Bombing the Headmaster's Office

Eliana was very confident that Gryffindor would win the Quidditch Cup—she watched it every day.

Don't get her wrong, she wasn't watching for Harry or anyone else; she was watching to practice her flying broomstick.

Damn it, she just found out that first-year students had a riding broomstick exam at the end of the term... How could she, an idiot who threw up three minutes after getting on a broomstick, possibly pass?

But she absolutely refused to have anything lower than an O on her report card—even for Flying Class, it couldn't be lower than an E!

So, what could she do? Practice!

She refused to believe there was anything in this world she, Eliana, couldn't learn?

—Perhaps, sometimes she could dial back her confidence a little.

Eliana maintained a stern expression, riding a tattered school broomstick, advancing at a snail's pace of fifteen meters per hour at a height of thirty centimeters off the ground.

How to put it, snails would despair and koalas would cry. If Voldemort had been this slow back then, he would have traveled for ten thousand years and Harry's family would still be singing karaoke.

Eliana pursed her lips and slightly increased her speed.

Thirty-five meters per hour.

After flying for three minutes, her face began to turn pale, and one hand skillfully reached for a pre-prepared bag in her pocket.

She quickly unfolded it:

"Blech!!!!"

Her face deathly pale, she said indignantly, "I refuse to believe I can't ride a stupid broomstick anymore?!"

She sped up a little more.

"Blech!!!!"

(Loudly--)

"I, refuse, to, believe!"

(Accelerating)

"Blechblechblech--"

However, this rigorous training of flying with a plastic bag around her neck, vomiting all the while, did have a slight effect. A week later, Eliana could already hold on for fifteen minutes at a speed of fifty meters per hour without throwing up.

—Provided she didn't turn.

The moment she turned, she started "wah wah wah" again.

This meant that if she wanted to extend her record of not vomiting on the broomstick, she had to keep her broomstick flying straight ahead.

Most of the time, it was relatively easy, but, you know, minor accidents are quite common in the wizarding world.

Just today, because she had extended her non-vomiting time on the broomstick to twenty minutes, and her speed had increased to eighty meters per hour, her altitude had also risen to an unprecedented level, nearing the towers—Eliana, a bit too carried away, was so engrossed in resting her hands on her hips with her eyes closed, lost in self-admiration, that she completely forgot she was still sitting on a broomstick.

And the broomstick was still flying forward.

By the time she opened her eyes and met a glass window, it was already too late.

Of course, she had tried to brake the broomstick, but the Nimbus 2000 obeyed Harry's every command, while the broomsticks in the school's broom shed had a mind of their own in Eliana's hands—Eliana felt it was the broomstick's fault.

She abruptly pulled the broomstick upwards. Perhaps it was because she exerted too much force in her panic, but she didn't brake. Instead, she spun 360 degrees in the air, and then with a bang, with an even more intense momentum after building up, she crashed through with a crack.

Can't find the book title? Try searching for the author's name, maybe it was just renamed!

—It must have hurt to crash directly into it!

Eliana's eyes widened in horror, but she only had time to quickly draw her wand and shout "Confringo," before tightly covering her face.

Albus Dumbledore was savoring cockroach clusters, with a freshly brewed tooth-strengthening potion on the table—enjoying ordinary sweets without any worries was the greatest pleasure in life.

Thanks to Severus!

Dumbledore added a lethal dose of honey to his black tea, followed by half a jar of sugar cubes. The black tea was so thick it was almost impossible to stir. He took a sip with great anticipation.

That's the taste! His tea-making skills hadn't deteriorated!

He cheerfully rewarded himself with a lively cockroach candy and said to Snape, who had a dark expression in front of him, "Severus, would you like some?"

Snape looked at the struggling cockroach leg near his mouth with disgust. "No, thank you."

"How about a cup of tea?" Dumbledore enthusiastically promoted, "My tea-making skills are excellent!"

"I'm afraid I can't agree with that," Snape coldly refused. "The sugar cubes still undissolved in your cup are like the unmixed brains of those rampaging little trolls."

"Severus," Dumbledore said disapprovingly, putting down his teacup. "They are just a group of slightly lively, adorable children."

Snape sneered. "Yes, sneaking around the castle at night, fighting, exploding cauldrons, hexing each other, the Hospital Wing's potion reserves depleting like a flood—they are indeed so lively they're adorably deadly."

"What, does the esteemed Headmaster think his humble Potions Master isn't busy enough?"

"Ah, this," Dumbledore awkwardly shifted his gaze and changed the subject. "I heard you were invited to little Eliana's place for Christmas this year. How was it? Eliana is indeed a warm and kind child; I noticed it when I admitted her."

Snape's facial muscles twitched.

"I regret to learn now that your physical condition has deteriorated to such an extent. After your teeth were corroded by the frosting, are your eyes and brain also covered in syrup?"

Snape's lips curled into a fake smile. "Warm? Kind? Eliana?"

His expression was as if he had just been kissed by Dumbledore; it was utterly sickening.

"Oh?" Dumbledore leaned forward with curiosity. "Minerva and Filius have both expressed their admiration for this child."

Snape ground his molars. "Forgive me, but I fail to see anything particularly well-behaved about a rampaging little Hippogriff."

"Oh, Severus." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, chuckling. "We must be a little more lenient with the children."

"Don't you find these young children endearing? So small, with small troubles, and even their mischief is adorably small—it makes one feel younger just looking at them."

Snape said sarcastically, "Perhaps that's because I'm already halfway into the coffin and beyond saving."

"Don't say that, Severus, you're still young." He took a sip of tea, clasped his hands behind his back, and enthusiastically beckoned Snape to the window. "Come, let's see what the children on the field are up to now."

Peeking.jpg

Snape suddenly took a large step back, his lips pressed into a thin, straight line. "I wonder if the esteemed Headmaster would permit him—"

Suddenly, a crashing sound came from the window, accompanied by a sharp "Confringo!" The glass exploded outwards.

Dumbledore dodged back with agility unbefitting his age as a dark shape, trailing glass, rushed in.

What's going on? Has Voldemort attacked Hogwarts?

Snape's wand was already raised at the shadow almost the moment it entered, but when the mass began to make its first grumbling sound, he raised an eyebrow and lowered his wand.

He didn't rush to leave either. In a schadenfreude-filled tone, he said gleefully to Dumbledore, "Your enthusiastic, kind, and adorably troublesome child has arrived."