did yeh? Thank goodness—anyone hurt?"

Wesson smiled, tapped the troll’s head with a small Exploding Charm to send it into a deeper sleep, and said to Hagrid, "Don’t worry, Hagrid. No one’s hurt—Harry and the others were a bit frightened, that’s all. In fact, they worked together to knock the troll out."

"Tha’s grand!" Hagrid looked a little amazed. "Hold on… tha’ was Harry, was it? Eh?"

Wesson nodded, then led the troll toward the Forest. "I’ve got to go—Dumbledore asked me to put the troll back in the Forbidden Forest. I hope I can still make it back in time for supper."

"I can get the Thestrals ter help yeh," Hagrid beckoned for Wesson to follow. "They’re nearby."

Help from Thestrals—splendid.

Hagrid led Wesson down a narrow path toward the Thestrals’ roosting ground.

Along the way, Wesson told him what had happened that evening, and Hagrid answered Wesson’s question about why there would be a troll in the Forbidden Forest.

"Professor Dumbledore told me once the headmaster three generations back thought trolls could be trained ter guard Hogwarts. Trouble is, tha’s easier said than done… big lugs like these’ve got next to no brains."

Chapter 70. A Compendium of Alchemical Rituals Worth Trying

Come November, the weather at Hogwarts turned sharply cold.

Especially in the early mornings, students changed into thick robes and hurried through the courtyards, rushing to all corners of Hogwarts.

For Adrian Wesson, today was another leisurely day.

At the moment, he was in Greenhouse No. 2 of his own planting grounds, staring blankly at a tree with a battered book in his hand.

It was a short apple tree, about two metres tall, with a slender trunk but a profusion of branches.

Most eye-catching of all were the few apples hanging from it—red with a hint of green.

Clearly, they were about to ripen.

Of course, if it could appear in Adrian Wesson’s planting grounds, it certainly had something special about it.

[Species: Apple Tree]

[Level: 2]

[Trait: Purification]

It was an apple tree with the “Purification” trait.

However, this was not the tree’s own ability, but the ability of its fruit.

As the name “Purification” suggests, eating the fruit from this tree can clear away unnecessary or harmful impurities from the body and restore one to peak condition.

When this apple tree bore fruit last year, Adrian Wesson tested it: even poison from a Venomous Tentacula cleared instantly after eating one of these apples.

It could even dispel the effects of certain minor jinxes.

Its potency was evident.

However, for Adrian Wesson, that effect was still not quite enough.

Just then, a voice brought him back to himself.

“The things you asked for are ready, Wesson,” Remus Lupin approached with a travelling case. “A brand-new crucible, a sack of gold ground as fine as can be, and a table.”

Adrian Wesson waved his wand, and the three items floated neatly out of the case to settle before him.

“Thanks.”

He set up the crucible, placed the bag on the tabletop, opened it, pinched a small pinch of gold dust between his fingers, and examined it carefully.

“Finely ground,” Adrian Wesson nodded in satisfaction. “That will do.”

Lupin stood to one side, hands in the pockets of his robes. “I found a shop in Diagon Alley—very fortunate. Their gold is extremely pure. But… what do you need these for? Brewing a potion? I don’t know any potion that calls for gold dust…”

Adrian Wesson shook his head, set the book down on the table, and waved Lupin over. “I found something interesting in this book.”

Lupin glanced over and saw the title stamped on the cover: “A Compendium of Alchemical Rituals Worth Trying.”

Alchemy rituals?! Lupin was a little surprised.

“May I have a look?” he asked Adrian Wesson, curious.

“Of course,” Adrian Wesson nodded. “Just don’t tear it, or Madam Pince will be cross.”

Lupin carefully opened the worn cover and found several crooked lines scrawled beneath the title “A Compendium of Alchemical Rituals Worth Trying,” clearly added later by someone else.

“Friendly reminder: the things inside are not worth trying.”

Lupin’s heart gave a jolt, and he read on.

Beneath that was another line.

“Another friendly reminder: the things inside might cost you an eye—or give you an extra eye, hahaha.”

Lupin fell silent for a moment, then closed the book without reading further.

“Are you sure this book… is safe, Wesson?” he couldn’t help asking.

Adrian Wesson smiled and waved a hand. “Don’t worry, Lupin. I’m only using this book for reference.”

“That somehow sounds even less reliable—” Lupin muttered under his breath, already considering whether he ought to contact St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries in advance, lest they miss the best window for treatment.

At that moment, Adrian Wesson suddenly felt a faint aura.

He turned, eyes locking on the apples. The skins, red with a touch of green a moment ago, were visibly becoming a more vivid hue.

[Name: Apple]

[Trait: Purification]

[Status: Ripe]

“The apples are ripe,” Adrian Wesson said, a little excited.

“They look ordinary,” Lupin said. “No different from the ones I usually eat.”

“There’s a big difference!”

Adrian Wesson waved his wand. An apple left the branch and drifted gently to a stop in front of Lupin. “You have to try it.”

Lupin hesitated, then reached out and took the floating apple.

It felt weighty in his hand; apart from looking a touch more plump, it really did seem no different from a normal apple.

“It’s not poisonous, relax!” Adrian Wesson urged when Lupin still looked uncertain. “Go on.”

At last, Lupin lifted the apple to his mouth and took a small bite.

“How do you feel?” Adrian Wesson asked, a trace of expectation in his eyes.

“Seems… no change?” Lupin smacked his lips, puzzled. “At least it tastes good.”

Adrian Wesson lifted an eyebrow, looking mildly surprised at the result.

He stepped closer, peered at Lupin’s face, and asked sceptically, “Truly nothing at all?”

Lupin nodded.

All right. Adrian Wesson let out a quiet sigh.

He had thought that an apple with the “Purification” function might have some effect on Lupin’s lycanthropy.

After all, lycanthropy is also a kind of malady.

By rights, it ought to be something that could be purified.

As it stood, that did not seem to work.

Adrian Wesson used his wand to pick all the apples and set them on the table—apart from the one Lupin had taken a bite from, there were six left.

“Let’s begin,” he murmured, and started to prepare the ritual.

A large cauldronful of dew collected on the night of the full moon.

A few drops of phoenix tears that Rai had obtained from Fawkes.

A sack of gold dust.

And finally…

Adrian Wesson picked up a small silver knife and, without hesitation, drew a cut across his forearm. Blood flowed steadily down his arm and dripped into the crucible.

…a cup of a good person’s blood.

In truth, Adrian Wesson wasn’t sure whether he counted as a “good person.”

But aside from himself, he didn’t know whose blood to use.

As Adrian Wesson worked, Lupin watched, dumbfounded. However he looked at it, the scene before him exuded a distinctly uncanny air.

“Wesson, are you sure this is all right?” he couldn’t help asking.

“Relax,” Adrian Wesson answered curtly.

The instant the blood touched the golden liquid, a blinding light burst from the contents of the crucible.

Seeing this, Adrian Wesson ignored the wound on his arm and swiftly selected two apples, placing them into the crucible—the crucible could only hold two.

As the apples sank into the golden liquid, the contents suddenly began to boil.

A dozen seconds later, the radiance faded and the liquid in the crucible grew calm again.

Adrian Wesson used silver tongs to retrieve the apples and laid them on the table.

By now, the apples had turned completely golden.

“Eldra.”

[Name: Gold Apple]

[Trait: Purification!!!]