“Do you think I could defeat Albus Dumbledore right now?” Linus asked sincerely, looking at Hermione, who was scribbling furiously on her Transfiguration homework in the Gryffindor common room.
Neville, sitting nearby, looked as if he had just heard some earth-shattering declaration.
His mouth fell open, and he subtly shifted a few inches to the right on the sofa, trying to put some distance between himself and this roommate who had just uttered such outrageous words.
Hermione didn’t even look up.
“Are you asking if a first-year student who can’t even turn a match into a needle can defeat the greatest wizard of the century?”
“So you support me challenging him too.” Linus nodded vigorously, looking immensely encouraged.
Hermione ignored him.
Neville stood up and headed toward the dormitory.
Harry met him on the way and asked in confusion, “What’s wrong, Neville?
You don’t look…
quite right?”
Neville shook his head.
“Nothing.
I just think I might have forgotten how to understand English.”
Ron burst into the common room excitedly, pulling Harry up from his seat.
“Oh, Harry, don’t worry about that.
Come play chess!”
A moment later, in the common room, Ron and Harry sat opposite each other with a set of live wizard’s chess between them.
Linus stood behind them, lost in thought.
Harry was a complete beginner and had borrowed his chess pieces from Seamus.
Ron gave him advice as they played, and the chess pieces themselves shouted out instructions with every move.
Soon, Harry felt like there were eight hundred voices fighting inside his head.
It made him dizzy, and after several rounds, he hadn’t won a single game.
“I’ve got it,” Linus said, slapping his forehead.
Hermione looked up at him.
“Are you going to challenge Albus Dumbledore to a game of chess?”
Linus nodded excitedly.
Hermione poured cold water on his enthusiasm.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, but given his age, he’s probably played more games of wizard’s chess than everyone in this common room combined.”
Linus smiled, waved her off, and rushed out of the common room to prepare.
Not long after the portrait hole closed, it swung open again.
Linus rushed back in, breathless, and clapped Harry on the shoulder.
“Harry, lend me two Silver Sickles.
I have a great use for them.”
Harry agreed and reached into his pocket to pull out the money.
“If I didn’t know you, I would define this behavior as school bullying,” a cold voice said.
Linus looked up and saw Hermione staring at him icily.
“I promise I’ll pay it back,” Linus said, pressing his hands together and making a solemn vow to Harry and Hermione.
“I’m in no hurry,” Harry said, handing the Silver Sickles to Linus.
Linus took the money and quickly left the common room.
“This spot…
I remember it should be near the Hufflepuff common room, behind a painting of a fruit bowl.” Linus searched the corridor directly beneath the Great Hall for a while before finally locating the correct painting.
He tickled the green pear in the painting.
The pear wriggled and turned into a green doorknob.
Linus opened the door and slipped inside.
Before him was a massive kitchen, where hundreds of house-elves were working busily.
“A young wizard has come in!
Quick, prepare refreshments!” a high-pitched voice squeaked.
After a brief, orderly chaos, a house-elf holding up a tray laden with milk and biscuits walked eagerly toward Linus.
“Hello, honored young sir!
Is there anything we can do for you?”
“My name is Linus Sunwood.
What about you?
What is your name?” Linus asked, starting with the elf’s name.
“Gaia, my name is Gaia, sir,” the elf replied.
Linus smiled and took the milk from Gaia’s tray.
“All right, Gaia.
I’d like to ask you for a favor, if that’s okay?”
“Most gladly, sir!
It would be an absolute honor!” Gaia said cheerfully.
“I have some money here.
I want you to go to a Goblin and buy a certain game for me—a Muggle board game called Go.
It has a board and pieces.
The pieces come in two colors, black and white, and they look like small, round pebbles.” Linus explained, then asked, “Do you understand?”
“Understand, sir!
Go, black and white, pebbles!” Gaia summarized.
Though still a bit skeptical, Linus had no choice but to hand over his entire net worth—which he had just borrowed—into Gaia’s hands.
He instructed, “If you manage to buy it, send it directly to my dormitory.
I’m a first-year Gryffindor.”
“No problem, Mr.
Sunwood.
Gaia knows all the first-years,” Gaia said proudly.
“Just call me Linus.” Looking at Gaia’s proud expression and his ragged clothing, Linus suddenly felt a pang of sadness.
“Are you unhappy, Mr.
Linus?” Gaia astutely sensed the sudden shift in Linus’s mood.
Linus shook his head.
“I’m just worried that you aren’t happy.”
“Oh, no, Mr.
Linus!
It is Gaia’s honor to serve you.
Gaia is very, very, very happy!” Gaia squeaked joyfully.
“Call me Linus,” he said, looking at the elf earnestly.
“And thank you, Gaia.”
Looking into the young wizard’s sincere eyes, Gaia seemed a bit flustered.
“Thank you too, Linus.”
…
The next day, the young wizards finally had their highly anticipated Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
Meanwhile, thanks to the matches he carried around and the ten-fold boost from his gold talent, Linus had already ground his Transfiguration level up to Lv2.
However, he couldn’t continue his magical training during this class.
It wouldn’t do to draw Quirrell’s close attention.
The foul smell of garlic wafting from Quirrell’s turban made it hard for Linus to focus on his reading.
Quirrell told them that his large turban had been a gift from an African prince as a thank-you for helping him get rid of a troublesome zombie.
Linus would have preferred a real zombie standing in the classroom; at least then, he could have slipped out and called it a day.
Yet Hermione managed to keep diligently taking notes even in this environment, prompting Linus to marvel that she was truly in a class of her own.
There was a great deal to learn, and among the first-year Gryffindors, only Hermione and Linus practically lived in the library.
The others worked in fits and starts—and of course, some didn’t even manage the “starts” part.
From the very first week of term, one could already predict how everyone’s end-of-year grades would turn out.
On Friday morning, everyone was eating breakfast at the Gryffindor table.
“Professor Snape doesn’t seem to like me,” Harry said, looking slightly anxious about the upcoming Potions class.
Linus patted Harry on the shoulder.
“Trust me, Harry.
It’s not that he doesn’t like you.
He just flat-out hates you.”
Hermione slapped Linus’s hand away.
“Don’t speak ill of professors behind their backs.
You’ll get Gryffindor points docked.”
Hearing Linus’s words, Harry grew even more terrified.
He turned to Linus and asked, “Can we sit together later, then?
You go to the library every day, so you must be really prepared.”
Ron groaned.
“Blimey, what about me?
You aren’t going to pair me up with…?” He pointed at Hermione, Linus’s default partner for all their classes.
“Don’t worry, you two will still sit together.” Linus patted both Ron and Harry on their shoulders.
“We’ll sit behind you, but we might only be of limited help.”
“That’s still a massive help,” Harry said quickly, nodding in agreement.
Ron also felt a bit more at ease.
The dungeon where Potions was held was several times colder and gloomier than the Great Hall.
If you were ever walking here alone in the dead of night, you had to make sure never to turn and look at the glass jars filled with pickled animal specimens; the panicked screams you might let out would summon Argus Filch and Professor Snape, which was infinitely more terrifying than actually encountering a ghost or a zombie in the corridor.
In the small classroom, Severus Snape’s entrance undoubtedly lived up to every expectation of a classic villain: a cold and ruthless appearance, a sinister and stubborn expression, and biting, sarcastic remarks.
If he had been your high school homeroom teacher, he would have saved you a fortune in internet café fees by scaring you out of ever cutting class.
Snape’s gaze swept over everyone in the room, pausing only when it landed on Harry.
If Linus’s observation was correct, it stopped specifically when looking into Harry’s eyes.
Then came his famous opening speech.
“…I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its white smoke, the delicate aroma drifting up.
You will not truly understand the marvelous power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses…
I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death—if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”
“What a wonderful day,” Linus whispered, turning to smile at Hermione beside him.
Hermione was already used to Linus’s sudden outbursts of appreciation for the beauty in things.
She simply shook her head in resignation, continuing to take notes while previewing the lessons for their next—or rather, next semester’s—classes.
After Snape finished his speech, the class fell into a dead silence.
Linus’s quiet comment failed to draw the heat away from Harry.
“Potter!
What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” Today, Snape seemed determined to make things difficult for his former rival’s son.
Behind Ron, Hermione’s hand shot up so quickly it nearly knocked her desk over.
Harry subtly leaned back.
Linus rolled his eyes.
He knew very well that such minor movements would be clear as day to Snape on the dais, but out of respect for those two Silver Sickles, he lowered his voice and whispered, “The Draught of Living Death.”
“The Draught of Living Death!” Harry, having received the answer, called out.
“Oh?
It seems our famous Mr.
Potter is indeed all-knowing.” Snape slowly stepped down from the dais and stood between Harry and Linus.
He stared intently into Linus’s dark eyes, yet directed his question at Harry.
“Then, pray tell, Mr.
Potter, what is the effect of the Draught of Living Death?”
This time, Harry froze up and could only reply, “I don’t know.”
“You know the recipe for the Draught of Living Death but not its effects?
For Mr.
Potter’s dishonesty, five points will be taken from Gryffindor,” Snape said with a cold sneer.
“No, you can’t!” Harry snapped, looking up into Snape’s cold eyes.
“If you had bothered to open a book before starting school, Mr.
Potter, you wouldn’t have had to rely on cheating to answer,” Snape sneered.
“As for you, Mr.
Sunwood…” Snape finally turned his fire on the other child disrupting his class.
“Since we have the Savior’s savior in our classroom, tell me: what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
“Monkshood originated fifteen hundred years ago in the Himalayas.
It was discovered by local herdsmen gathering herbs and named for its resemblance to a small boat.
It is highly toxic when consumed raw, and in Muggle classification, it belongs to the division Angiosperms, class Dicotyledoneae, order Ranunculales, family Ranunculaceae, genus Aconitum.
It is also one of the key ingredients in brewing the Draught of Living Death and the Wolfsbane Potion.
“Wolfsbane, on the other hand, was first discovered and named in the British Isles eight hundred years ago by the wizard Sallen, though it was later proven to be the exact same plant,” Linus rattled this off unhurriedly.
“That is not in *One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi*,” Snape said, frowning.
“Which is why you should also settle down and do some reading, Professor,” Linus said in a sincere, earnest tone.
“Arrogant boy,” Snape growled.
Though displeased, his respect for knowledge kept him from punishing Linus directly.
He simply raised his voice to the rest of the class.
“Well?
Why aren’t you all copying this down?
Did you only bring your ears to class?”
A rustle of quills and parchment filled the dungeon.
For their first practical lesson, they were to brew a potion to cure boils.
Although Linus had crammed a massive amount of Potions theory through high-intensity reading in the library, his white-tier talent still left him utterly helpless when it came to hands-on practice.
The only reason he didn’t end up drenched in potion like Neville was Hermione’s steady and flawless execution—though it also helped that he had kept a vigilant eye on Seamus’s neighboring cauldron, ready to dive for cover if it exploded.
After Seamus escorted Neville—who was now covered in angry red boils on his arms and legs—to the hospital wing, Linus finally managed to stabilize his brewing.
In the end, he and Hermione produced a substandard batch.
Compared to Harry and Ron, who hadn’t even managed a substandard potion, it was practically a masterpiece.
When class finally ended, the students eagerly climbed the steps out of the dungeon.
Linus, who was bringing up the rear, was called back by Snape.
“Mr.
Sunwood.
What did you mean by ‘a wonderful day’?”
Linus turned back and stared into Snape’s hollow eyes, remaining silent for a long moment.
The quiet atmosphere sent a faint chill down even Snape’s spine.
*A living Professor Snape,* Linus thought to himself.
At last, Linus’s face broke into a broad smile.
“Because on this day, I got to meet you, Professor, and hear the opening speech I’ve long admired.
I think it was wonderful.”
“Long admired?
You’ve heard of me before?
And what exactly is so ‘wonderful’ about it?” Snape asked, his brow furrowing deeper.
“Yes,” Linus said.
“I’ve heard many stories about you.”
Snape’s frown deepened.
A complex expression flickered across his pale face—not anger, and not quite curiosity, but more like the bewilderment of being offended by an admirer and not knowing whether to take offense.
“Stories?” he repeated, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm.
“I was unaware that I had become idle gossip for first-years.”
Linus didn’t explain.
He simply gave Snape one last look, waved, and quickly walked out of the dungeon.
Leaving Snape alone in the classroom, lost in thought.
That night, Gaia appeared and intercepted Linus on his way back to the dormitory.
“Linus, I brought back the Go board you wanted.” The travel-worn Gaia had a bruised eye, and his right arm was wrapped in a bandage.
“What happened to your arm?” Instead of taking the game Gaia was holding out, Linus asked about his injuries first.
Gaia didn’t answer but insisted on pushing the Go set into Linus’s hands.
“Gaia, if you don’t tell me how you got hurt, I can’t accept this,” Linus said solemnly.
Gaia hesitated, then said, “Gaia went to ask the Goblin the day before yesterday, and he said it would only cost one Silver Sickle.
But when Gaia went to make the trade today, he saw Gaia had two Silver Sickles and tried to raise the price.
Gaia didn’t agree, so Gaia fought him.”
With that, Gaia raised a small, clenched right fist.
“Gaia won the fight!
Gaia gave him one Silver Sickle and took the Go board Linus wanted.
Gaia didn’t steal.
There is still one Silver Sickle left to return to Linus.”
Gaia opened his right hand to reveal a shiny, blood-stained Silver Sickle resting in his palm.
Then Gaia looked up and saw that Linus’s eyes were also glistening.
“Linus, are you crying?” Gaia asked, growing a bit anxious.
“No, the wind on the corridor is just too strong,” Linus said, rubbing his eyes.
“What was the Goblin’s name?”
“Is…
is Linus going to fight him too?
Then Gaia cannot tell Linus his name.
Young wizards are not allowed to fight outside the castle.” Gaia shook his head.
“No, I just want to make sure I don’t get cheated by dishonest merchants when trading with Goblins in the future,” Linus said with a forced smile.
“Oh.
His name is Ranno, and he often hangs around Knockturn Alley.
Linus must be very careful when buying things in the future,” Gaia warned earnestly.
“Ranno, the Goblin from Knockturn Alley.
Got it,” Linus said with a smile.