In an abandoned classroom, dust danced in the slanting moonlight pouring through the window.
Rayleigh felt that he was a genius, plain and simple.
Learning Incendio, the Shield Charm, and the Impediment Jinx had gone unbelievably smoothly.
Especially Incendio.
He wasn’t sure if it was because he had cast so many minor Fireballs back in the Diablo world that his muscle memory had taken over.
At first, he had planned to put on a show once he learned it, dramatically waving his wand and shouting “Incendio!” to throw off suspicion.
Yet after only a few days of practice, he could already cast it nonverbally.
With a single thought, scorching flames would erupt from his wand, and their power far surpassed Hermione’s version of the spell.
It was a completely unexpected pleasant surprise.
Standing opposite him, Hermione’s mouth was open so wide it could fit an egg.
She looked at Rayleigh’s Incendio, then at the small pile of fire in front of herself.
The contrast made the victor painfully clear, leaving her in a state of massive cognitive shock.
“Th-this…
this isn’t scientific!” Hermione stammered.
“Nonverbal spellcasting is an advanced technique you don’t learn until seventh year!
How could you possibly…” Rayleigh extinguished the fireball, threw up his hands, and put on an innocent look.
“Maybe I’m just exceptionally gifted?” Hermione choked on her words for a moment before a fierce competitive fire blazed in her pretty eyes.
Jealousy?
A little bit.
But mostly, it was her stubborn refusal to be beaten.
She decided right then and there that she was going to practice extra!
She had to!
Rayleigh didn’t overthink it, though he was feeling a bit glum.
Don’t ask why they didn’t go to the Room of Requirement.
He had tried.
Two nights in a row, he had tried to go to the eighth floor.
Damned if that staircase didn’t refuse to take him to the right spot on the eighth floor, dumping him somewhere else every single time.
To avoid delaying their progress, he had settled for second best and picked a random, unused abandoned classroom.
As long as the space was big enough, practicing anywhere was the same.
Having tasted the sweetness of private practice, Hermione, after stumblingly mastering Incendio, the Shield Charm, and the Impediment Jinx, made a decision that made Rayleigh’s scalp go numb.
She called Harry and Ron over as well.
“Those two are trouble magnets,” Hermione argued logically to Rayleigh.
“Instead of waiting for them to get into trouble and get beaten black and blue, we might as well strengthen their ability to protect themselves now.” What could Rayleigh say?
He could only watch as the other two goofballs joyfully joined their secret practice group.
As it turned out, talent really was unreasonable in certain aspects.
Harry demonstrated an astounding talent for the Disarming Charm.
“Expelliarmus!” After only three tries, he successfully cast the spell.
Ron’s wand flew out of his hand with a *whoosh*, tracing a graceful arc in the air before Harry caught it squarely.
Only Ron struggled.
Whether it was because of his battered old wand or a genuine lack of talent in this area was hard to say.
“Expelliarmus!
Expelliarmus!
Die, die, go away!” His face turned beet red as he desperately waved his wand at a practice dummy, but except for causing a few pitiful wisps of white smoke to sputter from the tip, nothing happened.
This left Rayleigh, watching the show from the side, immensely curious.
Ron’s parents, Arthur Weasley and Molly, were core members of the Order of the Phoenix.
Especially his mother, who seemed so gentle and kind, but was reportedly terrifyingly fierce.
In the battle to come, she would single-handedly kill Voldemort’s right-hand woman, the crazy Death Eater Bellatrix.
There were even rumors in the community that Bellatrix had borne Voldemort a child, though nobody knew if that was true.
Logically, dragon begets dragon and phoenix begets phoenix.
With such a fierce mother, her son couldn’t possibly be that bad, right?
While Rayleigh was letting his mind wander, he turned his head and saw that Ron had completely given up on recovery.
He was leaning in the corner, his head nodding, actually starting to doze off.
Rayleigh checked the time; it was indeed getting late.
“Alright, alright, that’s enough for today.
Wrap it up!” He clapped his hands, bringing the day’s practice to an end.
The next day, in the corridor.
What was supposed to be a peaceful day was shattered by a sharp argument.
“…Didn’t your father ever tell you, Potter?
Some people are just better than others.
I wouldn’t want to see you hanging around with a blood traitor and a Mudblood!” Malfoy’s punchable face appeared before the group, flanked by his two heavy bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle.
Ron’s face instantly turned the color of pig’s liver.
“Say that again!” “What?
Want to fight, Weasley?” Malfoy gave him a contemptuous glance.
“I forgot, your family is so dirt-poor you probably can’t even afford a proper wand.” “You!” Harry held back the impulsive Ron.
“Let’s go, Ron.
Ignore him.” “Scared, Potter?” Malfoy sneered relentlessly.
“I challenge you to a real wizard’s duel.
Midnight tonight, in the trophy room.
How about it?
Barely brave enough to show?” Rayleigh was leaning against a wall nearby, munching on a pumpkin pasty while thoroughly enjoying this classic scene unfolding before him.
Watching drama was fun, but watching it live was the sweetest.
Before Harry could speak, Ron had already accepted on his behalf.
“We’ll be there!
Who’s afraid of you!” Malfoy flashed a triumphant smirk and sauntered off with his two cronies.
And just like that, Rayleigh’s quiet days came to an end.
Harry and Ron, those two trouble-makers, simultaneously turned their heads toward him.
“Rayleigh!” Ron said, full of righteous indignation.
“You have to come with us!
You’re our friend!” Harry looked at him with expectant eyes as well.
Rayleigh felt like his pumpkin pasty didn’t taste good anymore.
“Wait, guys, he challenged Harry.
You can go as his second, but what’s my excuse?
A spectator?” “He’s my friend!
I have to help him!
You’re our friend too, so you have to help us!” Ron’s logic was simple and brute-force.
Rayleigh really wanted to say, “Hey, don’t drag me into your duel!” But looking at these two—one hot-headed, the other resolute—he knew he was dragged into these muddy waters today for sure.
After all, in this vast Gryffindor house, besides the three of them, he really didn’t have anyone else he conversed with regularly.
“Fine, fine,” Rayleigh sighed helplessly.
“Count me in.” He decided that he had to make some preparations.
That afternoon, he found an empty corner and carefully pulled an unremarkable wooden music box from his tunic.
If things really went sideways, this thing was his ultimate trump card.
As for equipment from Diablo, he didn’t need to prepare that explicitly.
He had already tested it: he could communicate with his inventory space from that world at any time, summoning items into reality.
It was very convenient.
If a fight broke out and things went south, at worst he’d slow them down with an Ice Bolt first, followed by a Bull’s Arrival.
As for that Bowel-Plucking Curse…
better not.
Avoid using it if possible.
Even though the three-headed dog was a magical creature, if its guts were ripped out, it probably wouldn’t survive either.
When that happened, not only would his learning of dark magic risk exposure, but his plan to make friends with Hagrid and get rich by procuring rare materials from the Forbidden Forest through him would go down the drain.
Who would refuse the friendship of Hogwarts’ “richest man”?
Inside Hagrid’s hut were treasures that could make the Horadric Cube glow and heat up with power.
Midnight.
The Gryffindor common room was dead silent.
Rayleigh, Harry, and Ron were preparing to sneak out stealthily.
“Where are you going?” A figure in a pink dressing gown blocked the portrait hole.
It was Hermione.
“We’re going to a duel!” Ron lowered his voice, unable to hide his excitement.
“Are you insane!” Hermione could hardly believe her ears.
“You’ll get expelled!
And you’ll lose Gryffindor all its points!” A small argument broke out.
In the end, Hermione failed to dissuade them and could only follow along huffily.
“I can’t let you two idiots go off and die alone!” Harry and Ron: *Huh?
She means us?* Rayleigh: *Yup!
Definitely means them!* The four of them tiptoed through the pitch-black corridor.
Suddenly, a cackling laugh echoed above their heads.
“Ooh-ooh-ooh!
Look what I found!
A few little Gryffindors wandering about in the middle of the night!” It was Peeves!
“Run!” Harry yelled.
Peeves’ shouting immediately drew the castle caretaker, Filch, along with his cat, Mrs.
Norris.
The group sprinted away, their hearts pounding wildly.
Just as they panic-strickenly ran up the marble staircase, the stairs beneath their feet suddenly moved!
It slowly swung around, carrying them to a completely unfamiliar floor.
A floor they had been explicitly forbidden from entering: the third-floor corridor on the right side.
“Quick!
Hide in here!” Hermione was sharp-eyed and spotted a door.
She drew her wand and whispered, “Alohomora!” The lock clicked open, and the four of them scrambled inside together, slamming the door shut behind them.
The room was pitch-black and dead silent.
Leaning against the door, they gasped heavily for air.
“Phew…
that was close…” Ron had just started to say.
“Grrr…” A low rumble, issuing from deep within a throat, echoed in the darkness.
Immediately after, three pairs of giant, viciously gleaming eyes opened before them.
It was a three-headed dog of terrifying proportions.
Frightened out of their wits, the four scrambled out the door on hands and knees, fleeing back to the Gryffindor common room with every ounce of strength they had.
“My goodness…” Ron slouched into an armchair, white as a sheet.
Harry propped his hands on his knees, too breathless to speak.
Only Rayleigh, once his pounding heart settled down, had a thought flash through his mind.
This was all way too coincidental.
Peeves appearing at just the right moment, Filch chasing them with incredible speed, and that damned staircase moving at just the right time…
It was practically a carefully scripted play!
Albus Dumbledore!
It had to be that sweet-tooth old bee pulling the strings behind the scenes!
If this had nothing to do with him, Rayleigh swore he would swallow his staff whole without chewing on the spot!
“Did you notice?” Hermione said trembling, though her keen observation remained sharp.
“That dog…
it was standing on a trapdoor.
It’s guarding something.” “I only saw three heads trying to eat me!
How could I look at anything else?” Ron wore his ignorance as a badge of honor.
Only Rayleigh sank into deep thought.
He hadn’t coveted the Philosopher’s Stone before, mainly because of Albus Dumbledore.
But now that he had joined the trio as their fourth wheel, shouldn’t he make a play for the Philosopher’s Stone?
Even a tiny corner of it would do!