The library’s collection was indeed vast, but the shelf organization was total chaos.
Students had to either hunt for books themselves or ask Madam Pince for help, which was a massive hassle.
Could it be that wizards didn’t care about shelf arrangement because they relied on magic—using a quick Summoning Charm to retrieve whatever they wanted?
Accustomed to modern libraries, Jarel found it hard to adjust.
At the very least, couldn’t they organize the books by subject?
In China, books were categorized into twenty-two disciplines using alphanumeric codes, while other countries used numerical indexing.
Even organizing them by basic everyday categories or trades would have been better than this.
Weaving through the stacks, Jarel grew increasingly annoyed.
He resolved to submit some feedback to the school later—after all, what kind of good student doesn’t offer constructive criticism?
Peering through the gaps between the books, Jarel finally spotted a shelf packed with Potions texts.
Just as he was about to take a shortcut over, he heard stifled sobs coming from deep within the stacks.
Assuming someone was hiding there to nurse a broken heart, Jarel prepared to ignore it and turn around.
But then, a slightly older male voice sneered out a quiet threat behind him:
“Cowardly little Hufflepuff.
Don’t think for a second that just because the Dark Lord is gone, you lot can defy Slytherin.
Do as I tell you, or I’ll make you pay.”
What was this?
Jarel paused.
During classes earlier today, the Slytherins hadn’t been this arrogant—they had been quiet and sullen like blocks of wood.
Now that classes were over, they were flexing their muscles?
Jarel turned around.
He first stepped out to look down the aisle, then turned back, deliberately heavying his footsteps as he walked inside with an expressionless face, stopping right beside the two figures—one tall, one short.
The Hufflepuff witch looked like a first-year.
Recognizing Jarel, she signaled desperately for him to leave, her eyes filled with frantic anxiety.
The Slytherin wizard was older, likely a second- or third-year.
He whirled around in alarm, but upon seeing Jarel, his panic gave way to calm arrogance as he sized Jarel up.
“Oh…
the white-eyed kid from that magical accident.
You’re that Ravenclaw first-year, aren’t you?
Get lost.
I’m busy here,” the Slytherin drawled arrogantly.
Jarel didn’t respond.
He kept his eyes locked on the Slytherin while reaching out to the young witch.
“Maria, I saw the Hufflepuff prefect helping the first-years with their homework outside.
Did you find the book you needed?
You should hurry back.”
She reached out to take Jarel’s hand, but the Slytherin blocked her way, his face darkening in fury.
“Are you deaf?
She and I have—things—to—do.
Get the hell out of here!”
Jarel let out an equally arrogant sneer.
He grabbed Maria’s hand, pulled her sharply to his side, and gave her a gentle push behind him out of harm’s way.
Looking up at the wizard, he said, “I have business with her too.
Are *you* deaf?”
Jarel had no fear of retaliation.
First, Slytherin was currently at a low point; if this guy actually picked a fight, it would give Headmaster Dumbledore the perfect excuse to crack down on Slytherin.
Second, Jarel had already awakened his Byakugan.
Though this wizard was tall, his magic aura wasn’t even as bright as Jarel’s—Jarel wasn’t afraid of a fight.
Third, Slytherins were cunning opportunists who judged the wind before taking action, lacking the recklessness of Gryffindors.
Even if this guy wanted to do something stupid, the upperclassmen would restrain him.
Most importantly, Jarel couldn’t stand seeing the strong bully the weak.
It instinctively reminded him of the days when he was oppressed by the Hyuga Main Family, as well as the branch family lackeys who hounded him endlessly with trumped-up charges.
Seeing a scene like this made his blood boil.
Besides, if this guy truly intended to make serious trouble, he wouldn’t have picked such a secluded corner.
Jarel was betting he lacked the guts.
Sure enough, seeing that Jarel refused to back down, the older boy hesitated.
He forced a smile, preparing to back off, though the words coming out of his mouth remained sour.
“Listen here, white-eyes.
I’m letting you off this time.
Next time you see me, make sure you walk the long way round.”
“Walk the long way?
Who’s walking the long way, Rooney Selwyn?” an angry voice called out.
Bill Weasley stepped out from behind an adjacent bookshelf, standing half a head taller than Jarel as he stepped firmly in front of him.
His tightly set mouth made it clear he was in a foul mood.
Selwyn—Jarel remembered the name vaguely.
It seemed to have appeared in book seven as one of the pure-blood families that followed Voldemort.
Bill Weasley’s magic aura was far brighter than Rooney Selwyn’s; his strength was clearly superior.
Rooney Selwyn seemed aware of this as well, judging by the sudden paleness of his face.
“It’s nothing, just joking around.
First-years always need an upperclassman to show them the ropes, don’t you think?” Rooney Selwyn offered with a dry laugh.
Bill Weasley raised an eyebrow, yielding no ground.
“I don’t think that requires your assistance.
My friend needs to find his books.”
Rooney Selwyn didn’t dare go head-to-head with a Weasley from Gryffindor.
The Weasley family was a core part of the Order of the Phoenix and staunch followers of Headmaster Dumbledore.
Who knew if he would report this to Dumbledore to crush Slytherin’s momentum?
Besides, Bill Weasley was one of the sharp minds of the Weasley family.
If Bill played him into a corner, the Selwyn family would lose immense face among the pure-blood houses.
Realizing this, Rooney Selwyn quickly readjusted his stance.
He stepped back, offered Jarel a quick apology, and took his leave with unhurried composure.
Spoken like a true Slytherin—astute and skilled at reading the room.
“Are you all right?
Jones came to find me, saying you needed help.
I’m Bill Weasley, the eldest of the Weasleys.
Just call me Bill.” Bill smiled warmly, offering his right hand.
Jarel took his hand with a smile.
“Thank you for coming.
Prefect Sinclair told me you were a great friend, and I really appreciate the help.”
When Jarel had pushed the young witch away earlier, he had quickly whispered “Gryffindor” in her ear.
He had noticed earlier that Bill was the only Gryffindor present in the library, so if she went looking for help, she would inevitably run into Bill.
Taking advantage of the moment, Jarel asked Bill about books on Potions ingredients.
Bill guided him expertly to a tall bookshelf and pulled down several volumes.
“I’ve read all of these,” Bill said.
“They cover foundational theory suitable for first-years, which should be just what you’re looking for.”
“Thanks a lot.
I could never find what I wanted—the layout here is complete chaos,” Jarel seized the chance to complain.
“Hahaha,” Bill chuckled warmly, scratching the back of his head in mild embarrassment.
“Once you learn the Summoning Charm or get more familiar with the library, it gets easier.
Just remember one thing: put the books back where you found them, or no one else will be able to find them either.”
When the two walked back to the tables together, they saw the young Hufflepuff witch looking anxiously toward the aisles.
She let out a huge sigh of relief once she saw them unharmed.
As the girl approached, Jarel learned her name was Jones Berwyn.
Jones expressed her profuse gratitude to both Jarel and Bill before reluctantly taking her leave.
First-year homework wasn’t particularly difficult.
For Potions, it was an analysis of ingredient properties in the Cure for Boils potion; for History of Magic, it was picking any major historical event and describing its influence or importance on a specific aspect of magical history.
Before eight o’clock, Jarel had already finished his essays, packing up his things and leaving under the envious gazes of the other young witches and wizards.