Hogwarts double periods were usually split into two halves with a short break in between.
During the second period, Professor McGonagall gave a detailed explanation targeting the common mistakes the young witches and wizards had made in the first half of the lesson.
This time, several more students successfully transfigured their matches into needles, while Neville managed to turn his into the eye of a needle.
“If we combine Mr.
Longbottom’s needle point from the last period with his needle eye from this one, he has technically succeeded as well,” Professor McGonagall remarked.
After class ended, Neville clutched his books to his chest and walked over to Caelan.
“Caelan, I really want to thank you again.
Truly.” “You’re welcome, Neville.
We’re friends.
It’s no big deal.” Neville’s grip on his textbooks tightened slightly, his fingernails unintentionally scraping against the hard covers.
To him, the word “friend” was far too precious.
“Yes, we’re friends.
If there’s ever anything you need help with, please let me know.
I mean…
I’d be happy to be of service to you,” Neville plucked up his courage and finally voiced the words he had been mulling over the entire period.
This was a massive hurdle for him.
Back in primary school, he had once said something similar to someone he had considered a “friend.” All he got in return was ridicule: *If I ever need your help, I’d rather just die!* Even though he knew Caelan wasn’t that kind of person, Neville couldn’t help feeling nervous.
Years of being bullied had drained almost all his self-confidence, to the point where he had inwardly accepted the cruel labels others slapped on him.
“Uh…
though I probably won’t be much help anyway…” Neville added softly in a small voice.
“No, Neville.
You matter.
You are an important friend to me.” Caelan smiled and extended a hand to him.
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” Overjoyed, Neville couldn’t stop thanking him.
It took a good moment before he remembered he had a History of Magic class next.
“Goodbye, Caelan.” Neville turned to head for the classroom, a bright smile beaming on his face.
Caelan called out to him, offering a somewhat helpless reminder, “The History of Magic classroom is this way.” … After Transfiguration, they had a History of Magic class.
The professor was a ghost named Professor Binns.
He was the only ghost professor at Hogwarts.
Although his teaching style was excruciatingly boring—dull enough to put the vast majority of students straight to sleep—one had to admit that his knowledge of magical history was astoundingly vast.
Professor Binns had taught at Hogwarts when he was still alive.
Until one day, he fell asleep in front of the staff room fireplace and passed away.
The next morning, he simply stood up as a ghost and went to teach class as if nothing had happened, seemingly unaware that he was dead.
Caelan felt that it was precisely this model-employee dedication that had earned Binns a permanent, ironclad job for life.
Just think about it: asking Dumbledore to fire a teacher who remained at his post even after dying in the line of duty would be a bit awkward to bring up.
Though Professor Binns’s spirit of staying on duty post-mortem was commendable, his class was undeniably tedious.
When lecturing, he was almost entirely absorbed in his own world, oblivious to whether the students understood a single word.
He merely droned on in a wheezing, monotonous monotone, reading straight from the textbook.
It felt like attending a 3D-projected online course.
Still, the students didn’t particularly hate the class.
If a teacher doesn’t take roll call, doesn’t ask questions, just lectures until the bell rings, and doesn’t care whether you sleep or daydream, then even if he was considered a filler teacher, no student would actively dislike him.
At first, Caelan tried to keep up with Professor Binns’s pace.
Then he realized the professor was far too self-absorbed, and his tone was so bizarrely drone-like it sounded like a swarm of bees buzzing endlessly in his ears.
It was far more pleasant to just read the textbook on his own.
The other students were slumping across their desks in all sorts of awkward positions, either catching up on sleep or staring blankly into space.
In the entire classroom, only one person was listening with bright, rapt attention.
And that was Hermione.
As for Caelan, he had already started slacking off.
As for homework, he could just copy Hermione’s later anyway.
Caelan pulled out his money to count it.
Twenty Gold Galleons won from Chris Nott, one Gold Galleon generously gifted by Prefect Rowle, plus the remaining Hogwarts educational fund of fifteen Silver Sickles.
Twenty-one Gold Galleons and fifteen Silver Sickles was quite a fortune for Caelan.
Although exchange rates fluctuated, normally one Galleon could be converted into roughly five British pounds at Gringotts.
That meant Caelan currently had around one hundred and ten pounds on him.
In 1991 Britain, one hundred and ten pounds was enough to sustain an ordinary family for several weeks.
Seeing Caelan counting his cash, Chris gritted his teeth like an aggrieved, helpless husband, furious but not daring to voice his rage.
*That’s my pocket money for the entire term!* *My money!
My money!* However, this amount was still not enough for Caelan.
Setting aside his fondness for money—just looking at cash refreshed his mood—he genuinely needed more funds.
Although room, board, and tuition at Hogwarts were free, potion ingredients and magical items were certainly not.
If he wanted to brew potions, he couldn’t very well go steal ingredients from Snape’s private store cupboard, could he?
At least, not right now.
Furthermore, he planned to send the kids back at the orphanage to school.
Knowledge is power.
A group of uneducated orphans would be of limited help to him; at most, they could scrape together a few petty pennies doing minor street hustles.
His ambitions went far beyond that.
Sending them to school meant building a loyal crew for himself in the Muggle world down the line.
With credentials and knowledge, they could handle many affairs for him.
However, there were quite a few people in the orphanage, and the money currently in his hands was clearly insufficient.
*Tsk…
I need to earn more money…* *How should I make money?
Brew potions and sell them in Hogsmeade?* *I could also make money off my classmates.
These pure-blood families are absurdly rich—they’re all fat sheep waiting to be sheared…* While Caelan was contemplating ways to make money, the news of Chris apologizing to Neville had already spread throughout the school.
According to their own interpretations, the students reframed the incident as “Slytherin apologizing to Gryffindor.” Through word of mouth, the story was condensed into its most shocking, captivating essence, spreading through the student body with an almost blunt, sensational force.
While the young witches and wizards were discussing this, Dumbledore was in the Headmaster’s office feeding Fawkes.
Fawkes was a phoenix who had accompanied Dumbledore for a very long time.
Since it wasn’t time for its rebirth yet, it looked exceptionally beautiful.
Covered in brilliant gold and crimson feathers, its long tail plumes shimmered brightly in the sunlight.
“Ah, old friend.
What do you think of Caelan?” Fawkes kept its head down, busily eating its meal, completely ignoring Dumbledore’s self-directed question.
Dumbledore popped a cockroach-shaped candy into his mouth, returned to his chair, and tapped his fingers slowly and rhythmically against the desk.
By lunchtime, the news of Slytherin apologizing to Gryffindor had spread to almost every corner of the school.
Even Snape had heard about it.
He was currently standing by the window of his office, opening it by a small crack to watch the students outside.
Harry and Ron were passing right beneath his window.
“Oh, that fellow really stole the spotlight.
He just enrolled, and he’s already as famous as you.” Looking down from above, Snape didn’t see those green eyes.
He closed the window in silence.
He had to prepare for the new students’ first Potions class.