As November arrived, Will learned from Hermione that Ron had been hospitalized with a severe cold, bringing a dramatic end to the Halloween story.
One night, Will emerged from the Room of Requirement and, familiar with the route, headed to the Hogwarts kitchens for a late-night snack.
Unexpectedly, when he pushed open the kitchen door, he encountered a pair of red-haired twins, both happily gnawing on chicken legs.
Seeing Will enter, both paused, but quickly recovered and thanked Will.
“Hey, Will, thank you.”
“You saved our little brother.”
“Harry told us everything.”
“He and Ron were almost squashed by the Troll.”
The twins spoke one after another.
Although Will couldn’t tell them apart, he friendly sat beside them and had Anko bring him a specially ordered bowl of late-night food.
“What is this?”
“Looks like a Cornish pasty? Or a miniature boiled version.”
“What strange food is this?”
Will pointed at Anko: “This is food I asked him to learn from Asia, it’s called Jiaozi.”
In 1991, not many people in Britain knew about this food called ‘dumplin’.
“Want to try some?” Will pushed the bowl over.
The Weasley brothers exchanged glances: “Why not?”
But after one bite, both frowned: “Such a strange texture, it’s just a boiled Cornish pasty.”
It seemed they weren’t used to it.
Will didn’t force them; people have different tastes, just as he couldn’t accept Britain’s abundant malt vinegar, which would be strange with Jiaozi.
The twins had almost finished eating.
Will chatted with them for a bit, then they left, seemingly eager to go pull some prank.
Ignoring this small interlude, Will settled back into a peaceful life, grinding for experience every day, heading to the kitchen for custom-made meals, occasionally watching Harry and Malfoy clash, or finding time to stroll with Sylvia by the Black Lake, which was beginning to freeze. Find the original chapter at novelping dot com.
Until one night, Will came out of the Room of Requirement, rubbing his head, which was a bit dazed from all the knowledge, and he actually bumped into someone head-on.
“Professor Snape?” Will noticed Professor Snape was limping, as if his leg was injured.
“Behrens?” Professor Snape frowned, “You’re not sleeping in your dormitory in the middle of the night, but wandering around the Castle?”
He uncharacteristically didn’t mock Will, perhaps not in the mood today.
“I studied too late and lost track of time; I was just heading back.” Will’s attitude was casual; Professor Snape couldn’t really do anything to him anyway.
Would he deduct points?
“Professor, what happened to your leg?”
At most, he would be given detention, which he didn’t really care about.
In fact, he somewhat hoped to be sent to process Potion ingredients again—that was a free opportunity to gain Potion experience.
“That’s none of your business, Behrens. You’d best go back to rest quickly. If you fall asleep in Potion Class tomorrow, I’ll have you nap with the Troll.”
As he left, Will’s gaze unreservedly swept over Professor Snape’s limping leg.
Then the next day, Will was subjected to Professor Snape’s sarcastic remarks for the entire class, but nothing else happened.
Time flew, and soon it was the day of the Quidditch match.
In the stands, Will, who was pondering spell structures, had been dragged there by Sylvia.
In reality, he had no interest in such sports.
Strictly speaking, Will didn’t like ball games.
So he picked up a copy of “Hogwarts Junior Potion Analysis (Second Year Edition)”; he was going to Professor Snape’s for after-class practice recently.
Since he wasn’t enthusiastic about Flying Class and hadn’t shown any particular flying talent, Slytherin hadn’t allowed him to join the Quidditch team early like Harry.
Of course, he was happy to have the leisure.
Sylvia, however, was quite enthusiastic.
The two sat on the high platform of the Slytherin section, with cold wind constantly blowing. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
Will had to cast a spell to block the cold wind.
He couldn’t understand this madness for ball games, but thinking of British football hooligans, these Brits seemed more like lunatics.
“Will, Will!” Sylvia tugged Will’s hand, “Look, Gryffindor’s Seeker is Harry Potter!”
The Gryffindor team hadn’t widely publicized it; Harry was their secret weapon, so Harry’s appearance on the field surprised the students.
Will closed the book in his hand and said nonchalantly: “There are two possibilities for Harry to play: either the Gryffindor team all have Troll brains, or Harry Potter is a genius.”
Sylvia nodded: “No wonder Slytherin has won the House Cup for seven years; turns out Gryffindor all have Troll brains.”
Will was utterly dumbfounded, almost dropping the book in his hand.
“Big sister, how did you come to that conclusion?”
Soon, Harry’s flying skills were displayed, and Sylvia had to admit that Harry Potter indeed had talent.
However, Harry quickly ran into trouble; his broomstick began to tumble and roll uncontrollably.
He could only barely manage to stay on.
Sylvia frowned: “What is Potter doing?”
Suddenly, the broomstick twisted wildly again, and Harry was thrown off; he was now clinging to the broomstick with one hand, suspended in the air; everyone noticed Harry’s abnormality, and many had lost interest in the match, all watching Harry.
Will glanced at the central stands; Quirrell was muttering incantations.
He wasn’t too worried about Harry.
On one hand, the two were only nodding acquaintances; at most, he would pay a little attention because Harry Potter was involved in Lord Voldemort’s return.
On the other hand, Old Dumbledore was right there watching; would he really let anything happen to Harry?
Don’t be ridiculous.
He looked at Old Dumbledore; there wasn’t a trace of worry on his long white-bearded face, and Will knew Old Dumbledore absolutely had a backup plan.
He wondered what Lord Voldemort was thinking, trying to mess with Harry in such a situation.
Had that Horcrux turned him into an idiot?
Will felt that the path of Horcruxes was simply a bottomless pit.