The Three Broomsticks

Those who understand, understand. Those who pretend to understand might understand in the future. Those who don't understand will never understand.

Throughout the entire class, only a handful of students successfully cast the Driving Charm.

Elphias Doge left the classroom with a hopeful smile.

He believed this class would change a lot.

"Hmph—you just got lucky, Wayne!"

Draco walked past Vincent's desk.

"Malfoy, do you think I would challenge unfamiliar territory?"

Mispronouncing a syllable in the Levitation Charm turns it into the Cattle-Calling Charm, but in a way, that's also a form of exploration.

Having confidence is one thing, but courage is even more important.

Vincent stood up, not even looking back.

He walked out of the classroom, then turned around as if remembering something.

He extended his left hand and grasped the Alder Wand that flew out of the drawer.

Draco instantly became a joke.

He didn't even need to cast a spell; he could just reach out and take back his wand.

Judging solely from magical power, Vincent was at least a sixth-year.

"Old Vinny's always been lucky," James said mockingly as he walked past Draco.

"He's not like some idiots who insist on fighting even when they know they can't win."

Alfred glanced over as he passed by.

Shaking with anger, he looked like he was about to faint at any moment.

"Old James, you know, that's actually a display of courage."

He suddenly turned back and smiled, "Just a bit stupid, always failing to learn a lesson."

Neville burst out laughing like a pig.

Every single one of the Little Lions was clutching their stomachs and laughing.

That familiar feeling was back.

Draco clenched his fists and ran straight out of the classroom.

Crabbe and Goyle immediately pushed through the crowd and hurriedly chased after him.

Blaise Zabini was also angry, but more than that, he felt embarrassed.

Pansy, who was planning to do something to retaliate, saw Daphne and Hermione walking out of the classroom together, and the expression on her face became even more twisted.

Laugh while you can!

You'll be crying sooner or later!

Vincent, back in the common room, didn't know what had happened afterward.

Until he heard the Little Lions' hearty laughter.

Well, the bonus is going to have to be increased again.

Unsurprisingly, the Wizard Cards announced big news on Saturday.

200,000 Gold Galleons, more than enough to host a national competition.

"Mate, are you going out again?"

"I reckon I'll have to go out once a week from now on."

Fred and George clutched their chests in utter grief, "No, you can't be so heartless!"

Vincent habitually pushed their big faces away with his hands, "I have to learn a little getaway spell, the kind you can't learn at school."

The twins grabbed his hands and shook them in unison, "Don't abandon us~"

"Ahem—you can ask Rolf, too."

Apparition is a spell learned by sixth and seventh-year students. If it was just a matter of simply learning it, Vincent wouldn't need to go to Sam.

The key is intercontinental.

"Boring~" Fred and George saw that he was determined, so they gave up on the idea of going with him.

It's convenient, but even if they learned it, they couldn't use it at school.

He passed through the secret passage, quietly emerging from the cellar of Honeydukes.

The snow in Hogsmeade had already melted, and wandering around in a black cloak was really conspicuous.

Fortunately, the place he was going to wasn't far, just outside The Three Broomsticks.

Vincent arrived on time, but couldn't even see Sam's shadow.

Feeling good, Vincent walked into the sparsely populated bar and spotted the drunk right away.

The owner, Madam Rosmerta, sat beside Sam. Although she looked to be at least 40, she was still charming in both looks and figure.

She gently pulled Sam up, allowing him to lean back in his chair with his face up.

Vincent thought of many things in that moment.

"Ahem—Madam, he's my friend."

Rosmerta eyed him suspiciously.

Tall and thin, with a deep voice, draped in a black cloak, his face was hidden.

Vincent took out a bottle of green hangover Potion. "This is a Potion I brewed; he'll wake up soon."

He roughly pried open Sam's big mouth and poured the entire bottle down his throat.

"Mr. Chavez has been here since morning," Rosmerta said, looking away with some pity.

"He's drunk almost a Galleon's worth of currant rum. I've never seen anyone drink so much."

Vincent looked at the large wooden mug on the table.

There was still a little red liquid left; adding that would probably make it a Galleon.

About 4.5 liters, drinking rum like it was beer.

Sam suddenly burped, seeming to be on the verge of waking up.

"He must be giving you a headache, right?"

"It's alright." Madam Rosmerta chuckled. "Mr. Chavez is very interesting; I enjoy the stories he tells."

It was one thing to say his name, but he was also telling stories everywhere after drinking?

Vincent vowed that if this guy ever got arrested again, he wouldn't pay his bail, no matter what.

"Ugh—" Sam, with his head tilted back, seemed very uncomfortable.

Rosmerta clapped her hands, and a wooden bucket flew over from the bar.

She straightened Sam's head. "This—sir? Could you lend a hand?"

"Of course, no problem." Vincent suppressed his disgust, steadied Sam's shoulder with one hand, and then jabbed him in the gut with an elbow.

"Blegh—" Sam threw up violently.

Undigested breakfast mixed with rum; the indescribable smell struck right at the soul.

Those customers who had come for a daytime drink all covered their mouths and ran out of the bar.

Vincent, his face stiff, regretted it.

If he had known this would happen, he would have arranged to meet somewhere else.

No, from the moment he stepped into the bar, he should have turned around and gone back to the castle.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got, and he slapped Sam hard across the face.

"Sir?" Madam Rosmerta was startled.

"Chavez hasn't paid his bill yet, has he?"

"Uh—no, he hasn't."

Smack Another slap.

"Madam, I'm waking him up."

Her eyelids twitched.

More like enemies than friends.

Sam had already groggily opened his eyes from the pain, but Vincent didn't seem to want to stop.

The first thing Sam's brain registered as he regained consciousness was the burning pain in his face.

He tried to struggle, but he had no strength.

"My Potion is fine; he must have just drunk too much."

Vincent delivered two more slaps before reluctantly pressing him back into the chair.

Red and purple, Bradley would be pleased to see it.

"Ass—"

Smack Another slap.

Sam, who hadn't managed to curse, glared at the cloaked man in front of him.

They were neither enemies nor rivals; why was he slapping him so many times?

"Madam, how much is the bill?"

"A total of 1 Galleon and 13 Sickles."

Vincent grabbed his change. "I'm really sorry about today. I promise he won't do that again."

"It's alright," Rosmerta said, picking up a hot towel.

"Mr. Chavez, this will help a lot if you put it on your face."

With the hot towel on his face, Sam suddenly remembered something.

The only people who knew he had come to England were Wayne and its family, and Vincent was the only one who had invited him here today.

"Wayne?!"

"Clap clap clap clap—"

Through the hot towel, it definitely didn't hurt as much as before.