Early the next morning, as Rayleigh poked at the fried eggs on his plate with a spoon in the Great Hall, his gaze was hooked firmly onto a single person sitting at the Slytherin table.
Draco Malfoy.
The boy was arrogantly holding his platinum head high, lording over his lackeys Goyle and Crabbe, completely unaware that he had been targeted by an apex predator.
There was no bloodlust in Rayleigh’s eyes, only intense curiosity.
It was the kind of look a butcher gives a pig, or more accurately, the look a proctologist gives a patient.
Malfoy suddenly shuddered.
He subconsciously turned around and met Rayleigh’s uncanny gaze head-on.
His whole body stiffened, an illusion washing over him as if he had been stripped naked and pinned to an operating table.
“What are you staring at, Stark!” Malfoy growled, flushed with embarrassment and anger.
Rayleigh offered a broad smile, showing a row of sparkling white teeth, and slowly retracted his gaze.
“Nothing.
I just think Malfoy looks in fine fettle today.
A radiant complexion, very healthy.” Healthy?
Malfoy touched his face, feeling that there was a hidden jab in those words, though he couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong.
He could only turn back with a huff, though a chill lingered down his spine.
Inside Rayleigh’s mind, the gears were spinning furiously.
Originally, the VIP spot he had reserved for Malfoy was the Bowel-Plucking Curse.
But that spell carried far too high a risk.
If he failed to control its intensity and ended up pulling the little ferret’s guts out to hang them from Hogwarts’ highest tower, he’d be expelled—if not thrown straight into Azkaban.
And if he got expelled, how could he keep shearing Hogwarts’ wool?
How could he dive into the Dark World to level up?
No, no, killing the goose that laid the golden eggs was shortsighted.
However!
After last night’s brilliant scientific research, a brand-new, painless, low-risk, high-reward, and utterly humiliating spell had been born!
Just thinking about it made Rayleigh want to burst out laughing.
This spell was practically tailor-made for Malfoy!
The opportunity presented itself soon enough.
That afternoon, the Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years finally welcomed their long-awaited first Flying Class.
On the lawn outside the castle, twenty broomsticks lay in neat rows on the ground, waiting for their future masters.
“Awesome!
I’m going to fly higher than Charlie!” Ron shouted, his face flushed with excitement.
Hermione was clutching a copy of *Quidditch Through the Ages*, nervously reciting the safety rules inside.
Rayleigh strolled along leisurely with his hands in his pockets, looking like a senior official inspecting the grounds.
He had zero interest in riding a stick into the sky.
Mainly because he was uniquely gifted and worried about getting pinched down there.
He was here for only one purpose today.
To watch the show.
And at the critical moment, to deliver a fatal blow to Malfoy.
Madam Hooch, a short-haired witch with hawk-like eyes, blew her silver whistle.
“Alright, everyone stand to the left side of a broomstick!
Hurry!
Stick your right hand out over the broom, and say, ‘Up’!” “Up!” Twenty youthful voices chorused in unison.
Harry’s broom leaped straight into his hand in an instant—perfection.
Hermione’s broom rolled around on the ground before bouncing up reluctantly.
Ron shouted several times before his broom wobbly drifted up to his hand.
As for Rayleigh’s broom, it merely rolled half a turn symbolically on the grass and then lay flat, refusing to budge.
“Up!” Rayleigh frowned.
The broom didn’t react.
“I said, up!” He raised his voice.
Still no reaction.
Losing his patience, Rayleigh kicked the broom handle directly.
“Are you getting up or not?
Believe it or not, I’ll snap you in half for firewood!” The broom trembled slightly, as if expressing its terror.
“Rayleigh, you have to connect with it!” Harry kindly reminded him from the side.
“Connect with it?” Rayleigh curled his lip.
“I have a pretty great connection with my toilet at home, but it doesn’t open its lid by itself when I go to use it.” Right at that moment, an accident occurred.
Poor Neville, far too nervous, blurted out a trembling “Up!” before Madam Hooch could give the order.
His broom shot upward wildly, carrying him straight into the sky.
“Come back, boy!
Come back!” Madam Hooch shouted frantically from below.
But Neville was clearly terrified out of his wits.
Clinging tightly to the broom, he flew higher and higher until his weight shifted, and he tumbled straight down from a height of dozens of feet.
“Ahhh!” Several girls screamed.
Just as Neville was about to make intimate contact with the hard earth, Rayleigh subtly pulled out his wand from behind the crowd and gave a light flick.
“Wingardium Leviosa.” An invisible force cushioned Neville, bringing his plummeting speed to a sudden halt.
He finally hit the grass with a soft thump.
Though it still hurt, he had at most sprained his arm rather than breaking into pieces.
“A broken wrist!” After a quick check, Madam Hooch immediately led the tearful Neville toward the hospital wing.
“No one is to leave the ground!
Or you’ll be expelled before you can say Quidditch!” she warned sternly before leaving.
The moment she departed, Malfoy’s sarcastic voice rang out.
“Did you see that?
What a bumbling idiot.
If he had squeezed this precious little thing tighter, he wouldn’t have fallen.” He bent down and picked up the Remembrall Neville had dropped.
Harry immediately stepped forward.
“Give it here, Malfoy.” “No thanks.” Malfoy tossed the Remembrall casually in his hand, looking smug.
“I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find…
How about up a tree?” He mounted his broom, shot into the air, and hovered a few meters off the ground.
“Come and get it, Potter!” Without a second thought, Harry mounted his broom as well.
“Harry, no!
You’ll get into trouble!” Hermione urged anxiously.
But Harry had already soared into the air, his movement so fluid it left everyone spellbound.
Rayleigh quietly shrank back behind the crowd, the smile on his face growing wider and wider.
The show had begun!
Harry displayed astonishing flying talent, nimbly dodging Malfoy’s taunts in the air like a true falcon.
Frustrated and enraged by Harry’s skill, Malfoy hurled the Remembrall far into the distance.
With a gorgeous dive, Harry caught the ball securely just moments before it could smash against the castle window.
Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor students on the ground.
Malfoy’s face turned the color of a beet, jealousy and rage completely clouding his judgment.
He actually pulled out his wand and aimed it directly at the descending Harry!
“Go to hell, Potter!” A nasty curse shot toward Harry!
Harry reacted with lightning speed, jerking his body sideways to dodge it.
*Now’s the time!* Hidden in the crowd, Rayleigh’s mouth grinned almost from ear to ear.
He drew his wand and aimed it at that arrogant, platinum figure hovering in mid-air.
*Come on, baby!* *Taste the ultimate art of modern alchemy fused with ancient magic!* *”The Bowel-Plucking Curse as the base, pin-pointing the burst!”* *”Aguamenti as the conduit, filling the belly with water!”* *”A muscle relaxant as the key, unlocking the gate of convenience!”* Rayleigh laughed hysterically in his head while chanting the brand-new, soon-to-be-famous spell in a barely audible whisper.
“Laxativa!” A beam of dung-yellow light struck Malfoy in mid-air at blistering speed.
Malfoy was just about to cast a second curse when his body suddenly froze.
An extraordinarily ominous, violent churning sensation erupted from deep within his lower abdomen!
*Gurgle…
gurgle-gurgle…* He froze.
What was happening?
Why was his stomach boiling like a cauldron?
Immediately following that, an irresistible, earth-shattering surge of primeval force rushed toward his body’s final line of defense!
He instinctively tried to clench up.
However!
It was useless!
His sphincter muscle was currently as soft as a lump of mud, completely unresponsive to his commands!
The next second…
“PFFFFFTTTT—!!!!!!” A deafening, thunderous blast echoed across the entire Hogwarts lawn.
A thick, yellowish-brown column of high-pressure liquid burst forth from beneath Malfoy’s robes with unmatched momentum!
The sheer force of the jet was so powerful it actually produced a slight recoil, thrusting him forward in mid-air!
Time seemed to freeze at that exact moment.
Everyone watched the sky, jaw-dropped.
They watched that platinum young aristocrat perform a spectacular aerial display like an out-of-control agricultural sprinkler.
Immediately after, a stench so thick it was practically tangible swept over the entire meadow like a tidal wave.
“AAAAAHHHH!” “What is that?!
It stinks so bad!” “Is it raining?
Wait!
Why is the rain yellow?!” The Slytherin students standing directly beneath Malfoy became the very first victims.
They raised their heads in horror, only to be drenched head-to-toe by a torrential downpour of filth.
Screams erupted one after another.
Goyle, Malfoy’s most loyal henchman, was standing there slack-jawed, staring dumbfoundedly at the wonder in the sky.
A precise drop of yellow liquid traced a perfect arc through the air and landed right into his open mouth.
That sour, pungent flavor detonated violently against his taste buds.
Goyle’s eyes bulged, and he went stone-cold stiff, collapsing straight backward into a dead faint.
The Gryffindor students were stunned at first, and then exploded into roaring, earth-shaking laughter.
“HAHAHAHAHA!” “OH MY GOD!
MALFOY IS POOPING!” “RUN!
IT SMELLS TOO BAD!” The students scattered frantically while laughing uncontrollably, screaming as they fled to escape the expanding zone of contamination.
Rayleigh covered his mouth, his shoulders shaking violently, trying with all his might not to snort like a pig.
Looking up at the helpless Malfoy in the sky, who was wailing and spraying simultaneously, Rayleigh felt his heart swell with the joy of a bountiful harvest.
Perfect!
Art!
This was nothing short of performance art!