Hogwarts: Too Evil
Hogwarts: King of Fiendfyre
Cedric opened the system panel.
The smoked Murtlap had pushed his enhancement points to 27.
He could have stretched the meat across several meals and harvested the points two or three extra times.
He had chosen not to.
Giving most of it away had nothing to do with generosity.
It was advertising.
Ron had refused a real partnership.
Fair enough.
Cedric knew exactly what his cooking could do.
Once wizards tasted it, they would not forget.
Later, when he bought expensive magical ingredients, turned them into dishes, and sold portions, the cost would come back.
Those two free servings of Murtlap had not been a loss.
They had been the opening investment.
Points sitting unused were points wasted.
He could pour them into general enhancements or into the two new special abilities stripped from the Murtlap—Aura Concealment E and Matter Transmigration E.
Both were weaker than the original creature’s versions, but they belonged to him now.
Enhancement points could raise them later.
The cost, however, was ugly.
Aura Concealment from E to D- demanded fifty points.
Matter Transmigration started at a hundred.
With only twenty-seven on hand, both were out of reach.
He spent the points on the basics instead.
[Constitution Enhancement E-] → [Constitution Enhancement E]
[Neural Reflex Enhancement E-] → [Neural Reflex Enhancement E]
Twenty points gone.
Balance back to the familiar seven.
The change hit immediately.
Under his skin it felt like a thousand earthworms were crawling at once.
Muscles burned and swelled.
An unreachable itch spread through every limb.
He sucked air through his teeth.
The sensation drilled straight into the center of his chest.
His whole body jerked as if he had grabbed a live wire.
Noir, still on his shoulder, squawked in alarm and fluttered to the table, staring with wide black eyes while Cedric twitched.
The worst of it passed quickly.
The itch faded.
The heat drained away.
What remained was clean, dense strength flooding bone and muscle.
He closed his fists.
Joints cracked.
Constitution and reflexes had both climbed a full tier.
The body felt better than it ever had.
A wizard still needed speed and durability.
No spell in this world came with auto-aim.
Everything was a projectile that required a steady hand and faster nerves.
The afterglow left him light-headed and suddenly starving.
The Murtlap was already gone, digested to nothing by Stomach of Taotie.
“Downstairs,” he muttered, patting his stomach.
“Something to fill it.”
He shoved Noir into the cage, scattered a handful of nuts, and reached for the door.
The door swung open onto Quirrell’s twisted face.
For half a second Cedric’s hand went to the small kitchen knife tucked at the small of his back.
The Transfiguration that had made it was only E-grade and the edge was mediocre, but with the new constitution and reflexes he was certain he could open the man’s throat in under two-tenths of a second.
He stopped himself.
Killing a wizard was not the same as killing a creature.
Aurors averaged Hunting Level forty.
He had no interest in testing whether he could disappear before they arrived.
“Need something, sir?” Cedric kept his voice polite and blank.
An eleven-year-old who had not yet set foot in Hogwarts should not recognize a future professor.
“N-nothing.” Quirrell touched his own throat as if the skin there felt suddenly cold.
He forced a thin, friendly smile.
“I live just upstairs.
If you need any help, come find me.”
Cedric blinked.
“Ah?”
This was an inn, not a boarding house.
People came and went.
The forced neighborly act made no sense.
Quirrell offered no explanation.
He twitched the corners of his mouth once more and walked away, leaving Cedric standing in the doorway with pure confusion on his face.
At the top of the stairs Voldemort’s voice sliced into Quirrell’s mind, sharp with irritation.
“Are you an idiot?
I told you to get close to the boy.
That is how you get close?
Did you decide his courage needed testing?”
“S-sorry, Master.” Sweat rolled down Quirrell’s forehead.
“I simply do not know how to approach a child.”
“That is your problem.
You cannot even handle this much?” The cold voice rose.
“I want every dish that comes from his hands.
Remember that.
Fail, and you die.”
“Yes…”
Quirrell felt the injustice settle like a stone.
The same boy who had slaughtered the Murtlap bought with a third of his savings now had to be cultivated.
The arrangement had no end in sight.