From Today On, You're Sir Cadogan!

Glenn didn't know much about the Philosopher's Stone.

It had appeared far too long ago—more than six hundred years ago, well over a century before the present day.

But Isidora Morganach, the witch who had once caused an upheaval involving Ancient Magic, had lived in the fifteenth century.

And the Philosopher's Stone had been created even earlier than that.

With that in mind, he decided he should ask Nicolas Flamel about it. He could tell him what had happened and ask what he planned to do.

But that raised another question: how should he send the letter?

Well...to be honest, it was a bit of a stupid question.

In the Wizarding World, witches and wizards used owls to deliver their mail, and they usually did a splendid job.

But Glenn didn't have one.

To be precise, when he'd gone to Diagon Alley at the start of term, he had bought an eagle owl for delivering letters and left it temporarily at Eeylops Owl Emporium.

And that was where the problem lay.

His eagle owl was still at Eeylops Owl Emporium...

Of course, Hogwarts had a supply of school owls.

But some kind of magic had been placed around Nicolas Flamel's home. Unless a special marker was added to the owl carrying the letter, it wouldn't be able to find the right destination.

Setting that up for a school owl would take a bit of work. And as far as security went, it wouldn't be very considerate of old man Flamel.

So before he could do that, he'd have to write to Eeylops Owl Emporium and ask them to send his eagle owl to Hogwarts...

It was a minor oversight, but somehow it was funny.

No wonder the Flamel couple had gone to the trouble of asking Dumbledore whether he'd be going home for Christmas...

After thinking it over, Glenn decided to keep the whole thing to himself.

After tying the letter to a school owl, he went to the Room of Requirement to do his daily watering.

While he was there, he tossed the "Invigorating Potion" he'd recently finished painting into the portrait and had his painted self give it to Sir Cadogan.

But judging by the result, Sir Cadogan seemed about to be poisoned to death.

"Are you sure that's an Invigorating Potion? It doesn't look like one!"

"Despicable! You knock a man helpless, then poison him... Where's your knightly honor?!" Sir Cadogan endured the pain of being beaten by the Glenn in the portrait and forced himself up from the floor through sheer willpower.

There was no denying that the knight had an extraordinarily stubborn spirit.

"What did you give me..." Sir Cadogan clutched his stomach, his bloodshot eyes bulging as he glared at Glenn.

"Are you really going to poison him to death? This guy shouts in this corridor every day. If you got rid of him, people would definitely notice..." Painted Glenn looked at his real self in disbelief.

Glenn could only fall silent.

If he really wanted to finish Sir Cadogan off, he had plenty of ways to do it. One Avada Kedavra would be enough. He really had just painted it to look like an Invigorating Potion. As for poison, he didn't know the first thing about that.

"I've got an empty frame here. Toss him into it, and you can be the new Sir Cadogan..."

At that, even the Glenn in the portrait was stunned.

He'd thought the version of himself Ominis had painted was already quite close to the real thing, but he hadn't realized his real self was even more devious.

"I think we can still try to save him... Levitation Charm." With a flick of the spell, Sir Cadogan landed on his little horse.

"I remember a headmistress named Phyllida Spore wrote One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. It should have something that can treat him." Painted Glenn turned and walked away with the pony, without looking back.

He had his own ways of staying out of sight.

He just hoped he wouldn't end up on the wall, shouting, "Come on, coward! Come and duel me!" every day...

Holidays were always short.

Day after day, lessons remained the school's eternal theme—even at Hogwarts, a school of magic.

As soon as the Christmas holidays ended, the professors made a dazzling return, each bearing a list of assignments.

The upright and impartial Professor McGonagall demanded that every student successfully perform a Transfiguration spell that could turn a mouse into a beetle on their first day back.

Professor Snape, whose teaching was a complete mess but whose standards for homework were sky-high, demanded that everyone write a lengthy essay on every potion's properties and brewing process, from the start of term to the present.

Professor Flitwick, witty and entertaining but no less serious when it came to teaching, required every student to be able to cast three spells. They didn't have to master them, but they had to be able to cast them on demand.

Professor Binns, a master of putting people to sleep, assigned the entire class to write out the timeline from the first chapter of A History of Magic during the very first lesson.

Even Professor Quirrell, with his thick eyebrows and his usual timid, nervous manner, came down hard with the homework. There was so much that it nearly knocked the students flat.

For adults, it might not have seemed like much. They weren't going to be expelled; they could always find time to catch up later.

But for kids that age, it was enough to make them burst into tears.

At that moment, it didn't matter which house a student belonged to.

They were all either in their common rooms or the library, frantically working on their assignments and practicing spells.

The one having the hardest time was Malfoy.

He had to finish his own assignments and help Crabbe and Goyle with theirs.

Given the intelligence of his two lackeys, it was basically the same as doing three sets of homework at once.

So if you spent a while in the Slytherin Common Room, you'd see Malfoy working with two quills.

That wasn't an exaggeration. He probably wished he could use his mouth, too...

Compared to most of his classmates, Glenn had far fewer worries.

First of all, he already knew most of the spells, and was even better at them than the professors.

Second, he'd stayed at school over the holidays and spent nearly all his free time in the library.

He'd already finished his essays and the like by the time they were assigned.

Otherwise, with Professor Snape's private lessons on top of all that, even he would've been sweating buckets. Knowing how to perform a spell and writing an essay about it were two different things. No matter how good you were, you still had to write it all out by hand.

On his way to the Underground Classroom, Glenn also ran into another professor whose smell was impossible to miss.

Needless to say, the only person who smelled that strongly of garlic was Professor Quirrell.

He didn't seem to have noticed the students behind him—or, more precisely, the three students.

Besides Glenn, there was also a certain pair of Weasley Twins.

Perhaps to get revenge for the mountain of homework, they'd cast an auto-tracking spell on some snowballs, making them chase Quirrell around before finally smacking into the back of his head—under his turban.

When they turned around, laughing, Glenn smiled and gave them a thumbs-up.

They were delighted to see it. After all, a prank was only worthwhile if someone saw it, so they gave him a thumbs-up in return.

But they had no idea that their last snowball had sent the dark wizard's red-lit face on the back of Quirrell's head into a grimace.

If they'd stayed a little longer, the Weasley Twins might have seen Professor Quirrell turn around in alarm, his expression both unfamiliar and vicious.

But the moment he saw Glenn, Quirrell realized he'd let his true nature show. He quickly returned to his usual timid, nervous demeanor.

"Good evening, Mr. Howard."

"Good evening, Professor Quirrell," Glenn replied with a friendly smile.