“Then serve detention in my office at seven every evening.
Mr.
Print is indeed at fault and cannot go unpunished.” Professor Snape made up his mind to keep Print under his nose to monitor him closely.
Professor Flitwick had nothing more to say.
He recalled Headmaster Dumbledore once mentioning to him that Mr.
Print might have a talent for Potions that had caught Severus’s attention, and Professor Flitwick instantly understood Severus’s intentions.
“Oh, fine, fine, I have no objection, Severus.
Teach him well—ah, I mean, punish him well.
Uncut jade needs polishing, I understand.”
Professor Flitwick patted Professor Snape’s shoulder with his small hand, a look of gratification on his face.
Really, even in his twenties, Severus still had such an awkward, prickly nature.
Professor Snape frowned deeply, looking completely bewildered.
Realizing he couldn’t make heads or tails of Professor Flitwick’s words, Snape—having achieved his goal yet still harboring a bellyful of irritation—glared coldly at Jerail.
Leaving behind a sharp “Starting today, do not be late,” he swept away in a hurry.
From outside the door immediately came Professor Snape’s cheerful voices: “Bumping into a professor, one point from Ravenclaw.” “Failing to address a professor properly, one point from Ravenclaw,” accompanied by the mournful wails of young witches and wizards.
After thanking Professor Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey, Jerail clutched his Dreamless Sleep Potion and fled the Hospital Wing under their sympathetic gazes, joining the line of waiting Ravenclaw first-years outside.
Learning that Jerail had been given detention by Professor Snape, the Ravenclaw first-years were filled with righteous indignation, but ultimately succumbed to the professor’s intimidating authority, patting Jerail’s shoulder one by one to encourage him.
“Jerail, it’s fine.
Just endure it for a month and it’ll pass.”
“Jerail, hang in there!
Remember to stay on Professor Snape’s good side.”
“Jerail, work hard!
In my experience, all professors love hardworking students.”
“Jerail, don’t forget to take your potion!”
When that last sentence came out, the first-years immediately fell silent.
Then, hastily pushing Jerail back to the dormitory, they insisted on watching him swallow the potion before they were willing to leave.
Jerail didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Touched but declining their chaperone service, he gave Jack a reassuring smile, pulled his bed curtains shut, and downed the potion in one gulp.
*Gag!*
It was only through the sheer willpower leftover from his time as a ninja that Jerail kept himself from throwing up.
It felt as if food digested in his stomach half a month ago had fermented and multiplied instead of being excreted, spewing up his throat—and he had to force himself to swallow it back down.
So awful…
so…
*Thud!*
Jerail collapsed onto his bed, out cold, and began snoring loudly.
In the other bed, Jack held his breath until he finally heard Jerail’s deep snores, whereupon he relaxed and went to sleep.
*Professor Snape is amazing.
The Dreamless Sleep Potion really works wonders,* Jack thought sweetly in his sleep.
In the afternoon Transfiguration class, they still shared the lesson with Gryffindor.
But due to the morning’s incident, the Gryffindors were much quieter today.
Jerail woke up right on time, feeling completely refreshed and full of energy.
He didn’t know whether to be happy about the exceptional efficacy of the Dreamless Sleep Potion or miserable about the disgusting taste lingering in his throat to this moment.
Ultimately expressionless and moody, he walked past the Gryffindors’ seats, ignoring their guilty and apologetic expressions, and simply gave a brief nod.
Jerail didn’t blame them.
Young wizards lacked strong independent judgment and were easily swept up by public opinion or group behavior.
What happened in Charms class wasn’t their fault; he himself had been blinded by anger.
He accepted the lost points and detention honestly without resistance.
On the Gryffindor side, seeing Jerail still greet them good-naturedly made them feel even more guilty.
In the morning, they had already felt Vicky was in the wrong, but no one had dared step forward to stop Vicky.
At noon in their common room, they had been sternly scolded by Professor McGonagall after she heard the report, reprimanding them for standing idly by during a fight between classmates and failing to stop Vicky in time, which escalated the situation.
In the end, each of them lost five points, and Vicky Slug received another half month of detention.
The moody Jerail, unaware of their inner thoughts, sat down, opened his textbook, and looked up for class to begin.
Seeing the cute tabby cat sitting upright on the teacher’s desk, his eyes lit up, and he couldn’t help smiling.
Cats were truly cute anytime, anywhere—whether his professor or a ninja cat.
When he was Hyuga Taka, he had coveted the Uchiha family’s ninja cats for a long time.
Why did those hot-tempered, reclusive weirdos get to have fluffy little cats lying on their shoulders and heads, purring contentedly?
Professor McGonagall had already heard of Jerail’s clever and studious reputation.
Seeing his expectant face, she mistook it for eagerness to start the lesson.
Gratified, she leaped up and revealed her true form.
“Alright, open your textbooks, and follow along as we study the basic principles of Transfiguration.”
He decided to buy a little cat later to comfort himself.
As Professor McGonagall explained things in a clear and engaging manner, the class became entranced.
The atmosphere finally returned to calm, and Jerail let out a sigh of relief.
What kind of world was this?
Wasn’t Voldemort dead and the side of good and justice victorious?
Why were there still so many troubles inside Hogwarts, the cradle of young wizards?
Who said peace had arrived?
Jerail had an ominous feeling that this chaotic state of affairs might continue for quite some time.
In class, Professor McGonagall was very gentle toward Jerail and Ravenclaw, but much stricter with her own Gryffindors.
Jerail already knew some students had gone to complain to Professor McGonagall, so he smiled knowingly, turned back, and winked at those few young wizards in gratitude.
Turning a match into a needle wasn’t difficult.
Although Jerail hadn’t tried the Transfiguration spell before, his superb magic control allowed him to quickly turn the match into a plain needle—smooth all over, without any engravings, just a simple needle.
Jerail’s mind involuntarily flashed back to the many fanfictions he had read in his previous life.
When the protagonists turned matches into needles, the needles had house crests or family crests carved on them, sounding very grand in text.
But Jerail looked down at the slender sewing needle and couldn’t figure out how an eleven-year-old wizard, no matter how good their magic control was, could perform micro-carvings on a needle—it was harder than carving on a grain of rice.
“Excellent magic control, Mr.
Print.
Five points to Ravenclaw.” Looking up, Jerail saw Professor McGonagall smiling and nodding, so he immediately returned an obedient smile.
Once Professor McGonagall walked away, Jerail continued practicing between match and needle, though his mind drifted far away.
He was already thinking about whether he should start becoming an Animagus.
The Animagus process was tedious, but before the final step of transformation, it held no danger.
Moreover, having an Animagus form provided an extra self-defense mechanism for a wizard, with benefits far outweighing the drawbacks.
What would his Animagus form be?
Jerail liked cats and also liked his newly bought owl, Fury.
Could it be one of those two?
Jerail then realized that term had started two days ago, and he didn’t know how Fury was doing in the Owlery.
He had even forgotten to go see him—
Oh no!
Jerail suddenly felt a jolt of alarm, remembering he had forgotten to write to Grandpa Cora.
Once class ended, he had to hurry back to the dorm to write that letter.
It was already Tuesday; if he waited any longer, Grandpa Cora would worry.