Ch: 51-60 (cont. 55) - Fanfics to read

Ch: 51-60

Chapter 51: The System Exploded Again, I'm Stunned

The restricted area room.

Quirrell used the Deodorizing Charm once more before successfully passing through the trapdoor.

He slid rapidly down the passage leading to the basement.

Fortunately, it was a downward slide!

With the acceleration of gravity, he felt a strange sense of weightlessness.

This feeling was so refreshing that it temporarily relieved much of the pressure deep in his abdomen.

However, this "relief" was as fleeting as a night-blooming cereus.

When he reached the end of the passage with a "thud," the pressure instantly returned due to inertia, striking back with even more ferocity!

"Ugh... ugh!" Quirrell's face instantly contorted. He hunched over, his hands gripping the stone wall tightly, trying to steady his body and hold the line that was on the verge of being breached.

Beads of sweat the size of beans rolled down from his temples.

Quirrell's posture at this moment was incredibly awkward, his buttocks as hard as rocks!

He propped himself against the nearby wall in a strange pose.

"Ugh... ugh!"

[resentment points from Quirrell +99!]

...Quirrell had already guessed that there was something wrong with the Halloween set meal he had just eaten!

"Dumbledore, that old bastard!" Quirrell cursed inwardly, his lungs nearly bursting with rage.

He never expected that the Old Bee, who usually looked kind and dignified, could be so vicious when plotting against someone!

Maybe that time with Hagrid was also the work of this old schemer... Just as Quirrell was thinking this, a strand of Devils Snare shot out from a crack in the stone like a living creature, quickly wrapping around his body and tightening.

"Ah! It's... it's coming out..." Quirrell's face turned even greener.

With every inch the Devils Snare tightened, he moved one step closer to collapse.

Resisting the urge to let loose, he tremblingly pulled out his wand and, using almost all his strength, managed to conjure a flame.

The serpent of fire quickly turned the Devils Snare into ashes.

Just then, a deafening explosion echoed from the Cerberus room overhead.

Immediately after, the entire underground space shook violently, as if it might collapse at any moment.

"Bang! Rumble!"

Quirrell felt all the contents of his stomach turn violent under the vibration, as if stirred by a blender.

"I f***ing...!" Quirrell's eyes widened, the profanity nearly squeezed out of his throat.

He knew something must have happened above, which meant time was tight and he had to hurry!

Leaning against the wall, he looked toward the brightly lit room in the distance.

There was a heavy wooden door there, the exit to the next level; he had to pass through quickly and move on.

At that moment, a scene of despair unfolded.

"Crack—"

The metal chandelier on the ceiling, unable to withstand the violent shaking, gave a "creak" as its chain snapped, and it plummeted straight down.

"Thud!"

Accompanied by a deafening crash, the chandelier landed perfectly in front of the wooden door, completely blocking the exit!

Quirrell was dumbfounded.

His mouth hung open, but no sound came out.

Blocked?

The passage was blocked?

Then what should I do?

That was a room enchanted with magic; the items inside were cursed and couldn't be moved by spells at all.

He either had to move it himself or break the counter-curse before using magic to move it!

In short, it would be time-consuming and exhausting!

This final blow completely shattered Quirrell's last shred of hope.

All his persistence and endurance collapsed at this moment.

Every muscle in Quirrell's body suddenly relaxed; the string that had been pulled to its limit finally snapped under the pressure from both inside and out.

He decided not to hold it in anymore!

Now, all he wanted was relief!

Quirrell couldn't care less anymore; he quickly unbuckled his belt, bent his legs, and crouched down in an extremely ungraceful posture.

Accompanied by Quirrell's suppressed, almost moaning sounds of relief, a series of "pfft-pfft-pfft..." rapid-fire sounds echoed through the empty basement.

A look of relief finally appeared on Quirrell's face.

Just then, a sudden, hurried, and chaotic "clinking" sound came from the passage.

A figure suddenly slid down from the upper passage and then emerged from it!

Crouching on the ground, Quirrell jerked his head back to see an exceptionally gloomy face—it was Snape!

Snape's condition wasn't much better at this moment.

His right foot revealed red, scratched skin, his black robes were torn into strips, and he looked completely disheveled, radiating fury.

Before Snape could even steady himself or question Quirrell... "Pfft—Boom—!"

Quirrell's body jolted as another, even more surging "spray" erupted!

And his backside happened to be facing the passage exit, right at the newly arrived Snape!

It was a "mist" mixed with a sour stench, a fishy smell, and some indescribably disgusting odor, heading straight for Snape's face!

"Aaaaaaaah!"

Snape instantly went ballistic!

His obsidian-like eyes widened instantly, his pupils filled with horror and disgust.

Snape subconsciously reached out with his wand, trying to block this sudden "attack."

However, this thing wasn't a spell; it was "indescribable" filth!

A wand couldn't possibly deflect it like it would a spell.

Instead, the warm, viscous liquid, carrying a sickening odor, landed precisely on Snape's wand, spreading rapidly along the shaft, with a few drops even splashing onto his face!

Snape's stomach cramped violently; he felt the Pumpkin pie in his stomach surging upward at an unprecedented speed.

"Quirinus!"

Snape's voice was no longer its usual cold and steady tone, but a near-manic rage, a madness born of being insulted.

"I'm going to kill you!"

His wand was defiled, his body was defiled, and his dignity was defiled!

At this moment, Snape's hatred for Quirrell even surpassed his hatred for his arch-rival James Potter, soaring to the heavens!

Meanwhile, Sig had returned to his dormitory, and seeing the system that had already exploded, he was stunned!

[resentment points from Quirrell +99!]

...[resentment points from Snape +99!]

[resentment points from Snape +99!]

...[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +999!]

[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +999!]

...The system's notification sounds were so numerous they could form a melody!

And the total amount of resentment points was skyrocketing at an unprecedented speed...

Chapter 52: Seal the trapdoor

Inside the Devil's Snare room, the air was so thick it could almost be wrung out like water.

And Snape's expression was even uglier than his black robes, which had been stained by something unmentionable.

Standing at the entrance of the passage, he cast "Scourgify" on his body and robes over and over again.

Each flick of his wand was forceful, like scraping poison from the bone, as if only this could clean away the filth.

After more than thirty "Scourgify" spells, the lingering stench finally faded a bit, but the smell etched into his mind remained like a brand that wouldn't go away.

Snape's chest heaved violently, and his fingers gripping the wand trembled slightly from overexertion.

At that moment, he turned his gaze back to the figure not far away, who was still maintaining a squatting position.

Quirrell's "release" was still continuing.

The continuous "poof-poof" sounds were exceptionally loud in the silent basement.

There was even an echo.

Snape didn't step forward immediately; he just stood there, looking at Quirrell with the eyes of a dead man.

Though the aftertaste lingered!

He sent a message to Dumbledore while holding his breath and waiting, not daring to walk far!

Snape decided to haul him before the Principal.

At this moment, time seemed to be infinitely stretched; both the standing Snape and the squatting Quirrell felt this way.

Finally, the torturous sound gradually subsided.

Quirrell let out a long sigh of relief, a long-absent relaxed expression appearing on his face.

Snape's face, however, was sallow, looking like a piece of cured meat that had been smoked until it smelled!

He reached out and grabbed Quirrell's back collar like a steel pincer.

"Quirinus Quirrell," Snape's voice was hoarse and low, as if squeezed through his teeth, "I think you have many things to explain to the Principal."

By the time he was brought to the Principal's office, Quirrell no longer had that suppressed expression.

When he saw Dumbledore looking at him with a gaze that was both concerned and somewhat scrutinizing, a feeling like he had eaten feces welled up in his heart again.

Only one thought was in his head: It was you, you old schemer, who set me up!

However, he remained fairly calm because he knew he hadn't been exposed yet.

Besides, these things could be explained; as long as he stubbornly refused to admit it, Dumbledorecouldn't do anything to him.

After all, he had just attended to a call of nature in the Forbidden Area; that wasn't illegal, and it didn't affect the Philosopher's Stone!

As a Professor involved in designing the traps to protect the Philosopher's Stone, Quirrell actually had a reason to enter the Forbidden Area.

At this moment, Quirrell was actually somewhat grateful for his decision to squat down in the Devil's Snare room!

"Oh, Professor Quirrell, you don't look very well." Dumbledore pushed up his half-moon glasses, his tone gentle. "Severus said you encountered some... trouble in the Fourth Floor Forbidden Area?"

Quirrell's body shook uncontrollably. He shot a quick glance at the low-pressure-emanating Snapebeside him, and then, with his signature stutter, began his pre-fabricated story.

"Y-yes, Mr. Principal. I... I found that... the b-bag c-containing the Troll was stolen. As you know, th-that was to g-guard th-that th-thing..."

As he spoke, he tried hard to squeeze out a panicked expression. "I... I was w-worried... worried someone wanted to do... something h-harmful to th-that thing, so... so I immediately... went to check..."

"And then you had a stomachache and settled your 'trouble' in the Devil's Snare room?" Every word from Snape was laced with ice.

Quirrell's face instantly flushed red. He lowered his head, his voice as thin as a mosquito: "I... I don't know what happened either... suddenly... suddenly..."

Though he hated the pumpkin pie Dumbledore had sent with every fiber of his being, he acted very innocent on the outside, nodding frequently and playing the role of an unlucky Professor with an upset stomach to perfection.

"I see." After listening, Dumbledore pondered for a moment, his blue eyes flickering with an unreadable light. "Very well, Professor Quirrell, you look very tired. Go back and rest first. I will handle the subsequent matters."

The moment Quirrell left, Snape couldn't hold back any longer. "Just let him go like that? His behavior in breaking into the Forbidden Area is very suspicious..."

"I know, Severus." Dumbledore patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Your suspicion is very reasonable. But we have no evidence, do we?"

After Snape also left, full of doubt and anger, only Dumbledore and Fawkes the Phoenix, perched on its stand, remained in the Principal's office.

Dumbledore's eyes were deep as he looked out at the brightly lit Hogwarts.

Quirrell's behavior was indeed suspicious, and the sudden stomachache seemed like an overly convenient coincidence.

Dumbledore hoped it was a coincidence; if Quirrell had done it deliberately, then his mind was far too deep.

Was this a test?

Or had he discovered something?

And regarding the Troll matter, if Quirrell wasn't lying completely, the situation might be even worse! It meant he had an accomplice within the Castle!

It's just that Quirrell messed up his part of the plan!

As the moon rose to the windowsill, Dumbledore decided the general plan would remain unchanged, but it did need some refinement.

He waved his wand, and a box suddenly emerged from a nearby cabinet, emitting powerful magical fluctuations.

"Give this to Rubeus and have him seal the trapdoor..."

Dumbledore finished writing the letter and handed it, along with the box, to Fawkes the Phoenix!

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dormitory.

Signas buried his face in his pillow, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably as he nearly let out a snort of laughter.

A series of +99s had already made Signas somewhat numb; in the end, it must have really provoked Lord Voldemort, as the subsequent ones were all capped at 999!

Lord Voldemort... this former Dark Lord seemed extremely angry about this operation.

Signas could even imagine what kind of spectacular expression would be on Lord Voldemort's invisible face right now.

Suppressing his laughter, he opened his attribute panel.

[resentment points Balance: 74,866 points!]

A full seventy-four thousand!

Looking at that string of shining numbers, Signas felt more light-headed than if he had drunk ten glasses of butterbeer.

This wave of operations was a total profit!

Snape and Quirrell combined contributed about ten thousand or so, while Lord Voldemort alone had farmed nearly fifty thousand resentment points for him!

As expected of the Dark Lord, his status was indeed extraordinary; his 'appearance fee' truly crushed the others. One of him was almost worth all the young Wizards in Hogwarts combined!

With this huge sum of money, how should he spend it?

Flight and the Levitation Charm were already at max level, which was enough for now.

Intermediate Transfiguration was also maxed out. Upgrading to Advanced Transfiguration required more knowledge reserves and a magical foundation, so there was no rush.

So... it was time to experience the joy of being rich!

"System, give me five ten-draws!" Signas commanded in his heart with high spirits.

He hadn't done a lucky draw in a long time; his previous single-draw experiences weren't good, yielding nothing but useless trash.

With the 999s sent by Boss Voldy this time, he had to experience the thrill of being a high-spending whale!

Chapter 53: Make Them Ugly

[Confirm fifty-draw for resentment points? It will consume 50,000 resentment points.]

"Confirm!"

As soon as he finished speaking, that tacky yet cool roulette wheel appeared once again. It was shining with golden light, colorful chase lights flashed wildly, and the built-in "Good Luck" BGM echoed in his mind.

"Click, click..." The pointer spun rapidly and then stopped one after another.

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for obtaining: An apple that peels itself!]

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for obtaining: A pair of Never-wearing Socks!]

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for obtaining: An Auto-sorting Trash Can!]

...The first twenty items that came out were all props that made Signas's eye twitch.

He felt his heart bleeding; twenty thousand resentment points for this junk?

Is this system running a scam?

Just as he was about to start cursing, the twenty-first draw exploded with a "bang," bursting into a cluster of clear blue light.

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for obtaining an Excellent-grade rare pet: A somewhat crossbred Absolute Sound Bird!]

An Absolute Sound Bird!

Somewhat crossbred?

How can the things from this system's gacha even come with impure bloodlines?

However, this wasn't incomprehensible; in the History of Magic, many magical creatures were born from wizarding magic experiments.

He suspiciously clicked on the detailed information, and his mood calmed down a bit.

[A somewhat crossbred Absolute Sound Bird: A Ministry of Magic certified XX-grade magical creature, but its ancestors might have had a wild phase, leading to mixed inherited bloodlines. Note: This Absolute Sound Bird is not quite pure.]

[Traits: 1. Recording: Excellent hearing, can vividly imitate any sound it has heard! 2. High Energy: You can't make it stop! 3. Shiny Object Enthusiast: Likes all shiny items and has a hoarding habit!]

"Interesting, let's take it out and see."

With a flash of light, a palm-sized little bird appeared in his hand.

It had feathers as brilliant as sapphires, but on its round head, there was a small tuft of messy hair that looked like it had exploded, swaying left and right, looking extremely uncoordinated.

In those black bean-like eyes, there was a sense of unique, clear stupidity.

The little bird tilted its head, curiously sizing up Signas, and then, as if thinking of something, it cleared its throat with great solemnity.

The next second.

"Gurgle gurgle..."

"Pffft... boom..."

"Pfft pfft pfft pfft..."

"Pffft—boom—crack!!!"

An extremely realistic, loud, layered, and even slightly moist-sounding simulated sound effect exploded in the silent dormitory.

The sound began with a short, powerful burst of airflow, followed by a boom like a great bell, and finally ended with a sound that seemed like something was splashing wildly on water.

"Holy crap!"

Signas's hand shook, and he almost threw the little thing away.

This sound... isn't this Quirrell's "theme song" from tonight!

It's too damn realistic, it's as if Professor Quirrell were taking a dump right in front of him... this little thing actually learned even that, it's like a live recording, but with even more detail!

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry as he poked its little head: "You... you little thing! You're a genius!"

This isn't just a pet; this is practically a mobile voice recorder, and one with post-production mixing effects!

If he brought this little guy in front of Professor Quirrell now and played this segment for him in surround sound on a loop, wouldn't he just explode on the spot!

A divine tool for messing with people's heads!

The more Signas thought about it, the more he felt this "mutt bird" was a treasure, so he immediately gave it a resounding name—"Paozhang."

With this good start, Signas's confidence soared, and with a wave of his hand, he continued the draw.

However, reality soon gave him a resounding slap in the face.

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for obtaining: Professor Lockhart's Wig Care Solution (Clearance Sale Version)!]

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for obtaining: A Cookbook that flips its own pages but always to the wrong one!]

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for obtaining: An Old Tea Towel from a House-elf (Original Scent)!]

...A series of junk announcements caused his blood pressure to continue skyrocketing.

Seeing over forty thousand resentment points go down the drain, Signas's heart was bleeding; he began to seriously suspect if he had been cursed by Lord Voldemort.

Just as he was about to despair and prepare to curse the system's entire family, on the very last draw, that tacky roulette wheel seemed to jam, and finally, amidst a harsh grinding sound, a dazzling purple light erupted!

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for drawing an Epic-grade rare item: Appearance Wand!]

Accompanying the system's excited announcement, a simple, pale amber wand quietly appeared in Signas's hand.

It lay quietly in his palm, the wood grain was clear, straight, and even, without any unnecessary decorations.

When held in his hand, a warm and smooth touch came through, as if it were a living thing, creating a mysterious resonance with his magic.

Signas couldn't wait to check the description, and with just one look, his breath hitched.

[Appearance Wand: A wand with its own aesthetic and temperament. It only targets ugly people and never points at the beautiful.]

[Effect: When using this wand to cast spells, the spell power will be amplified based on the target's appearance. The lower the target's appearance, the stronger the spell effect; conversely, the higher the appearance, the weaker the effect...]

[Note: No lower limit to appearance, no upper limit to power; no upper limit to appearance, no lower limit to power!]

Signas was stunned.

The dormitory was silent, with only the occasional sound of wind from outside the window. He stared blankly at the wand in his hand, then at that line of notes, mulling it over repeatedly.

After a full three seconds, he finally gasped sharply.

A divine artifact! This is a damn godsend!

What kind of wand is this?

This is the Punisher of Ugliness, the No-Nose Smasher!

If Lord Voldemort were still that handsome Tom Riddle, this thing really would just be a beautiful fire poker.

But who told the troublemakers to be so ugly?

The current Lord Voldemort, that face... calling him disfigured would be a compliment.

A scene instantly appeared in his mind:

One day in the future, the no-nosed Lord Voldemort casts that classic "Avada Kedavra" at him.

The green light strikes, capable of destroying heaven and earth.

And he would only need to calmly raise this Appearance Wand and cast the most ordinary Shield Charm!

Then, in Lord Voldemort's terrified and distorted gaze, that ordinary Shield Charm, because of his face which was ugly enough to break through the heavens, would be instantly amplified into a silver-white canopy piercing the heavens and earth.

No matter how many Killing Curses he used, he couldn't breach it in the slightest!

"Jie jie jie jie..."

Holding the wand, Signas could no longer suppress it and let out a standard villainous laugh.

With this thing, who would he fear now?

Death Eaters, Dark Wizards, every single one of them are just mere clay chickens and pottery dogs!

Who told them all to be such hideous freaks!

What to do if he encounters someone beautiful?

Make them ugly...

Chapter 54: The Chirping Song

In the bedroom, Signas Shalk held his newly acquired pet, looking it over from all angles before casually putting away the Appearance Wand.

This bird was named 'Paozhang'. It was quite spiritual, though it refused to be kept in a cage; everything else about it was fine.

Its blue feathers shimmered dazzlingly under the candlelight, but the tuft of feathers on its head was like a feather duster, swaying left and right, giving it a comical appearance.

Signas let it stay outside, not expecting to hide it from Draco and the others.

Sure enough, when the Draco trio pushed the door open and entered, the first thing they saw was Paozhang perched on the bedpost.

"Holy crap, Boss, when did you get a bird?" Draco's eyes lit up.

Although Absolute Sound Birds weren't top-tier rarities, one with such good quality and such pure azure feathers was a rare sight even in Diagon Alley.

The two simpletons, Crabbe and Goyle, curiously leaned in, reaching out their thick fingers to touch it, only to be glared back at by Paozhang with a sharp look. That gaze seemed to say: 'You two ugly things, you're worthy of touching me?'

"Just arrived," Signas replied offhandedly.

Draco and the others didn't ask further. After all, during this period, Signas had indeed extracted quite a few Galleons from their pockets through 'academic tutoring'.

In their view, using his own money to buy a pet was a perfectly normal expenditure.

As the night grew deeper, the candles in the bedroom were extinguished, and the four of them lay down.

Draco was still thinking about the heated discussion in the Common Room regarding the Troll, while the snores of Crabbe and Goyle were already faintly audible.

However, amidst this tranquility, a discordant sound abruptly rang out.

"Gurgle, gurgle..."

The sound wasn't loud, like air bubbles rolling in a water pipe. In the darkness, Draco rolled over, assuming it was Crabbe or Goyle's stomach growling, and didn't pay much attention.

But soon, a second sound followed.

"Pfft... pfft-pfft..."

This time the sound was much clearer, short and rhythmic, like some suppressed gas struggling to find an exit.

Draco's sleepiness instantly vanished, and he snapped his eyes open.

In the darkness, he could feel that Crabbe and Goyle's snoring had also stopped. Clearly, everyone else in the bedroom was awake.

"What's that sound?" Crabbe asked in a muffled voice, with the grogginess of someone just woken up.

No one answered him, because the most intense part was coming.

"Pfft—BOOM—CLAP!!!"

A loud explosion erupted in the bedroom.

The sound was layered and horrifyingly detailed.

First was the short blast of air breaking through resistance, followed immediately by a roar like a flash flood of solid-liquid mixture, and finally, it even carried the echo of something viscous slapping against the floor.

This sound... it was too vivid!

Draco's face turned green in the dark; the sound was somewhat familiar, and he even thought he smelled a non-existent odor, making his stomach churn.

Signas was also stunned. He finally understood what the system meant by 'Vigorous Energy: You can't make it stop!'

This little thing clearly had a special fondness for the sound of Quirrell's diarrhea and was enthusiastically playing it on loop.

"Pfft-pfft-pfft..."

"Gurgle... pfft!"

"BOOM—!!!"

Inside the bedroom, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle sat on their beds with bleary eyes, their faces full of resentment.

They pressed their quilts tightly over their ears, harboring grievances they didn't dare voice.

Who would dare criticize Signas's pet?

The fate of Nott and Shabini was still fresh in their minds.

Signas also had a bit of a headache. He sat up and barked quietly at Paozhang, who was flying happily around the room: "Hey, Paozhang, be quiet!"

Paozhang tilted its head, its black-bean-like eyes looking at him, and then it cleared its throat with great ceremony.

"Hey, little guy, be quiet!" It repeated in a voice identical to Signas's, followed immediately by another string of "pfft-pfft-pfft" sounds.

Now it was completely impossible to sleep.

Signas sighed, walked to the door, and pushed it open.

"Go out and play, come back at dawn," he said to Paozhang.

Paozhang seemed to understand, gave a cheerful chirp, and turned into a streak of blue lightning, flying out the door and instantly vanishing from sight.

The bedroom finally returned to silence.

The Draco trio felt as if they had been granted a grand pardon, immediately lying back down and covering their heads with their quilts, fearing that the demonic sound would ring out again.

Signas closed the window and returned to bed. Finally, he could get some peaceful sleep.

However, this thought lasted for less than half an hour.

"Screech—!!!"

An incredibly shrill cry pierced the silence of Hogwarts.

Immediately after, the screeching of owls rose and fell from the same direction, like a pot of boiling water.

The screams of hundreds and thousands of owls merged into a terrifying wave of sound, instantly alarming the entire Castle.

In the Principal's office, Dumbledore, who had just changed into his star-and-moon nightgown, jolted awake from his bed.

Had Quirrell still not given up?

Or did he have accomplices in the school?

Judging by the commotion from the Owlery, could it be a very dangerous monster this time too?

An Acromantula?

A Red Cap?

A Crup?

Or perhaps an even more fearsome monster... A flicker of gravity flashed in his blue eyes!

In the underground Potion office, Snape was applying medicine to his bloody, mangled leg.

Upon hearing the sound, his already gloomy face was now filled with murderous intent.

Quirrell again!

That bastard still hadn't given up!

He must have caused a new mess!

In Professor McGonagall's room, she had hurriedly thrown on a tartan nightgown, her wand held tightly in her hand, her expression solemn.

The three powerful Wizards all rushed toward the source of the sound—the Owlery on the west side of the Castle.

A Troll incident had just happened, and now another strange thing was occurring.

On the way, Dumbledore cast a spell to confirm that Quirrell was currently staying in his office.

Dumbledore's expression grew even gloomier, as this undoubtedly deepened the judgment that there were still villains in the school!

When they arrived, Hagrid also came running over, panting and carrying his massive lantern.

His gamekeeper's hut had also been disturbed by the sound.

At this moment, the screams of the owls in the Owlery had not weakened; instead, they grew more shrill, sounding like a slaughterhouse.

One could even hear a burst of 'chirp-chirp-chirp' cackling sounds.

Combined with the screams of so many owls in the middle of the night, even the big man Hagridcouldn't help but swallow hard!

In his memory, there was no magical creature that fit this. Could it be a new breed concocted by some Dark Wizard?

Everyone's expression turned grim, unable to imagine what kind of bloody and cruel scene would be inside... or how powerful that monster was!

Dumbledore was somewhat relieved that the incident occurred outside the Castle; if this terrifying monster had appeared inside the Castle, the consequences would have been dire!

It would definitely cause more damage than the Troll from earlier tonight.

If someone got hurt, it would be difficult to handle. Although Dumbledore didn't fear public opinion, the Board of Governors, or even the Ministry of Magic's reprimands.

But it would affect his plan to lure out Lord Voldemort!

Thinking of this, Dumbledore's face was solemn as he raised his wand and lowered his voice: "On the count of three, Hagrid."

Hagrid nodded heavily, took a deep breath, stepped back two paces, and then slammed into the heavy wooden door of the Owlery like an angry rhino.

"Bang!"

The door flew open.

Several Professors immediately followed him in, the light from their wand tips instantly illuminating the scene inside.

Then, everyone was dumbfounded.

Chapter 55: Who Is Its Master?

Inside the owlery, wood shavings and feathers flew everywhere; it was a total mess.

Hundreds of owls... no, it was every single owl in Hogwarts, from the majestic Eagle owls to the tiny scops owls; they were all slumped on the ground, covering their heads with their wings and shaking like sieves as if they had endured some heavenly torment.

Some were even foaming at the mouth, completely passed out.

And on the highest beam in the center of the owlery, a comical little bird, entirely azure with a tuft of silly feathers atop its head, was perched atop a pure white snowy owl.

Its two thin, short legs were kicking up and down at an extremely high frequency, its tiny wings flapping excitedly, and its beak emitting extremely cheerful 'chirp chirp chirp' sounds.

That snowy owl let out a weak wail, its amber eyes rolling back helplessly, its body slumped on the beam, allowing the little thing on top of it to do as it pleased, lacking even the strength to struggle.

Hagrid recognized it at a glance—that was Harry's Hedwig!

Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall—the three great wizards—looked at each other, their faces filled with question marks.

What... what was going on?

Just then, Paozhang on the beam seemed to have had its fill of fun.

It hopped twice on Hedwig's back with satisfaction, then puffed out its little chest, tilted its head back, and let out a loud, long victory cry: "Chirp—!"

Snape's face was darker than the gloomiest corner of the owlery.

He had envisioned a hundred possibilities.

Like that idiot Quirrell messing with some Dark Arts or releasing an even more dangerous magical creature.

He had even thought it might be another Dark Wizard infiltrating the school to cause destruction... but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine it would be a lecherous Absolute Sound Bird that had violated every owl in the entire owlery... "Gah—!"

A weak wail sounded as Harry's beautiful snowy owl, Hedwig, fell straight down from her perch.

Professor McGonagall was quick-witted; with a flick of her wand, a Cushioning Charm allowed the owl to land as light as a feather on the haystack, preventing any real harm.

Meanwhile, the true troublemaker, watching Hedwig fall, actually shook its bright blue feathers with pride.

It tilted its little head, observing the uninvited guests with curiosity through its black bean-like eyes.

Its gaze swept over Dumbledore's long silvery-white beard, passed over Professor McGonagall's serious square glasses, and finally fixed on Snape's face, which was so gloomy it could practically drip water.

This little bird named Paozhang seemed to find this face particularly interesting; it cleared its throat with great ceremony.

The next second—

"Quirinus! I'm going to kill you!"

Using a voice identical to Snape's, it perfectly recreated that suppressed, extreme anger and madness.

Anyone could hear the shame and humiliation contained within!

The entire owlery instantly fell into a dead silence.

Hagrid's mouth hung wide open, and the lantern in his hand hit the ground with a "clatter."

Professor McGonagall's glasses slid to the tip of her nose; she instinctively pushed them up, her eyes full of shock and absurdity.

Dumbledore's beard twitched slightly, and for the first time, those blue eyes showed pure bewilderment.

It seemed there were many stories to be told about how Snape caught Quirrell last night!

As for Snape... he felt all the blood in his body rush to his head with a "whoosh."

That unbearable moment from last night, the sensation of being smothered by something unspeakable... all the memories flooded back, overwhelming his reason.

This bird!

How could it?!

"Stupefy!"

Snape had completely lost control.

He like an infuriated beast, he jerked his wand; a blinding red light tore through the air, shooting straight at Paozhang on the beam.

But Paozhang's reaction was astonishingly fast.

With a flap of its wings, its tiny body blurred into a blue streak in the air, nimbly dodging the spell at an incredible angle. The red light hit the beam, exploding into a cloud of wood chips.

"Stupefy!" Paozhang shrieked, mimicking Snape's voice, which was so angry it had cracked.

Then, as if it had found a new source of amusement, it completely let itself go.

"Pfft—Boom—!!!"

That sound—layered, detailed, and even carrying a hint of a wet texture—resounded through the owlery once again.

Snape's face turned from ashen to a deep purple within seconds.

The hand holding his wand trembled violently, as if he could smell that unspeakable odor once again.

"We must catch it!" Professor McGonagall decided immediately.

She couldn't let this bird continue its antics; she truly worried her colleague might burst a blood vessel on the spot.

A chaotic chase ensued.

Professor McGonagall tried to use Transfiguration to conjure a net, but Paozhang was as agile as a bolt of lightning, always slipping away gracefully before the net could fall.

Snape's spells came like a torrential storm, yet he couldn't even touch a single feather.

Paozhang wove through the gaps in the spells with ease, looking like a highly skilled Seeker, occasionally adding a "pfft pfft" sound effect or that shout of "I'm going to kill you," making Snape shake with rage.

"Enough."

Finally, Dumbledore stepped in.

He didn't use any offensive spells; he simply gave his wand a light flick, and countless golden, shimmering bubbles appeared out of thin air, drifting toward Paozhang as it zipped around.

Paozhang's attention was immediately drawn to these shiny things.

It stopped flying and curiously pecked at a bubble with its beak. Every time a bubble popped, it released a wisp of pale silver smoke with a calming effect.

Paozhang shook its head, a hint of confusion flashing in its black eyes, but its instinct to chase shiny objects overrode everything, and it popped several more bubbles in succession.

Soon, the little bird couldn't hold on any longer; its flight path became wobbly, and finally, its eyelids grew heavy as it fell straight down from the air.

Dumbledore reached out and caught it steadily in his palms.

"A... crossbreed Absolute Sound Bird," Hagrid leaned in to look, scratching his beard and saying in a booming voice, "Looking at the texture of these feathers and this tuft on its head... I'm afraid its ancestors had quite a history with many magical creatures."

"The question is, who is its master?" Professor McGonagall asked sternly. "Breeding uncertified crossbreed magical animals privately and causing such chaos must be severely punished!"

Snape said nothing, merely staring fixedly at the little blue bundle in Dumbledore's palm with a gaze that could kill.

If looks could cast the Killing Curse, Paozhang would have died ten thousand times by now.

Dumbledore patted Paozhang's little head, then drew his wand and tapped it lightly on the bird's body.

A strand of silver light slowly emerged from Paozhang, circling in the air for a moment as if identifying a direction, then flew off like an arrow from a bow.

It passed through the stone walls of the owlery and pointed straight into the depths of the Castle, toward the direction of the Slytherin Common Room.

Chapter 56: The Five-Second Horny Bird

In Albus Dumbledore's office, the fireplace flames burned quietly, and the portraits of past Principals on the walls all poked their heads out curiously, whispering and pointing at the boy in the middle of the office.

Signas Shalk stood there, looking perfectly composed on the surface, as if he had just dropped by for afternoon tea.

He glanced at the birdcage beside him.

Inside was the culprit, that lustful bird.

It was already awake, currently locked in a birdcage that had been placed under a Silencing Charm.

But it still restlessly pecked at the cage door with its beak, full of desire for the silver instruments on Dumbledore's desk.

In his heart, Signas had already cursed Paozhang ten thousand times.

He never expected that the bird's "boundless energy" referred to that sort of thing.

In just a few short hours, it had actually ravaged hundreds of owls in the Owlery, regardless of whether they were male or female.

Just how long had it been holding it in!?

Couldn't it have taken things slowly?

After all, there were over a hundred owls.

Signas silently did the math; Paozhang had actually averaged only a few seconds per bird... a five-second real man?

No, it was a five-second horny bird.

Yet it had still managed to ravage over a hundred owls, regardless of gender!

That scene, according to Hagrid's stuttering description, was practically an Olympic event for the animal kingdom.

It had caused such a massive commotion that it had alerted three Heads of Houses to gather together.

The question now was, as the owner, how should he clean up this mess?

Behind the desk, Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore were all sitting side by side in their pajamas, forming the posture of a tribunal.

Professor McGonagall's tartan dressing gown was impeccable, her lips pursed into a thin line.

Snape's pure black silk robe made him look more like a giant bat ready to prey, and the low pressure emanating from him almost made the fireplace flames shrink by a third.

"So, Mr. Shalk," Dumbledore said, his fingers interlaced on the desk, his blue eyes peering through half-moon spectacles as if he could see through one's soul, "you are saying that this was entirely an accident?"

Signas had no choice but to brace himself and put on a helpless expression: "Yes, Mr. Principal. I didn't expect that letting it out for some fresh air at night would cause such a big problem... it was completely an accident!"

"Then what about the voice it imitated?!" Snape suddenly slammed the table, causing the instruments on it to rattle and clink. "Don't tell me that was a coincidence too!"

[resentment points from Snape +33!]

"That... I really don't know." Signas shook his head with a look of confusion. "Maybe it was a line from a play it heard somewhere before? You know, it especially loves to imitate various sounds; sometimes it even learns the snoring of a House-elf."

As he spoke, he even glanced at Paozhang in the cage with a look of disappointment and sighed: "This little fellow has very good hearing. It learns whatever it hears, and it learns quickly. As for... as for Professor Snape's voice, maybe it was just a coincidence..."

As if understanding its master's words, Paozhang in the cage tilted its head to look at him, then turned toward the furious Snape, its black-bean eyes wide and round.

It opened its beak and chirped continuously, though the effect of the Silencing Charm prevented it from making any sound.

This explanation was seamless, pushing everything onto "coincidence."

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched violently.

Good hearing?

Just a coincidence?

Although creatures with such magical hearing weren't rare in the Magical World, this was too much of a coincidence!

The room where the Philosopher's Stone was located was in the dungeons of Hogwarts Castle. Theoretically, it seemed possible, since the Slytherin dormitories were also underground!

"Nonsense!"

But Snape found it hard to accept and slammed the table as he stood up.

"Severus, calm down," Dumbledore raised a hand to signal him to sit. "We have no evidence to prove that Mr. Signas has any problem. Besides, the imitation of a bird cannot serve as grounds for an accusation."

Professor McGonagall also cleared her throat. Although she also felt the matter was strange, as the Head of Gryffindor, she placed more importance on evidence and rules.

"Dumbledore is right. However, Mr. Shalk, your pet has indeed caused great chaos in the school and disturbed all the school's owls. According to school rules, you must accept punishment."

"I am willing to accept any punishment, Professor," Signas immediately stated, his attitude impeccably good.

Dumbledore looked at Signas, an imperceptible smile flashing in his eyes. He pondered for a moment, seemingly thinking of an appropriate punishment.

"Detention! Make him process Potion ingredients for me for a month!" Snape suggested viciously.

"Hmm..." Dumbledore stroked his long silvery-white beard. "Considering the unique nature of this incident and the... talent of this Absolute Sound Bird, I feel that a simple detention doesn't seem to fundamentally solve the problem."

He paused, turning his gaze to Signas: "Mr. Shalk, since this bird is your pet, you have the responsibility to discipline it. Therefore, your punishment is to train it."

"Train it?" Both Snape and McGonagall were stunned.

"Yes," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I want you to train it so it learns to control its imitation abilities. For example, let it learn to distinguish between sounds it should and should not imitate."

He stood up, walked to the birdcage, and looked at Paozhang inside with great interest. "Hogwarts is tolerant. As long as it doesn't affect others, this bird can certainly stay here..."

Snape's face turned green.

This was a punishment?

This was clearly a reward!

"Principal, this is too absurd!"

"My mind is made up, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted him, his tone brooks no argument. "Alright, it's late. McGonagall, Severus, you two should also go back and rest."

Snape and Professor McGonagall left the office full of confusion and dissatisfaction.

The moment Snape closed the door, he turned back and gave Signas a cold, cutting glare.

[resentment points from Severus Snape +65!]

Signas felt a surge of joy in his heart, but his face remained humble.

Only Dumbledore and Signas remained in the office.

The old Principal's expression suddenly became meaningful. He waved his wand, lifting the Silencing Charm on the birdcage.

"Mr. Shalk," his voice lowered slightly, "you are a clever boy, cleverer than most of your peers I've seen. So, we don't need to speak in platitudes."

Signas felt a chill in his heart, but he didn't speak, waiting for what was next.

"Professor Quirrell... might have run into some trouble," Dumbledore said slowly, his gaze deep. "His actions tonight, you happened to see them, didn't you? There at the Fourth Floor..."

This question was like a pebble thrown into the lake of Signas's heart; it seemed light, yet it stirred up a thousand waves.

Signas's brain worked rapidly.

How much did Dumbledore know?

Could it be that he was aware of all his actions?!

Thinking of this, Signas's expression hardened. This strongest Wizard of the age was indeed not simple!

At this moment, Signas neither admitted nor denied it, but simply met Dumbledore's gaze calmly.

"I need a pair of eyes and a pair of ears. A pair of eyes and ears that aren't so conspicuous and can appear anywhere." Dumbledore pointed at Paozhang in the cage. "This little fellow, though naughty, is indeed a perfect... er... bird for the job."

Dumbledore was giving him a secret mission, a mission to monitor Quirrell!

"I hope you can use your 'pet' to help me keep an eye on Professor Quirrell's every move." Dumbledore's tone was very serious. "This isn't a game; it concerns the safety of Hogwarts. Of course, you are entirely free to refuse; I won't force any student to do something they are unwilling to do."

Refuse? How could he possibly refuse!

Signas's eyes lit up. This was practically being issued an officially authorized troublemaking permit!

Whatever he did to Quirrell and Lord Voldemort in the future wouldn't be called causing trouble; it would be called "executing the Principal's secret orders"!

An official spy, working with a license.

He looked up, his face instantly switching to an incredibly sincere and responsibility-filled expression, as if he were a knight accepting a sacred quest.

Signas nodded solemnly, his voice carrying a hint of the passion unique to youth: "For the safety of Hogwarts, Mr. Principal, it is my duty."

"Very good." Dumbledore showed a satisfied smile.

He took a small bag of Fizzing Whizbees from a drawer and handed one to Signas. "If anything happens, you can come find me anytime. The office password is 'Lemon Drop'."

Signas took the candy and solemnly put it in his pocket.

Just then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Paozhang's black-bean eyes staring intently at the Phoenixon the opposite perch that was preening its feathers—Fawkes.

That look didn't seem to be one of curiosity, nor was it reverence.

It was a look mixed with extreme desire and... a urge to conquer.

It seemed that in Paozhang's eyes, Fawkes's magnificent feathers that looked like burning flames and those golden tail feathers were the brightest, flashiest, and most top-tier "babe" it had ever seen!

Chapter 57: A True Slytherin

The next day, the impact of the Troll incident had not subsided; instead, due to the "bird calls" in the middle of the night, speculation and panic continued to spread.

As a key witness to the Troll incident, Ron was in the Great Hall early in the morning, sharing last night's adventure with great eloquence.

Only then did Sig learn that the Troll had run into Harry and the others last night, and it had nearly injured Hermione.

However, they were very lucky; they actually defeated the Troll without taking any injuries.

One must understand that a Troll is a Ministry of Magic-certified Class 4X dangerous magical creature. The Wizarding World is very fond of training Trolls to act as security or thugs; they are not something an eleven-year-old Wizard should be able to handle.

Sig was even a bit curious if they also had a system.

Otherwise, how could they have defeated a Troll so smoothly?

Whether it was truly that perilous at the time or if Ron simply had a talent for storytelling, the tale was exceptionally thrilling, and the gasps of the young Wizards could be heard across half the Great Hall.

Draco's face was full of disdain: "No wonder he couldn't learn the Levitation Charm in Professor Flitwick's class. It seems that for a Weasley, a Troll is a more suitable teacher..."

The surrounding little snakes immediately burst into a fit of laughter.

Slytherin had always been at odds with Gryffindor, and they naturally couldn't stand seeing Gryffindorin the spotlight, so their sarcasm was unreserved.

At that moment, Ron instantly shut his mouth, his face flushing with shame.

Clearly, Draco's words had struck a nerve—pierced it right through, in fact!

But Sig walked over at this time and expressed a different opinion: "I actually don't think there's anything wrong with that..."

The atmosphere at the Slytherin table instantly stagnated, and the smiles on the little snakes' faces froze.

If anyone else had voiced a contrary opinion at this moment, they would have been ganged up on. But Sig, after all, was the top student of the entire year, and since he preferred action over words and didn't even give face to the prefects or the Dean... Sig found a seat, sat down, glanced at everyone, and explained: "When you need to use magic, you can use it successfully—isn't that enough? Isn't that proof of having learned it?"

"This shows that Ron is definitely good at fighting. Don't look at how he can't do this or that; when it comes down to a real fight, he might be able to do everything..."

After Sig finished speaking, everyone fell silent.

Everyone surreptitiously looked at Nott and Shabini—especially Shabini, who was the counter-example.

The last time he was dealt with by Sig, Shabini hadn't even managed to cast a single spell.

The crowd thought of themselves; if they encountered such a situation, could they really handle it like Ron did?

From their expressions, it was clear they could not.

Just as the little snakes were talking, Professor Snape arrived. He walked with a slight limp and had clearly heard their conversation just now.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he realized with frustration that this Cygnus Sharke was truly a pure Slytherin.

This was the true Slytherin way of thinking, while the other young Wizards had only learned the superficial traits of Slytherin.

Among a bunch of Pure-blood Wizards, this Sig was the one who could grasp Salazar Slytherin's philosophy, yet he happened to be muggle-born.

Immediately after, Snape's mood soured, a complex and indescribable feeling washing over him.

If he had to describe it, it would be as if someone told him right now that Harry Potter was actually his biological son... He didn't know who was responsible for this sin!

On the head table, Quirrell was another person making Snape uncomfortable.

At this moment, Quirrell's face was somewhat pale. It was unclear if it was from diarrhea or some other reason, but in any case, he looked very weak.

When he saw Headmaster Dumbledore raising a cup to greet him, his face turned even paler.

Quirrell didn't think this was just a greeting; it felt like a threat from the strongest Wizard.

It seemed to say: 'The Halloween special last night was good, wasn't it? You can't escape my control!'

This powerful presence was like a massive boulder pressing heavily on his heart... Quirrell cursed inwardly; this old man had ruined him. As soon as he returned to his office last night, he had been severely punished by his Master all night long.

Dumbledore found it a bit strange; why was Quirrell looking at him with that expression, as if he had done something to him?

At most, he was suspicious of Quirrell and had taken some precautions, but he hadn't actually done anything to him yet. Where did this guy get such great hostility?

Following this, Sig didn't care about the topics of these young Wizards. Instead, he went to the library to flip through materials, searching for spells that could make someone "ugly."

In the first week after the holiday, during the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class, Professor Quirrelllooked like a water-soaked bean sprout, appearing completely drained of energy.

The quality of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class was, naturally, too terrible to look at.

Quirrell hadn't prepared much for lessons before and usually just read from the book, but now he simply gave up and let the students study on their own.

He sat reclined on the podium with his eyes closed to rest, who knows what he was thinking!

Although all the young Wizards were dissatisfied, there was nothing they could do, so they began to self-study.

The effectiveness of this learning was naturally predictable!

Meanwhile, Professor Snape became even more gloomy and irritable than before.

Especially in Potion Class.

In today's Potion Class, the atmosphere was so oppressive it felt as if it could drip water.

Snape wore his unchanging black robes, though these were clearly brand new. He paced the classroom with a dark expression, his sharp eyes sweeping over every student.

His gait was slightly unnatural, with a bit of a limp.

"Today, we will be brewing a very delicate Potion—the Shrinking Potion," Snape's voice was as cold as ice, lacking any warmth. "The recipe is on the blackboard, and the ingredients are in the storage cupboard. I warn you, a mistake in any step could lead to unpredictable consequences. Now, begin!"

In the entire classroom, only the bubbling of cauldrons and the rustling of ingredients being sliced remained.

Shabini's expression was not very good.

His gaze inadvertently fell upon Signas, who was not far away.

Resentment, fear, jealousy, disdain... all sorts of emotions were intertwined.

Shabini thought he had to reclaim his dignity.

His eyes darted around as a sinister idea popped into his head.

While going to the storage cupboard to get chamomile roots, he quietly cast a spell with his wand on a jar of dried caterpillars nearby.

The jar shook slightly, almost imperceptibly.

Signas was methodically processing his ingredients.

His movements were as smooth as flowing water; whether it was the thickness of the chamomile rootslices or the peeling of the figs, everything was as precise as a textbook. His max-level Shrinking Potionskill gave him a thorough understanding of the properties of every ingredient.

When he reached the step requiring four dried caterpillars, he opened a jar.

The moment he picked up a caterpillar with his tweezers, his brow twitched slightly.

He "saw" that the internal structure of these caterpillars had been interfered with by a faint magical force.

If he added them to the cauldron like this, they would rapidly carbonize under high heat instead of normally releasing their active components.

This would cause the pH balance of the entire Potion to fail, and the final result would only be a pot of waste liquid emitting the smell of rotten eggs.

He glanced at Shabini next to him.

The young black master was pretending to stir his own cauldron, but his peripheral vision kept darting this way, a faint, smug smile hanging on his lips.

Signas was amused.

Trying to play dirty with me? You're still a bit too green.

He calmly threw the "tampered" caterpillars into the cauldron.

Shabini's eyes instantly lit up.

He could almost already see the scene of Signas's cauldron emitting black smoke, followed by him being severely disciplined by a furious Professor Snape.

However, what happened next caused his smile to freeze on his face.

After adding the caterpillars, Signas did not continue stirring like the others. Instead, he took a small pinch of extremely finely ground porcupine quill powder and sprinkled it into the cauldron in three separate intervals using a peculiar technique.

With each sprinkle, the color of the liquid in the cauldron underwent a subtle change, shifting from a standard lime green gradually toward an emerald green.

A scent with a hint of fresh mint began to diffuse from the cauldron.

Snape's footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

His nose twitched, and a flash of astonishment crossed his black eyes.

This smell... it wasn't right.

This wasn't the smell a standard Shrinking Potion should have. A standard Potion should have a slightly earthy, fishy scent.

But this scent was purer, more... advanced.

He walked quickly to Signas's cauldron and looked down.

The Potion in the cauldron presented a clear, translucent emerald green color. The surface was steady, without a single impurity. Perfect color, perfect state.

"What... did you add to this?" Snape's voice held a hint of surprise that even he hadn't noticed.

"Reporting, Professor, I added porcupine quill powder," Signas answered calmly.

"Porcupine quills?" Snape's brow furrowed even deeper. "That is not in the recipe."

"Yes, Professor," Signas explained. "I noticed that the dried caterpillars I received seemed a bit damp and lacked activity. To neutralize them and stimulate the potential activity of the chamomile roots, I added a minute amount of porcupine quill powder to stabilize the Potion's structure."

This was all "instinct" brought by his max-level skill. He simply felt he "should" do it, but behind it lay profound theories.

Snape stared intently at Signas, as if trying to see something extraordinary in his face.

Damp? Lacking activity?

Could a first-year student distinguish such a minute difference that was almost negligible?

And even immediately come up with an improvement plan using porcupine quill powder to correct it?

This... this was no longer something that could be explained by general talent.

This was simply a natural-born Potions Master!

Shabini listened from the side, completely stunned; he had no idea what had just happened.

He only knew that his plan had not only failed but also seemed to have inadvertently helped the other party, allowing Signas to show off in a big way.

[resentment points from Blaise Zabini +39!]

"Hmph." Snape let out an ambiguous cold snort from his nose. He said nothing more, only gave Signasa deep look before turning to leave.

But Signas clearly heard the prompt in his mind.

[resentment points from Severus Snape +19!]

Signas was somewhat surprised.

Even this could generate resentment points?

He thought about it and roughly understood.

If someone you dislike becomes more and more excellent, you probably only feel more disgusted...

Chapter 58: Tactics Can Be Even More Daring

After class, Sig and Daphne left the classroom and spotted Professor Snape and Professor McGonagalltalking at the other end of the corridor.

Professor McGonagall had a stern expression as she discussed the Quidditch team's training schedule with Snape.

"...So, Severus, I hope the Slytherin team can yield the pitch on Thursday evening. The Gryffindor team needs extra practice. Harry Potter, as our new Seeker, needs to adapt as soon as possible..."

"Impossible." A sneer curled the corner of Snape's mouth, and his entire being radiated impatience. "The pitch usage times were determined at the start of the term. I have no reason to disrupt Slytherin's training schedule for your 'Savior'."

Standing to the side, Daphne couldn't help but whisper to Signas, "Professor Snape is really blunt... he truly dislikes Harry Potter."

Signas nodded thoughtfully.

It seemed every house was stepping up their preparations for the upcoming Quidditch House Cup.

And since the first match was Slytherin versus Gryffindor, it was no wonder Professor Snape refused to yield an inch.

However, when Thursday arrived, Marcus Flint gathered all the players with a darkened face.

Flint's appearance was quite distinctive—his uneven teeth paired with a Troll-like, burly physique made him look much more mature than his actual age.

"Listen up, boys!" Flint bellowed in his coarse voice. "Tonight's training is canceled! The pitch has been taken by those Gryffindor losers!"

The players immediately broke into an uproar, with curses flying left and right.

Not many people could make Dean Snape back down; it was clearly the result of Professor McGonagallgoing directly to Headmaster Dumbledore to intervene.

"However!" Flint's tone shifted, a savage smile appearing on his face. "Dean Snape is very angry. He's instructed that for the first match, we must not only win, but win beautifully! Especially against that Potter..."

He spat as he laid out the tactics, his demeanor suggesting he intended to send Harry straight to the hospital wing.

Finally, Flint shot a dissatisfied glance at Sig, thinking him too scrawny, and decided he would personally take responsibility for knocking Potter off his broom.

After finishing his speech, he actually let out a strange, "Jie jie," laugh.

Sig suddenly remembered the "Appearance Wand" he had recently acquired.

Looking at Flint's highly impactful face, a brilliant idea surfaced in his mind—wasn't this a perfect test subject right here?

Sig quietly drew the pale amber wand from his robes.

The wand felt warm in his hand, as if it were alive and resonating with the magic within his body.

Aiming at the impassioned Flint, he silently cast a minor trick that hardly qualified as a spell—the Tickling Charm.

"Rictusempra."

He didn't even say it aloud; it was just a flick of his mind.

The next second, something shocking happened!

Flint's voice stopped abruptly, the expression on his face frozen instantly, his eyes bulging like copper bells.

"Ugh..." A strange gasp escaped his throat.

Then, with a "pfft," he actually burst out laughing first.

The surrounding players were all stunned, not understanding why their captain had suddenly started laughing.

"Heh... hehe..." Flint's laughter grew louder and louder, completely out of control. "Haha... Hahahaha!"

He collapsed to the ground as if his bones had been removed, rolling around frantically. He laughed until tears and snot flowed together, his body twitching incessantly like a stranded fish.

Soon, a hint of terror began to mix into his laughter.

The entire Common Room was silent; everyone was stunned by this eerie scene.

They watched in horror as their captain nearly laughed himself to death on the floor, yet they had no idea what was happening.

Sig was also shocked by the effect.

He had only intended to make a fool out of Flint, but he hadn't expected the power amplification of the "Appearance Wand" to be so terrifying!

It seemed Flint's face was indeed strikingly ugly, causing a trivial Tickling Charm to become a torment comparable to Crucio!

[resentment points from Marcus Flint +79!]

[resentment points from Marcus Flint +89!]

[From...]

On the system panel, Flint's resentment points were soaring.

Sig quit while he was ahead, lifting the spell with a thought.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

Flint lay on the ground like a puddle of mud, gasping for breath, with traces of humiliating tears still on his face.

After a long while, he suddenly jumped up, his eyes as red as a mad bull's, searching everywhere for the person who had attacked him.

"Who was it?! Who did it?! Get out here!" he roared in fury.

However, everyone looked blank; no one had any idea what had happened.

Flint searched for a long time to no avail. Suddenly, he remembered the rumors about the "Savior"—it was said that even You-Know-Who couldn't kill him because he had a powerful protective charm on him.

Could this protective charm even interfere with things like this?

At this thought, his face turned various shades of blue and white... Thus, the entirety of Slytherin was nursing a fire of resentment.

The tension between the Snakes and the Lions became thicker than ever before. When they passed each other in the corridors, even the air seemed to carry sparks.

Students from both sides reached the point where they glared at each other on sight, looking ready to draw their wands and fight at any moment.

Sig was completely baffled and couldn't help but complain in the Common Room, "Is this really necessary!?"

Flint, who was polishing his broomstick, looked up sullenly upon hearing this. "It has to be! Those Gryffindors aren't good people. When they can't win on the pitch, they like to play dirty tricks off it. I've been hit by their Dark Curses before!"

"Really?" Signas became interested. He hadn't expected people to play dirty after a match!

"Of course it's true!" Flint seemed to recall some past event, gritting his teeth. "The year before last, it was those Weasley twins. After the match, while I wasn't looking, they threw a Bog Curse under my feet! If Filch hadn't happened to pass by, I would have been sucked in!"

He got angrier as he spoke, slamming his polishing cloth onto the table. "Those Gryffindors, they can't beat me in the air, so they target me after the match. They have absolutely no ethics!"

Signas blinked, a bit skeptical, because that really didn't sound like the style of those Gryffindorhotheads.

So he asked curiously, "Did you score a lot of goals against them then?"

"No, no, no!" Flint said huffily. "You know, a little colliding in Quidditch is normal, right? I only knocked their Seeker off his broom, making him break three ribs and an arm, that's all."

"And yet they played such a dirty trick on me. Those little lions are simply unreasonable!!"

Sig: "???"

Intentionally knocking someone into the hospital and still feeling like the victim?

This logic was truly something else.

But it was very Slytherin!

Chapter 59: Playing the Full Match

The weekend's match day had arrived.

At ten in the morning, the Quidditch Pitch was packed.

This match had attracted most of the school's teachers and students to come and watch.

In the players' tunnel, Signas listened to the mountain-shaking, ocean-roaring cheers outside, amazed at the Wizards' passion for this sport.

At this moment, on both sides of the tunnel, the players of Slytherin and Gryffindor stood distinctly apart, their eyes filled with vigilance and hostility.

Flint walked up to Signas, his face, which closely resembled a Troll's, wearing an expression as complex as a ruined batch of Potion.

He wanted to say something, like arranging some tactics for him, but when the words reached his lips, he switched to a relatively indirect tone: "Sig, Gryffindor's new seeker, that Harry Potter fellow, he's indeed very agile..."

Towards the end, he lowered his voice and muttered a few more instructions: "It's simple... just find a chance to stick close to him, don't let him fly solo, and I'll find a chance to give him a good knock..."

Although the training grounds had been snatched away, Flint hadn't come away empty-handed.

That day when he went to hand over the grounds, he happened to see Harry flying at high speed in the air.

From his professional perspective, Harry's movements were swift, his flying was agile, and he was small—he was practically a natural-born seeker, a completely different style from Cygnus Sharke.

Flint didn't know that Signas had intentionally held back in later training sessions, not using "Auto-navigation" every time.

But the Signas he saw had a crisp and neat style; he either didn't take off, or once he did, he went straight for the target with extreme efficiency.

It was just that his flight path was straight and direct, appearing not agile enough.

Potter could either fly solo to search or keep a close eye on Signas, waiting to discover the target and then using his speed advantage to shake Signas off and grab the Golden Snitch first.

And the Gryffindor captain, Wood, couldn't possibly not have trained these tactics.

So Flint felt that they had to strike first and take out Gryffindor's seeker!

"Don't worry, Captain." Signas patted his broomstick, a relaxed smile on his face, "I know what I'm doing."

Watching the captain's nervous appearance, Signas laughed inwardly.

Why was thinking always so constrained?

The rules didn't say a seeker couldn't touch the Quaffle, nor did they say they couldn't hit a Bludger!

Nor did they say only a seeker could catch the Golden Snitch!

So the tactics could be even bolder... as long as he held onto the Quaffle himself, he could lock down the score for the whole game.

Then, with "Auto-navigation" locked onto the Golden Snitch, everyone else could follow to catch it. Was there really a fear of not being able to catch it?

"Alright! Guys! Get ready to head out!" Flint roared, leading the way toward the tunnel exit.

"Slytherin! Go!"

"Gryffindor! Must win!"

The teams on both sides let out earth-shattering shouts simultaneously, rushing out of the dark tunnel one after the other.

"Vroom—"

A deafening wave of sound instantly submerged Signas.

Outside, the sunlight was dazzling, the stands towered high, and red and green were everywhere.

On the top tier of the green side's stands, Daphne kept jumping and waving down.

She had also prepared a massive banner and sent it into the sky with magic.

The banner was a full three stands long, featuring a giant python representing Slytherin, with the word 'Victory' in the middle!

Slytherin's morale was greatly boosted, their cheers almost drowning out the voices on the commentary stand.

"Welcome to Hogwarts' first Quidditch match of the year!" On the commentary stand, Lee Jordan's magic-amplified voice echoed over the pitch. "Today's opponents are—Slytherin! and—Gryffindor!"

Lee Jordan was from Gryffindor, so his commentary naturally had some bias; even his opening introduction had deliberate emphasis, causing the Gryffindor stands to instantly erupt in deafening cheers.

"Let's look at our brave players! Angelina, Alicia, and Katie—the three chasers are in hot form! Beaters Fred and George Weasley—our most reliable guards! And our new seeker, the youngest house team player in history—Harry Potter!"

Harry, holding that brand-new Nimbus 2000, waved to everyone, drawing a wave of admiration.

"Now let's look at the Slytherin team," Lee Jordan's tone immediately became disdainful, drawing out his words, "Still the same old faces, Captain Marcus Flint... oh, wait, they seem to have a new player too! First-year seeker, Cygnus Sharke!"

The eyes of the entire crowd instantly focused on the exit of the players' tunnel.

"Merlin's beard! Look at his broom!" Lee Jordan's laughter spread through the field via magic, "I bet there's an identical one in Filch's office!"

"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall was immediately a bit displeased.

When Signas walked onto the pitch carrying his broomstick, the cheers from the Gryffindor stands came to an abrupt halt, followed by being submerged in even more surging laughter.

Even the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw stands let out bursts of snickering.

Most people had never seen such a crude flying broomstick. It looked like a branch picked up randomly from the Forbidden Forest, with a bunch of nearly bald grass stalks tied on hastily.

In the Slytherin stands, Daphne was so angry her pretty face turned red, wishing she could use a spell to seal Lee Jordan's mouth.

But Signas himself didn't care at all, even waving toward the commentary stand.

"The match—begins!"

Madam Hooch released the Bludgers, the Quaffle, and the Golden Snitch in sequence.

Bang!

With a whistle, the thirteen players besides Signas shot up into the sky like arrows from a bow.

Gryffindor's chaser Angelina was the first to grab the Quaffle, and Slytherin quickly organized a defense. Flint was like a rampaging rhino, trying to go up and intercept.

Meanwhile, Harry Potter flew high into the air, squinting his eyes to search for the Golden Snitch.

The situation on the field instantly became tense.

However, everyone noticed a bizarre situation: Slytherin's seeker, Sig, remained on the ground, not taking off at all.

"Look at that!" Lee Jordan's gloating voice rang out again, "Is Slytherin's new seeker afraid of heights? Or does that antique broom of his need a prayer to start? Maybe he's waiting for Mr. Filch to come and demonstrate how to use a broom correctly..."

"Jordan!"

Professor McGonagall immediately spoke up, finally cutting off the mockery.

But hearing this ridiculing commentary, the audience's laughter rang out again.

Flint glanced back from the air and nearly fell off his broom; his face was already as black as the bottom of a cauldron.

Signas still didn't move.

He was just strolling around the pitch.

Yes, strolling.

He didn't ascend; instead, like an old gentleman taking a walk, he gripped the broom handle and paced step by step toward the center of the green pitch, as if the intense match had nothing to do with him.

Everyone in the entire Quidditch Pitch was stunned.

What kind of tactic was this?

Performance art?

"What... on earth is he doing?" Ron on the stands was dumbfounded.

"Who knows," Seamus said, though equally confused, his tone was much more relaxed, "Anyway, it's in our favor..."

Just then, Signas finally took off.

"Chug-chug-chug... Vroom—Vroom-vroom—!"

A loud roar comparable to a Muggle tractor sounded, and instantly, only that continuous "chug-chug" sound remained in everyone's ears!

Even Lee Jordan's voice-straining commentary was completely drowned out.

[resentment points from Gryffindor audience member 1 +77!]

[resentment points from Gryffindor audience member 2 +87!]

[resentment points from Hufflepuff audience member +46!]

[resentment points from Ravenclaw audience member +33!]

...The Gryffindor players were startled by this sudden noise, nearly losing control of their brooms.

They only felt their heads buzzing, unable to concentrate... The staff seats were also in a state of shock. Professor Sprout instinctively covered her ears, and Professor Flitwick almost slid off his heightened chair.

And at this moment, Quirrell was restless.

It wasn't that he was bothered by the noise, but he wanted to get Harry down today to please his master, yet this sound made it impossible for him to concentrate.

Amidst the chaos, the tail of Signas's broom suddenly spewed a thick white smoke with the scent of fresh grass, and then it abruptly turned direction!

But it didn't rush toward the Golden Snitch, nor toward Harry Potter.

Its target was—the Gryffindor chaser, Angelina!

More accurately, it was the Quaffle in her hand!

Chapter 60: The Quaffle was Taken Away by the seeker

Angelina quickly steadied her mind.

Seeing the opposing seeker, who was riding a fire poker, actually abandoning his duties to charge at her, a disdainful sneer curled her lips.

A rookie who took forever just to take off—instead of searching for the Golden Snitch, he was coming to intercept her?

She twisted her waist nimbly, her broom tracing a beautiful arc, preparing to easily bypass this arrogant fellow who didn't know his place.

Sig brushed past her with a piercing roar, leaving behind a thick cloud of white smoke.

Angelina gave a light huff and continued flying toward the opponent's goal hoops.

However, amidst the cacophony, she suddenly noticed the surrounding stands—especially the Slytherinsection—erupting in gasps and cheers.

What happened?

A sliver of doubt flashed through Angelina's mind, and she subconsciously felt her arm go empty.

She looked down abruptly—the red Quaffle that had been firmly tucked under her arm was gone without a trace.

Angelina's head buzzed, her mind going blank.

She was still maintaining her forward flight, her arm still held the posture of hugging the Quaffle, but that familiar weight and touch had vanished.

What happened?

Where's the ball?

Where did the ball go?

In the thousandth of a second while she was dazed, a green figure riding a dilapidated broom whistled past her ear, making off with that bright red Quaffle.

The entire Quidditch Pitch fell into a deathly silence at that moment.

The original mountain-shaking cheers, shouts, and curses seemed to be throttled by an invisible hand, coming to an abrupt halt.

Everyone's eyes followed that green figure carrying the broken broom in a daze, their brains collectively ceasing to function.

"He... he stole the Quaffle?" Lee Jordan stammered at the commentator's podium, unable to believe his own words. "Slytherin's seeker... stole the Quaf—"

His voice got stuck in his throat because the scene unfolding before him had transcended his understanding of the sport of Quidditch.

Shouldn't the seeker be circling high in the air like a ghost, focused solely on searching for that glimmer of golden light?

Since when did seekers start doing the job of chasers?

What is this?

A new tactic?

Professor McGonagall pushed up her glasses, her lips pressed tight, her eyes filled with confusion and a hint of the absurd.

In the Gryffindor stands, Ron's mouth was wide enough to fit a whole pumpkin pasty.

He rubbed his eyes hard and gave his thigh a sharp pinch. Immediately after, a sense of absurdity rose within him.

Looking back over hundreds, nearly a thousand years, Quidditch had never been played like this.

"Hermione... I'm not dreaming, am I?" He turned to look at Hermione beside him, his voice huffy. "He... that Shalk, he took the Quaffle?"

Hermione was equally bewildered.

She propped up her forehead, her mind rapidly searching through every page of 'Quidditch Through the Ages': "In the rules... there doesn't seem to be an explicit ban on the seeker touching the Quaffle... but this..."

High above the pitch, the Gryffindor team members were also stunned, the same question surfacing in their minds.

However, they thought this might be Flint's new tactic.

This was equivalent to Slytherin giving up on the Golden Snitch.

But as long as Gryffindor could catch the Golden Snitch before falling behind by a hundred and fifty points, victory would still be theirs.

It was a simple math problem.

Gryffindor captain Wood didn't believe Flint wouldn't understand this logic, so he was certain things were definitely not as simple as they appeared on the surface.

The next second, Signas's subsequent actions solved the mystery for him, while simultaneously refreshing everyone's perception of Quidditch.

After getting the Quaffle, Signas didn't head toward the Gryffindor goal. Instead, like Harry Potter, he charged into the high sky and began tracking the Golden Snitch's trail.

And the Quaffle was just taken away by him like that!

Everyone was dumbfounded!

The Quaffle was taken away, so what could they—the chasers, beaters, and keeper—still do down below?

Was everyone just supposed to watch those two seekers look for the Golden Snitch?

[resentment points from Marcus Flint +39!]

[resentment points from Oliver Wood +65!]

[resentment points from Angelina Johnson +31!]

[resentment points from Fred Weasley +29!]

[resentment points from George Weasley +39!]

[From...]

High above the pitch, Gryffindor captain Oliver Wood was so angry he almost tumbled off his broom.

Like an enraged lion, he roared at his teammates: "Everyone, get the ball back!"

But under the massive noise of the "Humble Cleansweep 9000," the other Gryffindor players couldn't hear their captain's orders at all.

Only the twins, Fred and George, were experienced enough and had a good rapport with the captain to immediately grasp the intent.

They exchanged a look, one going left and one going right, instantly forming a crossfire.

George swung his bat violently, and a black Bludger, carrying the sound of breaking air like a cannonball, blasted straight toward Signas's back.

"Watch out!" In the Slytherin stands, Daphne let out a cry of alarm, so nervous her heart almost jumped out of her chest.

However, Signas seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.

Just as the Bludger was about to hit him, the broom beneath him made a sudden, nearly vertical surge!

"Vroom—!"

The entire broom was like an ignited rocket, narrowly and dangerously dodging that Bludger.

The strong wind kicked up by the Bludger made his robes flap loudly.

"My goodness! Merlin's beard! What kind of flying technique is that! He dodged it! Riding that piece of junk broom, he actually dodged it!"

The noise was too loud for the audience to hear Lee Jordan's commentary clearly, but from his excited expression, everyone knew he was deeply shocked by the scene.

High in the air, Harry, who was searching for the Golden Snitch, also stopped his movements and looked at his opponent in disbelief.

He realized that Signas's flying was completely different from his own.

Harry's flight path was nimble, swift, and graceful, perfectly embodying the superior performance of the Nimbus 2000.

Signas's flight path, on the other hand, was full of unreasonable, violent aesthetics; every turn and every hover was as precise as if measured with a ruler—concise, efficient, and full of oppression.

It was hard to believe that this was how Sig's broom, which looked like an ordinary broom, could fly.

The Slytherin players watched in the air, dumbstruck, especially on Flint's face—which resembled a Troll's—where emotions like anger, confusion, and shock intertwined, finally turning into a blank slate.

But after all, Flint was experienced, having won the Quidditch House Cup several times.

When he saw the Weasley brothers launch an attack on Sig, he reacted instantly.

Regardless of what the pre-match tactics were, now that neither side could score, the most crucial thing was naturally to catch the Golden Snitch.

The noise was too loud to give verbal commands, so Flint immediately used hand signals to summon the other players—some to interfere with Harry Potter, and others to search for the Golden Snitch.

He himself steered his broom and, with a 'whoosh,' flew off to protect Signas.

Compared to Slytherin's reaction, the Gryffindor team was a beat slower! This also showed the difference in strength between the two teams.

But that didn't matter, at least Harry Potter thought so; he was full of confidence that he would be the first to get the Golden Snitch.

Chapter 1619 - Ch: 51-60 (cont. 55)