The Slytherin Small Feast

Who does this Arnold Flint think he is, acting as if he can represent Slytherin? It's simply absurd. Word is, he begged his cousin—the current sixth-year Quidditch captain—for the prefect position. The sixth-year spot originally belonged to Marcus Flint, but that guy is such a Quidditch fanatic that he gave it up, and while he was at it, he made a deal with the person competing against him to secure this second-year prefect role for his cousin.

Zabini didn't seem to have given up on his persuasion, continuing, "Flint, the House has rules. Internal fighting among Slytherin students is strictly forbidden during the first week. If the Head of House finds out, you won't be able to keep your prefect badge."

Zabini's intervention seemed to have some effect, and Flint sobered up slightly, but.

"Hmph, it's only until Wednesday ends. I can let that brat live a little longer. If you don't respect the arrangements made by the prefects, you must be punished. Slytherin is a world of the strong, and I am simply acting according to the rules."

Arnold Flint said this haughtily, a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes. He turned to the third and fourth-year prefects watching the spectacle and added, "Right? You are prefects too; it's not just my face that's being lost. Compared to you, I'm only a second-year."

Among the fourth-year prefects, the girl didn't really want to join in on this bullying of a first-year. She actually quite liked Breeze, but she was a Slytherin through and through, and she had no intention of offering a helping hand to a "vase." She simply nodded and said, "I agree with your perspective, but I am a lady, after all."

The fourth-year male prefect didn't have so many reservations and said directly, "Call me when the time comes."

The third-year female prefect, however, had a bit of a scheme; she detested Muggle-borns the most, and pure-blood ideology was strongest in her.

"Perhaps we don't have to do it ourselves. Let those half-bloods do it..."

"Oh, don't be like that. You need to experience the fun yourself, and besides, this is about our dignity," the third-year male prefect said. "It's best to give him a beating and prepare some potions for him so the school hospital can't detect the injuries."

The second-year female prefect remained silent throughout. She lowered her head and drank her pumpkin juice in silence. If it weren't for her family background, she wouldn't have become a prefect. The others were well aware of her temperament, so no one bothered to provoke her.

Breeze finished his day of study. This time, he wasn't so obsessed that he forgot dinner, but it seemed he had forgotten that today was the small Slytherin banquet. When he packed his things and arrived at the Great Hall, he found not a single Slytherin at the table.

Breeze walked through the hall with a calm expression, heading toward the kitchens. Sitting at the Slytherin table right now would be like a beacon in the night; students from other houses would surely be staring and whispering about him. Tsk.

However, Hermione looked quite normal today, eating with a few Gryffindor girls by her side. As for the "Boy Who Lived," Harry Potter, and his friend, Ron Weasley, those two looked quite excited. It seemed that as the Boy Who Lived gradually appeared more ordinary, his life had become a bit more normal—no one was crowding around to watch him eat, or perhaps for other reasons.

"Oh, George, I feel like the well-behaved little viper is hiding something from us, like discovering a hidden fortress."

"That's a question for our Granger. Did the little viper go to the library today?" Fred said, winking at Hermione.

Hermione blushed and replied, "Breeze didn't go to the library today or yesterday. I thought he was reading in his dormitory... He wouldn't be exploring the castle, would he? That would violate school rules!"

"Oh, heavens, she's making such a fuss. But why does she care about that evil Slytherin? Slytherins are all bad wizards," Ron Weasley said to Harry Potter beside him. "Honestly..."

"Alright, Ron, let's just eat." Harry Potter clearly didn't want to cause trouble or talk about Slytherin. He didn't like Slytherin either, so he didn't refute Ron Weasley's words.

Fred glanced at George, and then the two walked off with their arms around each other's shoulders. Who knew where they were going—perhaps to deal with those Stinkweeds or something similar.

Soon, Breeze finished his dinner in the kitchen. Seeing that it was still early, he prepared to find Professor Sprout, hoping to inquire about the whereabouts of Trance Grass.

"May I disturb you for a moment, Professor?"

Just as Breeze expected, Professor Sprout was in the greenhouse at this hour, tending to the plants.

"Oh, what brings you here, dear?" Sprout was watering some Devil's Snare. Seeing Breeze, she said kindly, "Would you like to experience this? These Devil's Snares are for your upcoming lessons."

"Of course!"

Breeze touched the Devil's Snare, and it wrapped around his fingertips. It was very affectionate, as if it were playing with him.

"Oh, I knew you had a special talent, Mr. Order. If you're willing, I think you'll become a Herbology master. Look, they like you. You should know that Devil's Snare is the least fond of being touched by things with body heat."

Breeze joked, "Maybe it's because I won't use fire to scare them."

"I must say, you are a bright child. If we were in class, I would certainly award you points." Professor Sprout winked, teasingly. "But in the next lesson, you'll have to name their other characteristics."

Breeze pursed his lips and said helplessly, "Alright, who said Devil's Snare only has the characteristic of fearing fire? I'm sure I can earn points from it."

"Alright, alright, I believe you."

After Breeze helped Sprout finish watering all the Devil's Snare and some Luminescent Grass, he heard Professor Sprout say, "Now, state your purpose. Don't be shy; as long as it's not something bad, professors are always happy to help young wizards."

Professor Sprout's words made Breeze smile, and then he thought of Snape... Breeze shook his head, casting the "big bat" out of his mind, and then, with longing and bright eyes, he said, "Professor Sprout, I want to know what Trance Grass is. I heard some older students talking about it in the library, and I'm a bit curious."

"That's why I came to you so quickly. After all, you won't find a Herbology master like you anywhere else in Hogwarts."

"Oh, hahaha, alright. But Trance Grass isn't a plant you'll encounter this year, or rather, you might not even see it in class during your seven years here."

Sprout said with a touch of sadness, lost in memory, "Though Trance Grass isn't exactly extinct, they only grow in places that are rarely visited and rich in magic. But as the name suggests, they subconsciously make other creatures ignore them, so even if you encounter them, you might not necessarily see them. Rumor has it that the Disillusionment Charm was invented by a wizard who found the trick from Trance Grass, but that was a long time ago..."

"Is that so?" Breeze scratched his head. Trance Grass was a core material, and it wasn't sold on the market, and wild ones were so hard to find, which left Breeze feeling a bit disappointed.

"Ha, I remember now. I encountered Trance Grass when I was young, but it was in... well, that place is still too dangerous for you. Perhaps when you're in a higher grade, I can take you there; you might just encounter some."

Professor Sprout ruffled Breeze's black hair and said gently, "Perhaps because of Mr. Order's help, these plants are very happy, and I can rest a bit earlier, so I'll award Mr. Order 5 points. But there won't be another time."

Breeze smiled happily and said kindly, "I would come even without the points, Professor Sprout. I'll head back now, you get some rest."

"Mm."

By the time Breeze walked back to the Slytherin common room, the evening banquet had long since ended, and the students had returned to their rooms to tidy up. In the common room, a few house-elves were cleaning. Seeing Breeze enter, they hurried to greet him. Breeze waved at them kindly and returned to his room.

Zabini was writing something, and there were some gold Galleons on the table. Breeze didn't pay much mind and went to wash up.

"Smells like mud." Zabini glanced at Breeze as he entered the washroom, muttering under his breath. Then, he gave a cold smile, his eyes gleaming as he looked at the contents of an envelope. He put the Galleons into a bag and left with the letter and the bag.

When Zabini returned, Breeze was already asleep in bed with a book. Zabini extinguished the light, glared viciously at Breeze, and turned to go to sleep.

Soon, Sunday passed along with Breeze's study time, and Monday arrived. This morning was Defense Against the Dark Arts, a class Breeze was looking forward to. He had been carrying that alchemy notebook with him, but he hadn't formally practiced it. Firstly, there was no place; secondly, there was no reference; and thirdly, practicing alone was always dangerous. Breeze's own magic, like that of the other young wizards, was not very stable. Unless he used natural magic, he wasn't confident he could cast it safely and effectively on the first try.

But Breeze still couldn't forget the scene he saw when his consciousness left his body that day. He didn't want to rely too much on that unknown power and have his soul possessed.

"Good morning, Order." Some Ravenclaws greeted Breeze, while the little snakes ignored him coldly. Millicent, however, followed Breeze anxiously, seemingly wanting to say something to him, but Zabini blocked her.

"You're in the way, Miss Bulstrode." Then he walked in front of Millicent. Breeze didn't notice this, as he was busy finding a seat near the front.

"Ugh..." Breeze froze the moment Professor Quirrell walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, then hurriedly lowered his head to cast a powerful deodorizing charm around himself, hoping to alleviate the pungent stench of garlic radiating from the professor.

Breeze had never encountered Quirrell before, and at the opening feast, the scent of garlic had been faint; however, it seemed the professor had become much more "seasoned" over the past few days.

"Does Professor Quirrell just love eating garlic?" Breeze frowned, wanting to scoot his chair back, but the only available seat behind him was to the left of Malfoy. It appeared that Daphne Greengrass had been squeezed into an inner row by Pansy Parkinson, separating her from Malfoy—what a good girl she was.

Breeze was quite familiar with Malfoy and didn't care whether he minded or not; while the class hadn't officially started and Professor Quirrell was still organizing his books, he trotted over to the seat beside Malfoy.

Malfoy glanced at Breeze sideways and scoffed, "Cast a few more of those charms you just used around here. That damn garlic smell is pervasive; Dumbledore must be so stuffed with honey that his nose is blocked, or he never would have let Quirrell get his hands on those pathetic cloves of garlic from the house-elves."

Garlic in the plural—Breeze had truly seen it all now, but his hands moved without delay.