The night was deep and silent.
Out on the open moor, the leafless trees stood stark and bare, their twisted branches clawing at the darkness—like monsters biding their time, waiting to come alive.
A pitch-black crow flitted through the gloom, landing atop an equally blackened branch.
At some point, a small, shadowy figure had appeared beneath the tree.
Startled, the crow took flight, its harsh caw slicing through the stillness and making the figure below shrink back in alarm.
"I thought you weren't coming, Mr. Malfoy."
The voice came suddenly, slicing through the darkness.
A few paces away, a figure stepped into view—clad in a billowing black robe, face hidden behind a mask of dark gold.
"Professor?!" The relief and surprise in Malfoy's voice was unmistakable.
Clearly, that crow had given him quite a fright.
"I'm sorry, Professor. I ran into Filch sneaking out just now—his cat nearly caught me, so that's why I'm late… But I shouldn't make excuses. It won't happen again, I promise!"
Malfoy rushed to explain, his posture impeccably respectful.
"Unnecessary explanations are pointless. What I want to see is whether you're worth my time."
The masked man's voice was cold as ever.
Without another word, he launched straight into a round of magical questioning, testing Malfoy's progress since their last meeting.
To give credit where it's due, among his peers, Draco Malfoy was no slouch. Both his grasp of magical theory and his command of foundational spells were impressive.
"Seems you didn't waste your holiday playing around with your little lackeys."
"My little lackeys? You mean Crabbe and Goyle? But I didn't even see them over the break…"
"…"
"Ah—sorry, Professor, I get it now. You're just using that as motivation, to keep me on my toes!"
"…Good. As long as you understand. You're not hopeless."
"I'll remember your teachings, Professor. I won't slack off with my magic, ever!"
"Enough with the chatter. What problems have you run into lately? We'll use the rest of this time to sort them out."
"Yes, thank you, Professor!"
Malfoy proceeded to rattle off a string of magical quandaries he'd encountered. Each time, the mysterious teacher answered with ease—always precise, always enlightening.
In just half an hour, Malfoy felt he'd gained a mountain of insight.
"That's enough for tonight." The masked man's tone was still cool and distant as he finished.
"Thank you, Professor. You work so hard." Malfoy bowed, his gratitude genuine.
To his surprise, the mysterious teacher actually nodded and replied, almost wistfully, "I do work rather hard."
"…"
A chill ran down Malfoy's spine. Dread crept in, and he blurted out his fear: "Professor, you're not planning to stop teaching me, are you?!"
He'd grown so much under this enigmatic mentor's guidance—his magical prowess had soared, and in class, he'd outshone even Harry Potter (at least, in his own mind).
Without this help, what would become of him? Was he doomed to return to being just another privileged, unremarkable Malfoy heir?
He couldn't bear the thought.
Panic rising, he nearly threw himself at the masked man's feet to beg—but he didn't dare. One wrong move, and this temperamental teacher might blast him into the oak tree, leaving him to slide down like a sack of potatoes.
"So, you still need me as your teacher?" the masked figure asked, a trace of amusement in his voice.
"I do! I really do, Professor! I can't manage at Hogwarts without you—without you, it all feels pointless!" Malfoy's voice trembled with sincerity.
"Heh. I can sense your honesty—and I know exactly why you're so earnest. Still, I appreciate a bit of ambition, even if yours is rather… naïve." The masked man's words were slow and deliberate.
"So, does that mean…" Malfoy clung to hope, not quite understanding but desperate for reassurance.
"When I said I was tired, I didn't mean I was giving up on you. But I am changing our meetings from weekly to monthly. You must realize, I'm not a man with endless free time. Teaching you is exhausting."
"No problem at all, Professor! Once a month—I'll treasure every lesson!" Malfoy was visibly relieved.
After all, once a month was far better than nothing.
"Good. That means you'll need to make your questions more concise. Don't waste our time with rambling, shallow queries—try to solve them yourself first. Only bring me what truly stumps you. Understood?"
"I will, I promise!" Malfoy flushed with shame.
He realized, listening to the teacher's explanations, that many of his "difficult" questions could have been solved with more effort. Maybe he'd grown too dependent on this mysterious mentor.
"Excellent. Then it's settled. Second Friday of every month, at midnight—we'll meet again, Mr. Malfoy."
Without waiting for a reply, the masked man vanished into the night.
"Professor, I'll work hard!" Malfoy wanted to shout, but forced himself to keep quiet, afraid of being overheard.
With the lesson over, he pocketed his wand, pulled up his hood, and slipped away.
Somewhere overhead, the crow fluttered back onto its branch.
The wild, moonlit moor fell silent once more.
…
Cutting Malfoy's lessons down to once a month put Qin Yu in an excellent mood.
It wasn't just laziness—he had his reasons.
First, his schedule was packed. Second, Malfoy had become far too reliant on his "mysterious old grandpa" persona.
Sure, many of the boy's questions were challenging, but honestly, after all this time, a student of Qin Yu should be able to figure out most of them alone.
Monthly meetings would force Malfoy to think for himself, instead of saving every little problem for their lessons and wasting both their time.
That night, Qin Yu fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. When he woke, it was already Saturday morning.
He rolled out of bed, headed to the common room, and joined Hermione for breakfast in the Great Hall.
Just as they finished eating, Harry, Ron, and Adam finally arrived, looking half-awake.
Ron was groaning to Harry about having to attend Hagrid's "Rock Cake Banquet" later. Harry looked just as miserable—clearly, neither could fathom why Hagrid insisted on torturing them with such "delicacies."
"Should we bring a hammer? Maybe we can smash the rock cakes open," Ron suggested, totally defeated.
"We'll need a saw. A hammer'll just make them harder," Harry countered, shaking his head.
The two promptly launched into a heated debate over the best tool for the job, while Adam looked on with his usual gentle smile, clearly amused.
"You lot take your time eating. Hermione and I will go help Hagrid set up. Don't worry—I'll ask him to make the rock cakes a bit softer," Qin Yu called as he got up, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
Naturally, it had zero effect.
"Doesn't matter. Even if they're softer, we still can't chew through them," Harry grumbled.
"Yeah, Hagrid's idea of food is totally different from normal people," Ron agreed.
Qin Yu left, grinning to himself. He certainly wasn't going to tell them that Hagrid had secretly mastered a miraculous Eastern flatbread-frying technique—no wonder he was so eager for this "Rock Cake Banquet."
When Qin Yu and his little witch strolled over to the hut by the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they arrived just in time to see Hagrid emerging from the woods, the Weasley twins in tow. Each twin was grinning, clutching a glass jar.
Inside the jars sloshed a bright, greenish liquid.
Ah, a pure, light green—there was no mistaking it. That was Venom from an Acromantula at least ten years old.
Qin Yu, as Hogwarts' unofficial Forbidden Forest produce broker, recognized top-grade goods when he saw them.
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