Faner's Money

Brie was ill, and it had come on quite suddenly, perhaps a consequence of the natural magic turbulence from before. As Brie rose, a heavy sensation clung to his body, leaving him struggling to catch his breath.

It was still very early; even the young ladies and gentlemen who had to rise early for the upcoming small banquet had yet to stir.

Brie glanced at his roommate, Zabini, who had been startled awake by the sound of him getting up, and apologized, "I'm feeling a bit unwell, so I'm up a little early. You can go back to sleep."

Once he had spoken, however, Brie felt a severe discomfort in his throat. His voice was incredibly hoarse, and his entire demeanor was fragile, radiating a sense of brokenness. The tips of his nose, the corners of his eyes, and his cheeks were all flushed red, a sight that would surely stir pity in anyone.

Struggling to stifle a yawn, Brie felt a sense of novelty.

"So this is what it feels like to be sick. It's not very pleasant."

He got up to wash, and Zabini glanced at Brie, checked the time, and went back to sleep, though it was unclear if he had truly drifted off.

The Slytherin common room was quiet as ever after his wash. Brie dressed more warmly, gathered the various assignments and essays left over from his classes, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed out.

"It's still curfew hours. I just hope that, for the sake of my illness, I won't run into anyone else."

"What are you doing, Mr. Oude? Perhaps now is not the time to be leaving the common room. Or maybe you intend to brew some slugs for your Head of House..."

Speak of the devil. Brie thanked his luck.

"My apologies," Brie said, trying to make his voice sound even hoarser. "I believe I've fallen ill. I'm feeling quite terrible, so I'm heading to the infirmary on the second floor. I hope Madam Pomfrey can help me."

Ill?

Snape scrutinized Brie's face carefully, then said coldly, "Stop your sniveling."

With that, he turned and strode away, his movements as if carried by the wind, his wide black cloak nearly brushing against Brie's face.

Brie rubbed his eyes and headed toward the second floor. Fortunately, he didn't encounter a soul, nor did he run into Filch's Mrs. Norris (a cat).

"Oh, what's the matter with you?"

After he knocked on the door of the infirmary, a stern-looking woman soon emerged. She scanned Brie with a scrutinizing gaze, her tone somewhat indifferent, but when she caught sight of Brie's flushed face, a flash of pity crossed her eyes, and her expression softened.

"Very well. I thought someone was trying to play a prank on me. Though it's a joke, I am glad you thought to seek medical attention immediately."

"Come in quickly. You only need one vial of cold potion and you'll feel much better. I assume you don't want to miss your weekend."

Brie followed Madam Pomfrey into the infirmary. The air here smelled quite fresh, lacking the heavy scent of disinfectant—though he wasn't sure if wizards even used such things—but it made Brie's feverish head feel a bit better.

"Drink this. There will be some minor side effects, as steam will puff out of your ears. Shall I have breakfast sent up for you? Little snakes shouldn't want to be laughed at by others, and the staff has the authority to assist you."

It was clear that Madam Pomfrey was a Slytherin—possessing the standard etiquette, yet different from the current Slytherins; she lacked the greed and ambition, replaced by a sense of care. She was a peculiar Slytherin, and Brie liked her.

"Ugh..." So bitter. Who made this potion? It was far too crude.

"Oh, it seems Snape's potion-making skills have improved again. It's the first time I've seen the simplest cold potion optimized to this degree. It's already taking effect; the steam from your ears is accelerating quite a bit."

Madam Pomfrey looked at Brie's disgusted face with a smile in her eyes, but seeing the unnatural flush fading, she felt relieved.

She tapped the table beside her with her wand, and a house-elf wearing an apron flickered into existence.

"Respected Madam Pomfrey, is there anything you need Dobby to do?"

"Oh, and you too, young wizard! The apple pie last night was made by Dobby!"

Madam Pomfrey glanced at Brie and said, "Tell Dobby whatever you'd like to eat. I have to go find Snape for some potions in a moment. Of course, once you've finished eating, please leave, and don't touch anything."

With that, Madam Pomfrey departed.

"My name is Breeze Order. Dobby, could you bring me some light food? You can see the steam coming out of my ears; I shouldn't eat anything too greasy or rich."

"Oh, of course! Dobby can take good care of Master Breeze Order!"

Dobby vanished the moment he finished speaking. This was the unique magic of house-elves, though wizards possessed it too—it was called Apparition. It was a highly advanced form of magic that required specialized study and an exam through the Department of Magical Transportation at the Ministry of Magic. Because it was so advanced, it was also fraught with danger; one slip could lead to splinching, severe injury, or even death.

However, wizard Apparition could not be used within Hogwarts, yet house-elves could.

"Master Breeze Order, please enjoy your breakfast! Everything was specially prepared by Dobby!"

Dobby appeared suddenly, and the table was laden with food. Brie's eyes lit up, and his favorability toward Dobby rose a notch.

"Thank you, Dobby. You really are a good elf. But could you prepare some small snacks for me to pack? I'm planning to go to a quiet place to study in a bit, and I might not have time for lunch."

Hearing Brie's request, Dobby's eyes welled up with tears. He clutched his old apron, trembling with excitement and nervousness. "Oh, Master Breeze Order praised Dobby! This is something other house-elves don't get. I will definitely prepare the best snacks; it is Dobby's honor!"

With a pop, Dobby vanished again.

Brie resigned himself to the task of replenishing his energy, and soon he was sitting comfortably to rest, the empty plates on the table serving as a testament to his "great achievement."

With Dobby's reappearance, Brie received a large bag of snacks. After bidding Dobby farewell, Brie left the infirmary and headed toward the painting of the Great Tree on the eighth floor.

Along the way, there were already many early-rising students, mostly Ravenclaws. Some who knew Brie greeted him in a friendly manner, their eyes hiding smiles as they watched the steam puffing from his ears, and Brie greeted them all in return.

They assumed Brie was heading to the Ravenclaw common room to study. To be so studious even while ill—this should have been one of their own little eagles! Those wretched Slytherins!

Once Brie carefully reached the painting of the Great Tree, he tapped the stone bricks with his wand and headed for the East Tower. This was what he had agreed upon with Faner yesterday, and Brie could not go back on his word. As for the Slytherin small banquet...

"Please, who would attend a 'private small banquet'—which sounds fancy just thinking about it—with a pair of steaming ears? Besides, I don't even have dress robes."

Brie was already sitting at the solid wood table on the second floor of the East Tower's turret. The chair was unexpectedly comfortable.

On the tabletop, Brie was diligently writing his essay for Potions class. He had already finished most of the assignments for his previous classes, and he only considered revisions if he had new ideas. The reason he didn't go to the library to write was that Brie didn't want to be confined to textbooks; he was currently trying to use his own understanding to discuss the relationship between Boil-Cure Potion and slugs.

"Oh, you really are boring. You don't even talk to me when you arrive."

Faner hung his head, looking wilted, and stared at Brie with his bright yellow vertical pupils in a resentful manner, much like a jilted lover.

"If you're bored, you can read a book. My current status is that of a student, and studying is the only way for me to become stronger."

"Fine, but you can't expect a snake to read; it's of no use to me..." Faner lay beside Breeze's hand, becoming interested when he saw his wand.

Breeze looked at it, sighed, and handed the wand over.

"Don't bite it, and don't spit lamp oil on it."

Unexpectedly, Faner didn't look at the wand, but instead climbed onto Breeze's wrist and coiled into a bracelet.

"If you're truly bored, you could try arranging the lamp oil you spit out into patterns, then detonating them into various shapes. Perhaps that could be something for you to boast about."

Breeze shook his head and continued writing his essay, while Faner's eyes lit up.

"You really are a genius! I never thought of that!"

With that, Faner happily crawled to the side to practice.

Breeze smiled, and shortly after, began to slowly pack away his essay drafts. He stood up to examine the books left behind by the "person" Faner mentioned, thinking most were related to alchemy, though there seemed to be exceptions.

"Those are the notes that person took when he was first learning magic. Hogwarts had only been established for a short time back then, and he was in the first generation of Ravenclaw students, so he had a habit of taking notes. You can take a look; I imagine they'll be helpful to you."

Faner said this while hissing and flicking his tongue, clearly having a great time.

Breeze picked up the notebook and examined it closely.

"There's magical fluctuation on this; it's not an ordinary notebook." Breeze said, carefully turning a page, only to find it was quite normal. It started with first-year material, but the magical content was much more complex than what is taught today, yet the learning process was far purer.

Breeze sat casually on the floor amidst the piles of books, flipping through the notes. The sunlight spilled in from behind him, creating a warm and comfortable atmosphere.

Faner stopped flicking his tongue, stared at Breeze for a moment, and then silently crawled under the solid wood table. There seemed to be a small compartment there—likely not made by that person, but rather Faner's secret base.

From within it, Faner slowly pulled out one Galleon after another, along with some silver Sickles.

When Breeze glanced over inadvertently, he saw Faner's bronze-colored body lying in a small pile of mixed Galleons and Sickles, which looked to be several hundred coins.

"Where did you get that money?" Breeze asked, puzzled. Wasn't it said that the person had sold his soul to Death because he was poor?

"Stole... cough, cough, my compensation! After lighting lamps for that guy for so many years, there has to be some return. These were all 'fairly and squarely' taken from his pockets!"

"Alright, but why are you bringing them out now? Do you want me to buy you something... a pretty bronze lady's lamp?"

I was wondering why I haven't had the energy to write these past two days; it turns out the melatonin I've been taking to adjust my sleep has the side effect of making me groggy during the day.

And it's been useless; my sleep schedule still hasn't adjusted.

These past few days, I lie down at 12, fall asleep at 3, wake up at 12, get up at 1, then eat, write, get groggy from the melatonin at 4 and have to take a nap, wake up at 7, lounge in bed, eat at 8, then write, think about fixing my schedule at 12, and then the cycle repeats...

I think I'll stop the melatonin. Using it when I don't need to is just dragging me down.