Candlelight flickered in the oppressive atmosphere, casting shadows over the remaining injured students as they groaned involuntarily on the floor.
On the wall, the tail of the snake was still twitching slightly, its scorched flesh and bone looking as though it might tear apart and plummet to the ground at any moment.
A gaunt, black-robed figure stood opposite Mason.
His sallow skin made his cold demeanor appear even frostier.
Without needing to billow his robes, any young wizard who saw him was instantly reminded of the terrifying vampire bat hanging upside down in the depths of a legendary cave.
And his terrifying gaze was fixed straight on Mason, as if trying to rip out his soul.
[Boring.]
That was the emotion the big bat didn’t even need Legilimency to read.
[Cowardly.]
That was Mason’s surface-level evaluation of his opponents this time.
[Need…
more power.]
Snape and Mason snapped back to reality at the same time.
The magic power inside Mason’s body moved spontaneously to his brain, blocking the Legilimency Snape had reflexively launched.
“It seems some people enjoy taking pleasure in others’ pain,” Snape said coldly.
“Brawling in public, using spells to harm fellow students.
Thirty points from Gryffindor.”
“They started it, Professor!” Hermione, who hadn’t managed to join the fight in time, stepped forward bravely, ignoring Snape’s eagle-sharp glare.
“Talking back to a professor.
Another point off.” Snape grabbed the dazed Malfoy with one hand and surveyed the area.
Every single person on the ground was a Slytherin—it was an embarrassing sight.
“All of you, get up!
Walk yourselves up to the Hospital Wing!
As for you, Mason Jones.”
The old bat’s mouth twitched with utter disdain for his own students.
Recalling what Albus Dumbledore had told him, he spoke slowly, “I don’t care if you came from some College of Winterhold or not.
The consequence of brawling is—detention!
For the next month, report to my office every Wednesday through Friday evening!”
“Fine by me.” Mason didn’t have a bad impression of Snape.
Though the man was biased, he disdained acting directly against young students himself.
Had Mason known it would only be detention, he would have hit them harder earlier.
Aside from Grace and Anna, most of the Slytherin students slunk off after Snape left the Great Hall.
Only then did the Gryffindors swarm forward, surrounding Mason and Hermione.
Hermione clenched her small hands tightly.
The two of them had just lost a total of thirty-one points for their house.
She had worked so hard in class today just to earn three points, and now the other students were going to curse them to death.
“Way to go, Mason!” “Can you teach me that flying shield trick?”
The Weasley twins grabbed Mason’s hands from left and right, bubbling with enthusiasm.
Anna knew that even though they had fought side by side, the young lions around her still held a subtle aversion to her.
After coming up to thank Mason, she left the Great Hall as well.
“He can’t do that!
That’s not what the school rules say about student conflicts at all!” Hermione was still agonizing over Snape’s arbitrary point deductions and punishment.
“Looks like you haven’t had Potions class yet.” “That greasy old bat never makes life easy for Gryffindor.”
The Weasley twins offered Hermione a word of comfort each, then spotted Ron hiding behind the crowd.
Intentional raising their voices into squeaky tones, they teased:
“Who’s this?
Isn’t this my little Ronnie!” “Oh~ brave little Ronnie, standing firm beside his friends~”
Ron’s face flushed red instantly, followed by his eyes.
He threw his fists up, wanting to charge in and fight the twins.
“I’ve wanted to beat them up right in front of Snape for a long time!
Thirty points in exchange for twelve Slytherins lying on the floor with their tails between their legs—it’s a steal no matter how you look at it!” Oliver Wood materialized out of nowhere and slapped Mason on the shoulder.
“I’m holding out high hopes for you.
Starting next month, you must practice with a broomstick more!”
“Next month?”
“The Flying Class teacher went on a business trip and won’t be back until next month.
I have inside information—” Wood said conspiratorially.
“Got it.”
“Speaking of which, the ‘College of Winterhold’?
Did you really transfer from there?” Elaine asked curiously.
“Maybe I went there in a past life?” Mason scratched his head.
“I opened my eyes and I was at Hogwarts.”
Everyone took Mason’s words as a joke.
Stories of Mason’s “twelve-kill streak” and “one-hit snake severance” gradually spread.
After a night of exaggeration, the tale had evolved into Mason emulating the Twelve Labors of Hercules, publicly slaying the Hydra summoned by the descendant of Slytherin.
First of all, Hercules was the strongest (lol).
Secondly, Mason really didn’t have such exaggerated muscles.
Leave aside the Hydra, he couldn’t even solo the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, at best relying on a Heart-Stopping Spell to double-kill them both.
With no intention of dispelling the rumors, Mason could now stop young Slytherins from crying at night just by walking past them.
The afternoon following the brawl, the atmosphere in Herbology class was peaceful and harmonious.
“Professor, if I wanted to buy a tons of Dragonhide Grass or its seeds, could I find them in Diagon Alley?” Mason needed a massive amount of Shattered Flaming Essence.
Before unlocking the Crimson School spells he wanted most, taking the path of Pyromancy spells wasn’t a bad idea—after all, who wouldn’t want to hold five big, round fireballs in their hands?
“Dragonhide Grass?
I don’t think anyone really sells that, except for a few fertilizer workshops.
The waste screened out gets dumped into landfills.
Over time, those plots get covered in blackened Dragonhide Grass, and they often have to hire people to clear it out with Severing Charms.”
*Isn’t that convenient?
Collecting trash is my absolute favorite.*
“Sigh, as dragon dung prices go up, fertilizer prices follow, and external ingredients rise right along with them.
Even dragon liver, which is completely unrelated, has shot up to sixteen Sickles an ounce…”
*Right, materials from dragons!
There’s no reason dragon organs couldn’t yield Essence!
Though Mason might not be able to afford the price.*
Mason did some mental accounting.
First, earn some pocket money through commissions.
After all, he had no home in this world, so keeping some cash in his pocket would ensure he didn’t end up sleeping on the streets during holidays.
Second, fleece Snape for ingredients to test his own alchemy talent, attempting to recreate Iron Magic or vanilla Minecraft potions.
Third, build good relations with the upperclasswomen and flip Lockhart’s special editions in Diagon Alley.
Fourth, make full use of his golden finger—the Inventory—to conduct some spatial living-cargo transport operations (smuggling) that would get him sent to Azkaban’s dragon farm for enlightenment if caught.
Mason could almost picture the day ten years from now when Hermione would point her wand at him and say, “Sorry, I’m a cop.”
Having mapped out his career path, Mason went to the commission board after dinner.
A number of energetic young witches and wizards, both boys and girls, were gathered around, looking to pick up a few commissions just like him.
[Can someone help deliver a letter to Senior Lita?] — XXX XX.
The reward wasn’t even listed, and the name had been intentionally scribbled out.
How had a commission like this passed approval?
With the mindset of clearing a bug, Mason snatched up the commission first and left the Great Hall, intending to open it and take a look.
What if someone had secretly smeared Amortentia inside the letter?
With a sudden *clack*, a burly upperclassman grabbed Mason’s sleeve from a blind spot and dropped heavily to his knees.
*Senior, are you from Japan or something?*
“Please, don’t destroy this letter!
I swear there’s nothing inside except paper and ink!” Anthony Barker kneeled beside Mason, his face bright red, his tone utterly sincere.
“You didn’t beg Elaine like this to get the commission posted, did you…” Mason used his magic to carefully inspect the envelope.
Finding no issues, he accidentally caught sight of a few awkward words of praise.
“Why is there no signature?
Does a love letter need to be anonymous?”
“Please!” Anthony’s extreme bow-and-apologize spirit left Mason somewhat helpless.
“Just don’t regret it later.” Mason brushed aside his short white hair, his red eyes flashing with a striking light as if a thought had occurred to him.
“At least tell me who Lita is!”
“Plese…
uh, a fourth-year senior in Ravenclaw.”
Gryffindor’s little Merlin, setting off!