In the evening, the four of them went down to the Great Hall for dinner.
Although the second-year Hufflepuffs in the study room earlier had treated Harry normally, the rest of the school still looked at him as if he were some sort of monster.
But Harry seemed different now. Ever since Kai Adler had appeared, it was as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. The stares and whispers around him no longer seemed to sting. He sat at the table chatting and laughing as if everything were normal.
Dinner at Hogwarts was always prepared by the house-elves and magically transported from the kitchens to the long tables. The moment they sat down, the previously empty plates filled instantly with a splendid feast.
Kai was generally satisfied with the house-elves' cooking—
Except for one thing.
He pulled out a modest tea-making set from the enchanted pouch he carried.
"…the black tea," he murmured, "It's never brewed properly."
"Speaking of homework—" Ron started, tearing into a chicken leg. "Did you lot finish the essay for Professor McGonagall?"
"Of course," Hermione answered promptly, lifting her chin. "Just twenty inches of parchment. Easy."
Twenty inches—half a meter when converted to Muggle units. Unfurled on the table, it was no small task.
Ron stared at her like she had just sprouted antlers. "That's the length of my leg! And you're calling that easy?"
"You must've written in letters the size of chocolate frog boxes!"
With a scoff, Hermione unrolled her essay and slammed it on the table. "See for yourself."
Ron bent over the parchment. It was filled with Hermione's small, immaculate handwriting, densely packed from margin to margin.
His jaw dropped. "You're unbelievable… Can I copy it?"
"No!" Hermione immediately reached across the table to grab it back, but Ron held it out of reach.
"Don't be so stingy."
"You have to do your own work," she snapped.
Ron opened his mouth to argue, but just then, the edge of the parchment curled up and snapped against his knuckles.
"OW—!" He yelped, dropping it. The parchment rolled itself up and floated into Kai's outstretched hand.
Kai returned it to Hermione calmly. "You should listen to her. Professor McGonagall will know if it's copied."
Ron looked defeated. "Fine…"
"…But," Kai added, "you can copy mine."
Ron blinked. "Wait, really?"
"No!" Hermione grabbed Kai's wrist. "If he copies yours, what are you going to do?"
Kai just smiled. "I'll write another. It's not difficult."
Ron's expression froze.
Write another one. Just like that.
He slumped in his seat. "I'll… write my own…"
Hermione, looking satisfied, pulled the parchment back into her bag. "I'll hang onto this for now. I'll turn it in for you tomorrow."
Watching Hermione fuss like a miniature prefect, Kai chuckled.
"All right~"
They had just begun to enjoy the meal when a drawling voice broke through the chatter.
"Kai Adler, is it? I hear you have a fondness for sweets. These are pastries our Young Master Malfoy personally brought from home, as a gesture of goodwill."
Harry's eyes widened in surprise, while Hermione's face twisted in distaste.
Ron groaned. "Crabbe? What are you doing here?"
Kai turned his eyes toward the speaker. Big head, small eyes, Slytherin robes stretched tight over a bulky frame—yep. One of Malfoy's ever-present lackeys.
Crabbe was holding a silver tray of pastries. They looked exquisite—delicate and glossy, with golden crusts and swirls of frosting.
Though Crabbe was clearly struggling not to eat them himself, his eyes flicking toward the tray and his Adam's apple bobbing.
Kai glanced over to the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy was watching with a faint smirk, nodding politely as if offering an olive branch.
Kai raised an eyebrow. So it begins.
He took the tray from Crabbe's hands, smiling coolly. "Do thank your young master for me."
Crabbe lingered a moment, then shuffled back to the Slytherin table—though he kept glancing over his shoulder like he'd just handed over a treasure.
The pastries now sat in front of them, their sweet scent wafting temptingly into the air.
"That guy just gave up and sent you pastries?" Ron asked incredulously.
"…They do smell good, though."
He leaned forward, reaching for one—
Smack! Hermione's hand slapped his away.
"Don't eat something sent by Malfoy, you idiot."
Ron winced. "But they smell amazing—seriously, Hermione, just smell them."
Even Harry nodded. The aroma was rich and tantalizing. He looked to Kai.
"Do you think they're cursed?"
Kai studied the pastries. No trace of Dark Magic. None at all.
Which was suspicious in itself.
He leaned forward to take a whiff.
At once, a scent hit him—warm sunshine, daffodils, a garden drenched in golden light.
He saw a memory: a girl practicing spells in her garden, her hair catching the sunlight.
It had been that exact moment that he first saw her—and fell in love.
His smile turned wry. So that's what this was.
Turning to Hermione, he asked, "Do you want to smell it?"
"Can I?" she asked hesitantly.
"Don't you trust me?"
Hermione relaxed and leaned forward.
"…Black tea," she said after a moment. "It smells like the black tea you brew. The proper kind."
Harry and Ron leaned in again.
"I don't smell any of that. Just… something really tasty," Ron muttered.
Kai resisted the urge to sigh. Thank Merlin. If they had smelled black tea, he'd be truly worried.
He glanced at the two boys, lips curling into a smirk.
They felt an odd chill. That smirk meant something. Something deeply unfair.
"…What is this?" Hermione asked, her curiosity flaring again.
"You'll see in a moment."
Kai picked up the tray and walked straight toward the Slytherin table.
Draco Malfoy sat there, watching every movement with narrowed eyes. He saw the group lean in. He saw Hermione's smile, Ron's temptation, and Kai lifting the tray.
He waited for it—
But then, Kai stood before him. Holding the tray.
Malfoy's smirk vanished.
That potion was supposed to create irresistible appeal. Lowered defenses. Emotional disorientation. It was obscure, delicate magic—very difficult to detect. Especially for someone so young.
So why was he unaffected?
Malfoy's stomach sank.
Something had gone wrong.
Terribly wrong.