There's no denying it—free-range chicken is simply delicious.
The savory, tender meat, paired with stir-fried naan-style rock cakes, left Qin Yu thoroughly satisfied. The Weasley twins were equally content, their faces smeared with grease and their bellies round as Quaffles.
Miss Granger, of course, maintained her elegance—even when she burped, she did so with a certain grace.
Fortunately, Qin Yu had recommended the hawthorn water brewed by Uncle Hagrid. A few sips after the meal aided digestion and left everyone feeling lighter.
Once they'd eaten their fill, the group dispersed for the evening.
Over the next few days, the Weasley twins received several more letters from the apothecary owner. Some were full of complaints, others bordering on begging, but all revolved around a single desperate plea—the urgent need for Acromantula venom.
Still, the twins stuck to Qin Yu's advice and refused every request.
Even without Qin's detailed explanation, the sheer desperation in those letters had set off alarm bells. Something about this whole situation just felt off, so they decided to keep a cautious eye on what might happen next.
…
That morning, second-year Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
Just as George and Fred had said, Professor Quirrell now wore heavy layers beneath his robes, his turban wrapped even tighter than before.
When he passed by Qin Yu's desk, a pungent, sour stench drifted from the professor's robes, curling straight into Qin Yu's nostrils.
He held his breath, counting out thirty, forty, fifty seconds before daring to breathe normally again—yet the odor still lingered.
"Does he really not notice how he smells?" muttered Elvis, frowning as he leaned toward Qin Yu.
"Fishmongers can't smell the scent of fish. Even if they do, it doesn't bother them," Qin Yu replied under his breath.
"P-please, p-pay attention, here you n-need to use the B-Binding Charm f-first, and then…" Professor Quirrell's speech was even more halting than usual.
Half the class wore pained expressions, struggling to follow his stuttering instructions. The other half had long since given up trying to listen.
Qin Yu watched the strange Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher with a furrowed brow, his eyes thoughtful.
He muttered softly in Chinese, "He's starting to look like a zombie… Did he take the wrong potion or something?"
"What was that, Qin?" Elvis asked, curious.
"Nothing, just thinking about lunch," Qin Yu replied offhandedly.
"Isn't lunch just whatever's in the Great Hall?" Elvis said, perplexed.
"Exactly. So there's no point even thinking about it," Qin Yu shrugged.
The two traded nonsense in low voices, like a pair of vaudeville comedians, just to distract themselves from the painful slog of class.
After another half hour of endurance, the lesson finally ended.
The students bolted for the door as if released from Azkaban.
Qin Yu packed up his things at a leisurely pace, casting a sidelong glance at Professor Quirrell as he tidied up at the lectern. He noticed the professor's body would occasionally twitch, once nearly sending his wand flying from his grip.
After a few more moments of quiet observation, Qin Yu left the classroom with Elvis.
…
That afternoon, it was time for second-year Herbology. Professor Sprout had them planting magical plants all over again—this time, Devil's Peas.
"…This plant turns entirely purple when mature, and takes on a devilish shape. Of course, you'll have to wait two or three months to see that. When the pods ripen in August or September, you must be careful—ripe pods can burst open at any moment, sending peas flying everywhere. Getting hit hurts—a lot. Some people have even been killed by flying peas, though that's rare. As for its uses: Devil's Peas are a natural bane to undead creatures. They can be thrown directly as weapons, or eaten to treat related injuries…"
Professor Sprout delivered her lecture with diligence, but most students were too busy digging, watering, and getting their hands dirty to retain much of what she said.
"I'll say it again—don't take anything from the greenhouse! I'll be checking carefully!" Professor Sprout emphasized, her gaze sweeping the room.
Yet, when class ended, she couldn't shake the feeling that the number of pea seeds had mysteriously dwindled—a lot.
Someone must have pocketed the leftover seeds instead of turning them in.
She sighed. Still, Devil's Peas weren't especially dangerous. At worst, the mature plants could "explode" and injure someone, but as long as nobody took a direct hit to a vital spot, they'd live.
And if nobody was going to die, it wasn't worth losing sleep over.
Such was the seasoned wisdom of a Hogwarts professor: if you wanted to survive here, you needed a thick skin and a big heart—or you'd worry yourself into an early grave.
…
That evening at dinner, Qin Yu sat in the Great Hall, openly fiddling with a handful of purple pea seeds alongside Hermione. Before long, George and Fred came barreling over, dropping onto the bench across from him with a pair of dramatic thuds.
They barely had time to catch their breath before blurting out the bad news—
Hagrid's hut had been robbed!
"When did it happen? Everything was fine yesterday, wasn't it?" Qin Yu asked, puzzled.
"Just earlier today—probably this afternoon."
"Hagrid was out cleaning the broom shed and the Quidditch pitch. When he got back, Fang was snoring away, and his house had been turned upside down."
George and Fred took turns explaining.
Fang, Hagrid's usually sharp-nosed dog, must have been knocked out by whoever broke in.
"So what did Hagrid lose?" Hermione asked.
"Not much, really. He keeps his money and valuables hidden somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. The thief didn't take anything," George replied.
"But the place was a mess—flour and spices everywhere. He won't be cooking for a while, especially not rock cakes," Fred added.
"Rock cakes… Well, I could do with a break from those anyway," Qin Yu said.
Harry and Ron, eavesdropping nearby, nodded in emphatic agreement.
It was true—even the new "soup-fried rock cakes" were getting old after so many meals. They were hoping Hagrid would try something new for a change.
"I wonder what the thief was looking for?" George mused, rubbing his chin.
"Yeah, Hagrid's practically broke. Whatever money he's made has gone straight into his magical creatures. There's barely anything left," Fred added, well-acquainted with Hagrid's financial situation.
"I think I can guess what they were after…" Qin Yu murmured, rubbing his chin, his gaze growing complicated as he looked at the twins.
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