"I'll consider it," Professor McGonagall said, remaining carefully noncommittal. She looked at Harry, whose eyes were already shining with excitement, and her voice sharpened into warning. "I expect to hear that you are working hard at Quidditch, Potter. Otherwise, I shall reconsider allowing you to join the team."
Harry's cheeks flushed red the moment he heard that he might actually join the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He was so excited that he could not speak, and could only nod again and again while his eyes blazed with determination. In his heart, one thought rose louder than all the rest: defeat Slytherin.
By dinner, Harry could not wait to tell Ron that he had joined the team, though he still lowered his voice and asked him to keep it secret. Ron stared at him with wide eyes, unable to believe what he had just heard.
"The Seeker?" Ron breathed.
"Harry, brilliant," Fred said, appearing beside them with George as if summoned by gossip. Both twins wore matching grins, and George leaned in close as he whispered, "Wood told us everything. With you as our secret weapon, we'll finally smash Slytherin into the ground."
Harry's heroic performance during flying class quickly spread through the castle. By dinner, nearly everyone had heard the story, and students kept glancing at Malfoy while discussing Harry's talent in low, excited voices.
"With Potter joining Gryffindor next year, they'll become a serious threat," Marcus Flint said worriedly as he ate a beef pie. Then he noticed Roger Williams preparing to leave and called after him. "Roger, a few players are graduating next year. That means some spots will open up. Interested in trying out?"
"Me?" Roger pointed at himself in surprise.
For a moment, he genuinely thought Marcus was joking. The idea that anyone had watched his disastrous flying lesson and still thought he belonged near the Quidditch team was almost impressive.
"Marcus, I have absolutely no interest in Quidditch," Roger said, shaking his head. "Honestly, I'd rather throw a few Unforgivable Curses at it."
He nodded toward Malfoy, who sat nearby with a gloomy expression. "Let Draco try. He's definitely more suited to Quidditch than I am."
Malfoy froze when he heard Roger recommend him. They had only clashed that morning, so he had never expected Roger to say anything favourable now, especially in front of Marcus. He quickly straightened, trying to show that he was ready and willing to be evaluated at any time.
"But what happened this afternoon shows Potter is a little better," Marcus said hesitantly.
He had not yet decided whether Malfoy deserved a place on the shortlist. In truth, he was already thinking about who could be used to counter Harry next year, and Harry's talent had left a deep impression.
"If Draco joins the team, the Malfoy family might at least sponsor a few Nimbus 2000s," Roger said calmly.
As a Slytherin, he naturally hoped his House would win. Whether Malfoy was annoying was a separate matter from whether Slytherin should crush Gryffindor.
"I'll think about it," Marcus said.
His hesitation made Malfoy's face tighten. The fact that he had not been accepted immediately was humiliating enough, and the thought that Harry Potter might once again be ahead of him made it worse.
"Crabbe, Goyle, come with me," Malfoy said angrily.
He stood and stalked away, clearly planning to take his frustration out on Harry. Crabbe and Goyle lumbered after him without asking questions.
Down in the Hogwarts dungeons, Snape was examining the Memory-Enhancing Potion Roger had handed in. The bottle sat between them under the cold light, and Roger watched his Head of House's expression carefully.
"Professor, if I drank Felix Felicis while brewing potions, would my success rate be higher?" Roger asked.
"And then?" Snape turned his head slowly, his dark eyes fixing on Roger with a gloomy chill.
He warned the young wizard in a stern voice. "Put away your clever little tricks. Felix Felicis can only help you succeed. It cannot teach you why you succeeded."
Roger lowered his eyes, already realising he had asked the wrong question. Snape's expression, however, made it clear that regret would not save him.
"I told you in your very first lesson that Potions is a precise science and a rigorous process," Snape said coldly. "Felix Felicis would only ruin a potion master. If you cannot understand such a simple principle, it seems I have overestimated you."
He pointed toward a pile of hard, sharp stag-horn moss in the corner. "Cut that into one-inch lengths."
The stag-horn moss was one of the ingredients for the Memory-Enhancing Potion. It was expensive, brittle, and difficult to process, because cutting carelessly would ruin the entire plant. Roger had once spent an absurd amount of effort shaving off one-inch pieces with a knife just to prepare a single batch.
"Are you a Muggle?" Snape snapped the moment he saw Roger pick up a knife. "Can you not use a wand?"
"Professor, is it fine as long as I break it into pieces?" Roger asked, waving his wand once.
Snape stared at him as if he were looking at an idiot, and Roger obediently put the wand away. The silence that followed was far worse than another insult.
"You used a knife to process ingredients before?" Snape asked suspiciously.
Roger nodded. Snape's anger flared so sharply that his already pale face seemed to lose another shade of colour.
"From now on, you will hand in ten bottles each time," Snape said.
"Ten bottles?" Roger repeated.
"Too few?" Snape's voice was dangerously soft. "Then twenty."
He placed Roger's Memory-Enhancing Potion into a cabinet, then took out an old book from inside. The cover was worn, and when Roger saw the title, Herbology, he guessed it must have been one of Snape's own textbooks from his student days.
"Learn this spell," Snape said, throwing the book to him. "Then deal with the moss."
Roger opened it and found notes written in cramped handwriting along the margins. His eyes sharpened when he reached the spell.
"Impressive. To develop Sectumsempra from the Severing Charm…" Roger looked up at Snape with perfect false innocence, praising as if he had no idea who had written the notes. "Professor, who created this? It's incredible. An absolute genius in spellwork."
"Stop talking nonsense and deal with the stag-horn moss," Snape said, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. His tone remained cold, but his steps were quicker and lighter as he turned toward the door. "If you do not finish today, you will remain here and not return to your dormitory."
He left the office without looking back. The door shut behind him, and Roger stared at it for a moment before laughing softly.
"Quite arrogant, aren't you?" he murmured.
Roger sat down and began studying Sectumsempra carefully. As an advanced spell developed from the Severing Charm, it retained the basic structure of a cutting spell while improving nearly every aspect of it.
First, when used to process ingredients, the wand produced no obvious signs. That alone was important, because it would look ridiculous for a potion brewer to cut materials while sparks sprayed dramatically from the tip of the wand.
Its silence, precision, and speed made Sectumsempra almost perfect for processing potion materials in controlled form. With a mere movement of the wand, it could cut objects cleanly and fluidly. Most importantly, it could tear through the material's internal structure, which was crucial when drawing out certain potion effects.
Roger recited the incantation and immediately felt a distinct current of magic. It carried a cold, eerie aura, as if warmth and vitality had been drained away from everything it touched.
Within his consciousness, an ominous vortex churned like the suffocating pressure before a storm. That subtle oppression stirred the darkness hidden deep in his heart, and countless negative emotions boiled up with the fluctuation of the spell.
As the magic released from the tip of his wand, Roger clearly sensed sharp, shadowy blades flying toward the stag-horn moss. The cold and despairing aura made all living things seem as fragile as dandelion fluff before it.
The stag-horn moss split silently in two, as if it had always been meant to be that way.
"As expected of the Half-Blood Prince," Roger murmured, his expression complicated. "His understanding of Dark magic really is profound."
A thought rose in his mind before he could stop it. Could his so-called dark affinity refer to Dark magic?
Roger gave a wry smile, then subconsciously waved his hand. A piece of stag-horn moss snapped immediately without his wand lifting properly.
Roger Williams. Magic Power: 13/15. Mental Strength: 16. Talents: Dark Affinity, Strong Will, Night Vision. Skills: Wandless Spellcasting, Dark Magic, Nonverbal Casting, Advanced Potion-Making. Potions: Blue Moonlight, Memory-Enhancing Potion, White Dried-Fruit Potion. Spells: Sectumsempra Lv1, Reducto Lv3.
"So this is how nonverbal casting is mastered?" Roger said in surprise.
He found that he had somehow grasped both nonverbal and wandless spellcasting. The discovery should have delighted him, but the nature of the spell made that delight feel sharp and dangerous.
"With a natural talent for Dark magic, could I learn Avada Kedavra and secretly kill Voldemort?" Roger wondered to himself.
He continued carefully processing the stag-horn moss, but his thoughts refused to settle. Compared with the spells taught in ordinary textbooks, the power of Sectumsempra was overwhelming, almost existing in a completely different dimension. That only intensified his desire to explore Dark magic further, because such dangerous and ruthless power carried an immense appeal for any wizard.
"What about sneaking into the Restricted Section?" Roger murmured.
A strong urge suddenly rose inside him. He could go to the library at night, and with his simulation ability, surely one attempt would not be a problem. Just once, only once, should not matter.
"Wait." Roger suddenly froze. "Why would I want to go to the Restricted Section?"
Roger was startled. How could his thoughts be influenced?
.....
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