Early the next morning, when Daimon walked into the Great Hall, Malfoy was sitting at the Slytherin table with a barely touched plate of bacon in front of him.
When he saw Daimon, the fork in his hand clattered onto his plate with a *clink*.
Daimon didn’t look at him, heading straight for the Gryffindor table.
Malfoy opened his mouth, then closed it again.
He picked up his pumpkin juice and took a gulp, his eyes following Daimon’s movement more than halfway across the hall.
Crabbe leaned in.
“That Ignis guy…” “I see him,” Malfoy growled through gritted teeth, his tone filled with disbelief.
“Why is he still here?
Didn’t Hagrid report the Forbidden Forest incident in the middle of the night?” Goyle chimed in dumbly, “Maybe they weren’t caught red-handed?” “How could they not be caught?
Filch told me himself that Hagrid cornered the Weasley twins at the entrance to the Forbidden Forest.
Ignis must have been there too.” Crabbe scratched his head.
“Then why is he fine?” Goyle suggested, “Should we go over and ask?” Malfoy gritted his teeth and stared at Daimon, only to see the latter turn around and give him a meaningful smile.
*Does this guy know I was the informant?
He’s not planning to retaliate, is he?
He must be thinking about how to get back at me!* Malfoy’s heart tightened.
The scene from Flying Class flashed through his mind—Daimon riding his broomstick with blazing flames ignited in his palm.
Suddenly, he lost his appetite.
“Let’s go!” He pulled up Goyle and Crabbe, whose mouths were stuffed with chicken legs.
Crabbe and Goyle trotted behind him clutching bread and cakes, completely bewildered.
“Draco, weren’t we going to cause trouble for him?
Are we just letting it go?” Crabbe caught up and asked.
“Shut up!” Malfoy glared at him fiercely.
Daimon had no idea a single smile had terrified Malfoy.
He found the Weasley twins at the Gryffindor table.
George was spreading jam on his bread, and Fred was adding sugar to his pumpkin juice.
The expressions on their faces were identical—utterly soul-crushed.
“Fifty points,” George said, biting into his bread, his voice muffled.
“Fifty points deducted from each of us.” “And we have to clean the trophy room for a month,” Fred added, poking a piece of bacon with his fork.
“Filch said we have to polish every single trophy until we can see his bald head in them.” Daimon sat down opposite them, pulled the sealed glass vial of venom from his pocket, and placed it on the table.
The twins stopped what they were doing at the same time and stared at the vial.
“Genuine Acromantula venom,” Daimon said.
“From the Forbidden Forest?
There really are Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest?” Fred’s eyes widened.
George put down his bread, took the vial, and held it up to his eyes.
The light green liquid shimmered slightly in the sunlight.
“You killed an Acromantula?!” His tone shifted from skepticism to amazement.
Daimon didn’t answer, merely extending his hand.
“A bet’s a bet.” Fred sighed, pulling a folded sheet of old parchment from his inner cloak pocket and placing it on the table.
“Do you need us to teach you how to use it again?” George leaned in and whispered.
“Thanks, but I have a very good memory.” Daimon tapped the parchment with the tip of his wand and muttered, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Inky lines spread from the point where the wand tip touched, branching out across the parchment like a spiderweb.
Words emerged, followed by a complete map of Hogwarts Castle.
There were many moving dots on the map, with a name labeled next to each.
Filch was in his second-floor office.
Peeves was wandering the east corridor on the third floor.
Professor McGonagall was at the entrance to the Headmaster’s tower.
Dumbledore was…
Daimon’s gaze swept across the map, the corners of his lips curving upward.
He folded the map and tucked it away.
“Thanks.” “We should be thanking you.” George picked up his bread again.
“Even though we lost a hundred points, at least it proved one thing—not everyone can walk out of the Forbidden Forest alive.” “If we had gone in last night, we might have lost our lives, or been lying in the hospital wing getting emergency treatment.
I can’t imagine how heartbroken Mum would have been,” Fred added.
“So, we accept our loss gracefully.” “In that case, please accept this.” Daimon pushed the vial of venom in front of the twins.
“It’s yours.” “No!” George shook his head.
“That’s your trophy.
We can’t take it.” “Exactly.
And we have sportsmanship.
A win is a win, a loss is a loss,” Fred said seriously.
Though the Weasley twins were mischievous, they had their own standards and code of conduct.
“Don’t misunderstand.
This is just a token of respect for the brave,” Daimon said.
“Among all the Hogwarts students, I doubt many would dare to enter the Forbidden Forest besides you.
You deserve this gift.” George and Fred exchanged a glance, their lips turning up.
“Mate, even though we know you’re just sweet-talking us, we still love to hear it.” “If you ever want any joke products in the future, we can give you a fifty percent discount,” Fred offered.
“I look forward to it.” Once George and Fred left, Harry and Ron sat down opposite Daimon with their plates.
The two had been eating breakfast nearby and had overheard most of the conversation.
Ron’s face didn’t look very good.
He glanced at Hermione—she was sitting next to Daimon flipping through a thick potions book—and then at Daimon, his tone a bit aggressive.
“You went into the Forbidden Forest last night?” “We did,” Daimon said.
“Didn’t you say you weren’t going to the duel?” Ron’s voice rose half an octave.
“How did it turn into going to the Forbidden Forest?” Harry tugged on his sleeve beside him, but Ron shrugged him off.
“The duel was indeed a cover,” Daimon replied without looking up.
“Malfoy wasn’t going to show up, but the twins did.
I just took the opportunity to complete the bet.” “And you ‘incidentally’ killed an Acromantula, right?” Ron’s tone was sour enough to squeeze vinegar.
“You two sure know how to find excitement for yourselves.” Hermione snapped her book shut, raised her head, and furrowed her brow.
“If you have some issue, you can just say it directly.” “I don’t have any issue.” Ron stood up, accidentally knocking a piece of bread off his plate.
“I just can’t fathom who it was that was so vehemently against breaking school rules initially, only to sneak off and go anyway.
If you think Harry and I are deadweight, you can just say so.” Hermione’s face darkened, and she said, syllable by syllable, “I went along because I was worried about Daimon getting into trouble.
And I never promised anyone that I ‘wouldn’t go.'” “Alright,” Harry said, pulling Ron back.
“Don’t be like that.” Ron shook off his hand and walked away.
Harry sighed and looked at Hermione.
“He’s just in a bit of a bad mood.” “Hmph!
No one cares if he’s in a good mood or not.” Hermione lifted her chin high.
Harry didn’t reply.
He sighed again, got up, and left as well.
In truth, he could understand Daimon’s approach.
The Forbidden Forest was no place for first-years.
If it had been him and Ron who ran into the Acromantula last night, would they still be sitting here eating breakfast?
Silence fell over the table for a few seconds.
“You don’t need to let it get to you,” Daimon comforted her.
“Don’t let someone else’s mood swings ruin your day.” Hermione lowered her head and flipped open her book again, though she wasn’t really reading it.
“I know,” she said quietly.
“But it still feels unpleasant.” “Then let’s talk about something happy!” Daimon looked toward the entrance of the Great Hall.
Six owls carrying a long package flew toward them, while another owl dropped a letter right in front of Daimon.
“Want to take a look?
It should be good news.” Daimon handed the letter to Hermione.
He had known what the letter would say for a while.
When he was in her office earlier, Professor McGonagall had told him she would be giving him a Nimbus 2000 broomstick.
Hermione composed herself and opened the letter, immediately letting out a gasp of surprise.
“Heavens!
Daimon, this is…
this is…” She stammered for a while, but remembering Professor McGonagall’s instructions in the letter, she didn’t dare speak too loudly.
She lowered her voice, her eyes wide.
“A Nimbus 2000?
Professor McGonagall sent it to you?” [Your Nimbus 2000 broomstick has arrived.
I hope you will use it to achieve excellent results.
Additionally, please remember not to open the package in front of others.
I would prefer it if everyone did not know I sent you a new broom, so as to avoid everyone wanting one.
Finally, Oliver Wood will be waiting for you at the Quidditch pitch in the evening.
You must still attend your first training session.
Do not be late.
— Professor Minerva McGonagall] “For the sake of Gryffindor, the Professor is really sparing no expense to win this year,” Daimon muttered, thinking of their Head of House, who seemed like a completely different person whenever Quidditch was mentioned.