“What owl?” The farmer looked nervous, trying to pretend he knew nothing and bluff his way through.
Unfortunately for him, he was dealing with Gryffindor.
Acting this poor wouldn’t have fooled an ordinary Muggle, much less a wizard.
With Legilimency, Gryffindor easily discovered exactly what had happened.
“You actually stewed it, and then gave the whole thing to your Muggle son?” A vein throbbed on Gryffindor’s forehead.
He took several deep breaths before finally forcing down his anger.
It was true that he didn’t dislike Muggles, but what these two had done genuinely disgusted him.
Worried that he might hit them too hard himself, Gryffindor turned to Witt.
“Witt.
Teach them a lesson.” “Got it!” Witt whipped out his wand.
“Crucio!” The red curse hadn’t even reached the farmer before Gryffindor intercepted it with another spell.
He frowned.
“What are you doing?” “Teaching them a lesson?” Witt asked, baffled.
Wasn’t that literally what you told me to do?
Gryffindor covered his forehead in exasperation.
“No using magic to attack Muggles.
I meant use your fists.” Although what these two Muggles had done made him deeply uncomfortable, Gryffindor had principles of his own.
If their crime did not deserve death, he would never use magic to attack a Muggle.
“Oh.” Witt obediently put away his wand.
He understood now.
Gryffindor only wanted to vent his anger.
He had no intention of seriously harming the farmers.
Witt had learned quite a lot during their travels.
In this era, more than a thousand years in the past, the lives of ordinary Muggles could only be described as miserable.
And with a famine currently raging, a piece of meat practically delivering itself to their doorstep…
It was difficult to blame them too harshly.
While Witt was busy beating the farmer and his family with his fists, the farmer’s daughter returned.
She carried a huge bundle of straw on her back.
The girl was painfully thin, with scarcely any colour in her face, but at least she still looked recognisably healthy enough to be human.
In this age, that alone was no small achievement.
Thinking about it, that made sense.
Young witches and wizards might not be able to control their magic properly, but they weren’t entirely helpless either.
And if they were pushed too far, they could become Obscurials.
If this girl had survived until eleven without anything going catastrophically wrong, then her life had at least been barely tolerable.
At the very least, much of Gryffindor’s anger faded the moment he saw her.
“I’m taking her with me.
Any objections?” “N-No!” The farmer answered immediately, terrified that hesitating would earn him another beating.
One glance at Gryffindor’s clothes was enough to mark him as some sort of nobleman.
And the farmer had eaten his pet.
Not being beaten to death was already fortunate.
How could he possibly refuse?
If his son hadn’t been badly injured several days earlier and desperately needed food, he never would have taken the risk.
The owl had been carrying a letter and wore a metal ring around its leg.
It obviously wasn’t a wild animal.
Now its owner had come looking for it.
Even if Gryffindor demanded his daughter as compensation, the farmer didn’t dare utter a word of protest.
If anything, he secretly felt relieved that Gryffindor hadn’t demanded his son instead.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ After leaving the village with the young witch named Eve, Witt asked curiously, “Is this how Hogwarts normally recruits students?” Kick down the front door.
Beat up the parents.
Then take their daughter away right in front of them.
Somehow, it felt disturbingly appropriate.
“This family was an exception.” “…” At the second house, negotiations broke down because the parents absolutely refused to let their son attend some mysterious school of magic.
Reasoning with them failed.
So Gryffindor had no choice but to reason with his fists.
“Didn’t you say the last family was an exception?” Sitting on horseback, Gryffindor fell silent for a moment.
Then he defended himself.
“This family is also an exception.” A month later, after they had finally finished recruiting all the students, Witt couldn’t help reflecting that life really was full of exceptions.
He had benefited enormously from spending that month with Gryffindor.
“Here.” Witt stared blankly at the sword Gryffindor was holding out to him.
“But I haven’t mastered the technique yet.” Gryffindor had called it a little trick, but after practising for an entire month, Witt had only just managed to grasp the basics.
“That’s enough.
When you return to Hogwarts, go to the library and find a book called The Travels of Gryffindor.
The full training method is written inside.” “Just keep practising according to that.” Gryffindor closed his eyes and turned his head away, refusing to look at Witt.
It wasn’t guilt.
He was afraid he might lose control and beat Witt to death.
The longer Witt remained around him, the stronger Gryffindor’s inexplicable hostility became.
If this continued much longer, even Gryffindor wasn’t sure he could restrain himself.
Every morning, he opened his eyes, saw Witt, and immediately felt as though he were looking at his most hated mortal enemy.
Fortunately, Gryffindor possessed extraordinary self control.
If it had been almost any other wizard, Witt would probably already be dead.
“Thank you.” Holding the sword in both hands, Witt bowed deeply and sincerely to Gryffindor.
He had learned a great deal over the past month.
━━━━ RESULTS ━━━━ Rating: S- Rewards: 🎁 Master-level Forging Techniques 🎁 Sword of Gryffindor Forging Blueprint 🎁 Intermediate Gryffindor Swordsmanship.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ An enormous flood of memories and techniques poured into Witt’s mind.
He stood up and shook his head.
This was the first time he’d ever spent so long inside a dungeon.
What lessons do I even have today?
At noon, Witt sat with a wooden sword hanging at his waist, staring at the figure he’d written down on the parchment before him.
50 Galleons.
He sighed inwardly.
I’m broke.
Forget forging the Sword of Gryffindor.
Even making himself a proper helmet would cost fifty Galleons.
He needed to find some way to make money.
While Witt was worrying about his finances, a shadow suddenly fell across him.
“You?” Standing in front of Witt was the young Severus Snape.
“I’d like to talk to you.
Is that all right?” “You’re not going to ask me to send you back, are you?” Witt immediately became nervous.
He admitted that it had indeed been because of him that Snape had somehow been dragged into this world.
That part was his fault.
But it wasn’t something Witt could control.
And sending him back was genuinely beyond his ability.
“No.
That’s not it.” Young Snape quickly shook his head.
He felt no attachment whatsoever to his old home.
Getting to Hogwarts early was more like a liberation than a tragedy.
“I don’t want to go back,” young Snape said quietly.
“I want to know whether you can make sure that Lily and I both stay here.” Witt immediately relaxed.
Thank goodness.
At least Snape wasn’t here demanding that he take responsibility.
When Lily had first arrived, she’d wanted to go home every single day.
Witt had needed to put enormous effort into comforting her.
Even Grindelwald, whom he’d encountered later, had repeatedly tested him in conversation, trying to find out whether there was some way to return.
Meeting someone as straightforward as Snape for once immediately raised Witt’s opinion of him.
“You don’t need to worry about that.
I can’t guarantee it one hundred percent, but the chances of you going back are extremely low.” “Rather than worrying about that, you’d be better off thinking about how you’re going to survive here.” “Survive?” Young Snape scratched his head and smiled.
“I’m working for the Potions professor.
He pays me three Galleons a week.” “And he promised that during the Christmas and summer holidays, I can stay at his house for free.” “What?” Witt felt as though he’d just taken a critical hit.