Chapter 1617 - Ch: 31-40

Ch: 31-40

Chapter 31: Dimensional Reduction Attack in Charms Class

The afternoon was for Charms Class, and the classroom for this subject was completely different from the gloomy style of the Potion Class classroom.

Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, making the entire room bright and warm.

Most of the young Wizards from Slytherin came early, as Professor Flitwick would officially begin teaching the use of spells starting this lesson.

Thus, they were all eager, their eyes revealing a strong desire for power.

Many were flipping through their textbooks, their lips moving silently, clearly intending to perform well in this class.

Sharing the class with them were the students from Hufflepuff House.

The little badgers wearing yellow and black robes seemed more honest and easygoing, gathering in small groups to chat quietly in a relaxed atmosphere.

"Did you prepare?" Signas nudged Daphne beside him with his elbow. She was idly poking an ink stain on the desk with the tip of her wand.

"Prepare?" Daphne looked up, a hint of confusion in her emerald eyes. "Why prepare? Professor Flitwickis a Charms Master, we just need to listen to him, right?"

Signas smiled, "I thought you'd want to be the first student to successfully cast the spell!"

"Oh, please," Daphne pouted toward the classmates nearby, complaining softly, "Competing with that bunch of competitive peacocks is too boring. I'd rather spend that time studying the fashion column in Witch Weekly."

Her attitude toward studying was exceptionally laid-back; although highly talented, she had little interest in diligently researching magic.

Just then, the classroom door opened, and the extremely short Professor Flitwick walked in.

He was half Goblin, half human, with messy gray hair.

He walked straight to the podium and nimbly climbed onto a large stack of thick books, which barely allowed his head to peek over the lectern.

"Good afternoon, class!" he chirped in a high-pitched yet vigorous voice, then pulled out the register and began calling names.

After roll call, Professor Flitwick cleared his throat: "Starting today, we will be learning real spells!"

"Although these are common and practical Basic Incantations, I hope every student masters them diligently, because they are the foundation of your future path in magic, the first brick in constructing the entire palace of magic!"

His words were highly inspiring; even the usually indifferent Daphne straightened up.

Professor Flitwick pulled out his wand, gave it a light flick, and recited toward a piece of parchmentsuspended in mid-air: "Incendio!"

A cluster of bright flames shot out from the tip of his wand, landing precisely on the parchment, instantly igniting it and scattering it as a handful of ashes.

Seeing this spell, Signas's eyes shifted slightly.

He remembered that Draco had used this exact spell to threaten him on the Hogwarts Express.

He subconsciously turned to look at Malfoy, and sure enough, the other boy was puffing out his chest, wearing an expression that clearly said, "I learned this ages ago."

However, Professor Flitwick did not intend to immediately teach this slightly aggressive spell.

He clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention back: "Alright, as a start, let's begin with the simplest and safest spell—Lumos!"

He thoroughly explained the pronunciation of the incantation, the trajectory of the wand movement, and the mental intention required during casting.

"You must imagine light, desire light, and transmit the yearning for light in your heart through your wand! Alright, everyone, take out your wands and start practicing! Believe me, this is not difficult!"

Draco truly felt it wasn't difficult.

For a Pure-blood Wizard who had been immersed in the magic environment since childhood, this kind of Entry-Level spell was as simple as breathing.

He eagerly pulled out his Hawthorn Wand, imitated Professor Flitwick's action, gave a hurried flick, and chanted: "Lumos!"

A faint but undeniable beam of light shone from his wand tip. Although flickering and unstable, he was undoubtedly the first to succeed while most of the class still had no reaction.

"Oh! Very good, Mr. Malfoy!" Professor Flitwick noticed, clapping his hands happily. "Standard movement, clear incantation! Two points to Slytherin!"

Draco's chin lifted even higher. He smugly glanced around, lingering on Signas for two extra seconds, his eyes practically overflowing with boastfulness and contempt.

It seemed that in this moment, he had proven the nobility and excellence of Pure-blood Wizards!

Signas ignored his childish provocation and silently opened his system panel.

[resentment points Balance: 18,753 points]

Relying on Snape and Lord Voldemort, these two "Major Producers of resentment points," he had accumulated a substantial amount of resentment points. He was now full of confidence!

"System, use ten thousand resentment points to max out the Lumos level!"

[Ding! Consumed 10,000 resentment points. Lumos level increased to LV.100 (MAX)!]

A complex and profound stream of information instantly flooded his mind. Everything about the mysteries of Lumos—from the most subtle ways magic flows, to the perfect frequency for combining will and incantation, and the evolution of different forms of Light Elements—was completely comprehended by him at this moment.

He felt that he wasn't learning a spell right now, but mastering a Universal Truth.

He picked up his wand, not even deliberately trying to imitate Professor Flitwick's movement, but simply raising it casually, as if dusting off something, and whispered the incantation: "Lumos."

The next second, the lighting in the entire classroom seemed to dim.

It wasn't that it truly got darker, but rather that all other light was overshadowed by the ball of light at the tip of Signas's wand.

It wasn't Draco's flickering, weak thread of light, but a perfect, soft Sphere of Light, as pure as a full moon.

It hovered steadily at the wand tip, emitting a warm, non-dazzling glow that illuminated the small area around Signas as brightly as day, making even the fine hairs on his face clearly visible.

"Wow..." Someone let out a gasp of astonishment.

Everyone in the classroom stopped what they were doing and stared blankly at the Sphere of Light.

However, this was only the beginning.

Under Signas's mental control, the Sphere of Light began to change.

It first slowly expanded, becoming the size of a fist, and its radiance grew brighter; then it rapidly shrank, turning into a speck of light the size of a grain of rice, yet it remained solid and undissipated, like an enchanted diamond.

Immediately afterward, the Sphere of Light's color began to shift.

Red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, purple... seven colors flowed like water across the surface of the Sphere of Light, finally converging into a magnificent Rainbow Halo, breathtakingly beautiful.

The most astonishing scene occurred.

That Seven-Colored Sphere of Light gently detached from Signas's wand tip, like a living Firefly, lazily stretching itself in mid-air.

It first slowly circled and drifted in mid-air, making a pass around Daphne's head, casting a soft halo that reflected tiny starlight in her emerald eyes.

Then, it playfully floated towards the Hufflepuff side, hovering briefly in front of a few little badgers, causing them to emit stifled gasps, before finally wobbling back to Signas's hand like a tired child.

The entire classroom was dead silent.

Chapter 32: He Is Simply a Model Student!

Draco's mouth was still agape, the look of smugness on his face long frozen, replaced by a ghost-seeing stupor.

He looked down at the faint, trembling light on his own wand tip, which seemed ready to extinguish at any moment, and then looked at the dazzling "Artificial Sun" in Signas's hand. A huge, unspeakable sense of shame and frustration welled up in his heart.

Professor Flitwick, standing on the pile of books, adjusted his small glasses, his eyes shining with fervent light, his tiny body trembling slightly with excitement.

He even forgot he was standing high up, leaping directly from the pile of books in a few hurried strides, letting out a dull thud inconsistent with his size, and quickly rushed over to Signas.

"Merlin's beard..." the Charms Master muttered, his voice filled with unbelievable shock. "This... this peak control over magic! You... you can actually make the light break free from the wand's constraints and form an independent energy body!?"

"Child, how did you do that?!"

As a Charms Master, he immediately saw the trick.

When an ordinary Wizard casts Lumos, the light is attached to the wand, just like a light bulb must be connected to a wire.

But Signas, he directly created a wireless, floating lamp! This is no longer the scope of "learning"; this is "mastery," or even "creation"!

An ordinary Wizard is doing well if the light remains stable the first time they cast Lumos, yet this Muggle-born freshman, in the very first class, has mastered this most basic charm so elaborately!?

Professor Flitwick found it utterly inconceivable.

Signas is Muggle-born, with no Wizards in his family, meaning he had never systematically studied magic before this.

Yet, the first time he encountered Lumos, he reached such an astonishing level!

This can no longer be described as mere talent; he is practically a God of Charms!

"I... I just feel that light should be free," Signas said with a humble smile, uttering a philosophical statement that instantly stunned Professor Flitwick.

"Well said! Too well said! Light should indeed be free!" Professor Flitwick excitedly waved his arms, as if he had heard some magical truth. "Unparalleled talent! Exquisite understanding! Ten points to Slytherin!"

Seeing Signas's success, Draco and the other Pure-blood Young Wizards instantly turned green.

Their proud lineage and Pure-blood superiority were somewhat shaky in the face of Signas's power, which amounted to a dimension-crushing attack.

Nott, standing nearby, was practically whipping his wand, continuously chanting the spell, as if enough force and volume could conjure a light orb of the same size.

Daphne, after several attempts, could only manage a sporadic flash of white light from her wand tip, which always vanished instantly and could not be sustained.

Clearly, she hadn't grasped the knack yet.

Signas dismissed the light orb, leaned in, and gently advised, "Don't use so much force; casting spells isn't physical labor. Imagine yourself in a very, very dark room, and you desperately want to see something, that longing... turn that longing into light."

Seeing Daphne still looking confused, he rephrased it, "Or, just think about the feeling of the sun shining on your face when you wake up every morning—that warmth and comfort. Relax a bit when you chant the spell, as casually as you would savor a delicious pastry."

Following Signas's vivid guidance, Daphne closed her eyes to feel the sensation, then raised her wand again and softly chanted the spell.

This time, a stable, pigeon-egg-sized light orb appeared steadily on her wand tip. Although far less stunning than Signas's, it was significantly brighter than the faint flickers produced by everyone else.

"I succeeded!" Daphne exclaimed in surprise, her emerald eyes sparkling with excitement as she looked at her result.

She hadn't even tried that hard, yet with just a few words of guidance from Signas, she performed better than the classmates who had diligently prepared, giving her a huge sense of accomplishment.

Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Shabini, Pansy, and the others grew even more anxious upon seeing this.

But the more anxious they became, the more uncontrollable their magic grew. Forget a light orb, their wand tips couldn't even produce a spark.

They personally witnessed Daphne, whom they considered a "poor student," making rapid progress under Signas's guidance.

This was undoubtedly telling them: You are incompetent; it is purely your own failure.

Just as Draco was so angry he was about to snap his wand, a figure overshadowed him.

Draco froze, raising his head in slow motion like a mouse targeted by a snake.

Signas was smiling at him, his expression benevolent, like a Priest handing out candy.

But in Draco's eyes, the danger level of that smile was equivalent to being targeted by a Dragon.

He already had a psychological shadow regarding Signas and dared not provoke him casually, only venting his pent-up frustration on Harry and the other Gryffindors during this time.

This also meant it was difficult for Signas to gain resentment points from them anymore.

Sig was quite disappointed by this; he still preferred the arrogant, nose-in-the-air look Draco and the others previously wore.

Since he couldn't earn resentment points now, earning some Galleons should be fine.

Sig was now dirt poor, relying on a Scholarship. He couldn't afford an owl for sending letters, nor a pet that could serve as a hand warmer, and he desperately needed a reliable flying broom!

All these things cost money!

Draco could definitely be considered the richest student in the year. If Daphne received two hundred Galleons a month, Draco certainly received at least that much, if not more!

It would be a waste not to earn money from this fat sheep!

"Do you need guidance?" Signas's voice was gentle like a spring breeze, like a patient, guiding Teacher.

These perfectly normal words, falling into the ears of Draco, who already had a psychological shadow, took on a different meaning.

Guidance?

This was clearly extortion!

It was blackmail!

It was bullying under the guise of "guidance"!

But dare he say no?

He was afraid that if he refused, he would have to stay up all night with diarrhea again when he returned to the dormitory... So he didn't dare refuse. But the thought that his allowance for the month was nearly depleted made his face fall instantly, his platinum-blond hair seemingly losing its luster, looking as if he were about to cry.

"I... I need it..."

Draco thought to himself that it seemed he would have to write to his mother and request an advance on next month's allowance.

"Very good," Signas nodded in satisfaction, patting Draco heavily on the shoulder. "Since we share a dormitory, I'll give you a buddy discount: only ten Galleons per session. Guaranteed to teach you, money back if it fails."

Seeing Draco agree with a mournful face, Signas began his "lesson." He now possessed a max-level Lumos and had an extremely deep understanding of the charm.

He only gave Draco two critical points: first, the magic output must be smooth, not explosive; second, the focus should be on the result of "lighting up," not the process of "waving the wand" or "chanting the spell."

Draco tried it skeptically, chanting the spell. This time, a stable, small light orb also lit up on his wand tip.

"I... I succeeded too!" Draco looked at his result, both surprised and delighted.

"And you two," Signas looked at Draco's two lackeys, Goyle and Crabbe. "A package deal for you two: ten Galleons, guaranteed to teach you."

Draco: "???"

Why?!

Shouldn't the price be the reverse?

He was about to protest when he saw Goyle and Crabbe cheerfully rush over... Soon, after Goyle and Crabbe also successfully cast the light orb, this corner of Slytherin became the brightest spot in the entire classroom.

Professor Flitwick, standing not far away, watched the scene with gratification.

Dumbledore had specifically spoken to him before, stating that given Signas's recent behavior, the Principal hoped he would pay more attention to this uniquely talented but eccentric student and ensure he received proper guidance.

Now it seemed, why did this child need guidance?

He is simply a Model Student!

Not only is he extraordinarily gifted himself, but he also helps his classmates without reservation, understanding how to lead everyone to progress together!

Look at the brilliant smiles on the faces of those three children who were just moments ago looking distressed!

What noble character!

Professor Flitwick stroked his white beard contentedly, feeling that Dumbledore's worries seemed somewhat unnecessary...

Chapter 33: The Plan Must Accelerate

Professor Quirrell's office was tucked away in the most remote corner of the Castle's first floor.

He practically stumbled and scrambled to crash open the door, then slammed it shut behind him with a bang, pressing his back firmly against it as if a Cerberus was waiting outside.

His body slid down the cold door Panel, and he slumped onto the floor, panting heavily.

Cold sweat soaked the hair on his forehead, sticking clammily to his pale skin.

The office was dead silent, save for his own labored breathing.

"Useless."

A sibilant voice exploded mercilessly in his mind.

The voice was cold, venomous, and filled with condescending scorn.

Quirrell's body instantly froze, his bloodshot eyes filled with terror.

"M-Master..." His lips trembled, his voice barely a whisper.

"Answer me, how does that mudblood know this?"

The voice ignored his greeting, every word like an ice-hardened steel needle plunging viciously into Quirrell's nerves.

"How does he know about Soul Possession? The rebounding Killing Curse? Did you, you idiot, leak my secrets?"

As the last word fell, an invisible malice suddenly seized Quirrell.

A searing pain shot through the back of his head, as if a red-hot branding iron had been pressed firmly against his skin.

"Ah—!"

Quirrell let out a miserable shriek, curling into a ball and writhing in painful spasms on the cold floor.

The ridiculous purple turban on his head fell loose, revealing the face that should have been concealed on the back of his skull—a face as pale as wax, noseless, with only two crimson vertical slits for eyes.

At this moment, the face was contorted with rage, looking especially hideous.

"Master, I don't know..." Quirrell was weeping and sniveling, the extreme terror having temporarily cured his stutter. "I swear on my soul! I absolutely have not betrayed you!"

"Oaths?" Lord Voldemort let out a cold, contemptuous laugh. "Unfortunately, I trust no oaths... I only trust myself..."

Before the words finished, Quirrell felt his brain being violently grasped and roughly torn by a pair of invisible hands.

An overwhelmingly powerful will aggressively invaded his mind, brazenly searching through his every memory.

"No... Master... please... ahhh!"

Quirrell's wailing turned into a beast-like roar.

Chaotic images flashed before his eyes: the cowardice of being bullied as a child, the obsession with the Dark Arts in his youth, the terror and ecstasy of meeting his Master in the Albanian forest... Lord Voldemort's will rampaged through his memories.

He saw Quirrell meeting the boy named Cygnus Sharke for the first time at the Leaky Cauldron.

He saw the anxiety when he was dragged by the boy to apply for a scholarship in Diagon Alley.

He saw the towering rage when the Gringotts plan was inadvertently ruined by that brat.

And then, every Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson after school started.

Lord Voldemort watched the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class again.

"...Broadly speaking, isn't he considered another form of 'zombie'?"

"...Just to survive, he made himself neither human nor ghost, like a pitiful parasite."

"...Are they merely using blood lineage to conceal the weakness of their will and the insignificance of their soul?"

Upon seeing this sentence, Lord Voldemort's mouth twitched involuntarily, as if he had been struck by a loud slap.

"...This curse... rebounded onto the caster himself..."

When Signas asked these questions, Quirrell felt nothing but panic and confusion.

This useless wretch truly hadn't leaked any secrets.

The agonizing pain of his brain being ripped apart finally subsided, and Lord Voldemort withdrew his will.

Quirrell lay motionless on the ground like a dehydrated fish, fine traces of blood seeping from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, his entire being seemingly drained of all energy.

After a long time, Lord Voldemort's sibilant voice sounded again, only this time, the voice held less rage and more deep, unsettling confusion.

After a long time, Lord Voldemort's sibilant voice sounded again, only this time, the voice held less rage and more deep, unsettling confusion.

"Coincidence?"

Lord Voldemort fell into self-doubt.

Once is a coincidence, twice is luck... but this, time and again... can there really be so many coincidences in this world?

That boy was like a phantom shrouded in mist, elusive and hard to pin down.

"Master... I will go... deal with th-that boy..." Quirrell used all his strength to squeeze the words out of his throat.

"Silence," Lord Voldemort interrupted him coldly. "Do not provoke him for now. We cannot risk anything right under Dumbledore's nose."

He felt this was more troublesome than anything he had faced before.

"The plan must accelerate..." Lord Voldemort's voice grew colder still.

"Y-Yes, Master."

"That Cerberus, have you found a way to deal with it?"

"N-Not yet, Master," Quirrell's voice was still weak. "Hagrid is tight-lipped, and I... I haven't been able to find an opportunity..."

Lord Voldemort's voice was filled with impatience. "Use that brain of yours, marinated in garlic, and think properly! Go find out! Whatever method you use, that beast must be dealt with!"

"Yes, Master, I... I understand..."

"Get up! Don't lie there like a dead dog! Put your turban back on, and don't let anyone see any flaws!"

"Remember, we must keep a low profile until we obtain the Philosopher's Stone. As for that Shalk..."

"Once I regain my strength, I will personally pry open his mind and see what exactly is hidden inside..."

With that, Lord Voldemort's voice fell silent.

Quirrell struggled, leaning against the wall, slowly pulling himself up from the floor. He picked up the loose turban, and with trembling hands, wrapped it tightly around the back of his head again, layer by layer.

He staggered to the window, gazing at the Castle sinking into the night outside. His body was still subtly trembling uncontrollably from fear... Meanwhile, Sig, who had returned to the Slytherin common room, received another wave of resentment points "contributed" by Professor Quirrell.

Combined with his previous savings, he had enough for one ten-draw.

"System, open the Panel."

A pale blue light screen silently unfolded before his eyes.

"System, ten-draw!"

[Ding! Do you confirm consuming 10,000 resentment points to perform a ten-draw?]

"Confirm!"

Ten streaks of light flashed!

Sig looked over with anticipation, but the smile on his face slowly froze.

Mr. Filch's Collector's Edition Catnip (Top Quality) x 1 can.

Weasley Twins' unfinished Puking Pastilles semi-finished product x 3 pieces.

One Hundred Tips for Talking to Trolls x 1 book.

Self-knotting shoelaces x 1 pair.

Quill that can never write the correct answer x 1...

Chapter 34: If You Suck, Practice More

Signas's heart sank halfway.

Ten thousand resentment points, just for this pile of junk?

Relying on these things, not only could he not deal with Lord Voldemort, but he couldn't even compete with the accumulated resources of the Pure-blood families!

His gaze continued downward, landing on the last item.

[Vintage Flying Broom (Model: Humble Cleansweep 9000)]

Flying Broom!

Signas's eyes instantly lit up!

Finally, something useful!

Although it looked rather tacky, it was still a flying broom, which was better than all that other nonsense.

With a thought, he retrieved the "Humble Cleansweep 9000" from the system space.

Then, he was completely stunned.

The broom before him... was far too unremarkable.

The handle was dark, unpolished wood with natural grain, looking weathered, and even had several dents from bumps.

The twigs at the tail were withered and messy, with a few sticking up stubbornly; it looked exactly like the most ordinary large broom Filch used to sweep the corridors.

No, this was clearly just a regular large broom!

Signas even suspected that the system might have casually pilfered this thing from Filch's storeroom.

He checked the item description, unwilling to give up hope.

[Item Description: It was created by ancient Goblin craftsmen, fusing Dwarf Rune Technology with the "cleaning" magic of House-elves. Only one of this item exists.]

That sounds quite powerful, doesn't it? Signas's spirits lifted, and he continued reading.

[Special Functions:]

[1. Ultimate Stealth: When not activating flying magic, it is just a normal broom. No magical detection can find anything unusual about it. Muggles will nod upon seeing it; Wizards will shake their heads.]

[2. Auto-Navigation: Once a target is selected, it will closely follow the target, automatically avoiding all obstacles. The speed is not fast, but it will eventually arrive.]

[3. One-Click Cleaning: Activate "Cleansweep" mode to automatically clean all dust and debris in a designated area. The cleaning efficiency is comparable to ten House-elves working simultaneously.]

Signas's mouth began to twitch when he read this.

So the main function of this thing isn't flying, but cleaning?

He patiently read the final precautions, where a small line was written in bright red font: This flying broom has high energy consumption and produces immense noise. Please ensure green travel!

???

High energy consumption?

Immense noise?

Signas was completely baffled.

The flying brooms issued during Flying Class at school all come with self-braking Charms; you mount them and fly, requiring no consumption of the rider's magic.

Does this mean this antique broom actually requires the rider to supply the power themselves?

As for the noise... how loud could a flying broom be? Is it going to sound like a tractor starting up when it takes off?

Signas shook his head and stuffed this "cleaning tool" back into the system space.

This ten-pull lottery draw was a total financial disaster!

It looks like he needed to pay a visit to those lovely Slytherin classmates again and recoup some resentment points!

No more random draws next time... Sig walked out of his dorm room and into the Common Room, where he was surprised to find that the usual atmosphere of grand speeches and passive aggression was gone, replaced by a strange studious mood.

Nott and Shabini were writing furiously at the long table, seemingly reviewing Potion Class material.

On the other side, Draco, along with his two lackeys, and several girls including Pansy and Millicent, were practicing spells, each holding a wand.

Sig looked thoughtful. Look at them; even the Pure-blood elite are working this hard. What reason do I have not to work hard to fleece... no, to help them?

He leisurely walked up to Nott, looked at the crooked Potion recipe on the parchment, and clicked his tongue in admiration: "Nott, you are truly diligent!"

Nott subconsciously puffed out his chest, thinking he was being praised.

"However," Signas changed the subject, his tone full of confusion, "if you're so diligent, why couldn't you even cast a Lumos during Charms Class?"

The smug look on Nott's face instantly froze!

"Was it because you didn't want to?"

Nott's face turned ashen.

He wanted to retort, but the facts were undeniable, so he simply glared, his face flushed red from holding it in.

[From Theodore Nott: resentment points +77]

[From Theodore Nott: resentment points +77]

That's more like it!

Sig smiled contentedly and turned to Shabini next to him.

However, Shabini had performed slightly better in Charms Class; his wand had emitted a faint light, so he was quite talented.

"Shabini is here too!"

Shabini looked up, his face showing three parts confusion and seven parts wariness!

Sig simply smiled and asked, "I have a question for you. If there are ten lotus flowers in the pond to be picked, and I pick one lotus, how many lotuses must you pick?"

Shabini had not expected Sig to ask him a riddle at all, and he replied with a strange expression, "I pick nine lotuses? Why are you asking me this?"

"Nothing much. Just telling you that if you suck, practice more!"

Shabini: "???"

He froze for a full three seconds before grasping the implication.

A rush of heat went straight to his head. His already dark, handsome face was now so black it almost reflected light.

It was the truth, but the truth was too hurtful!

[From Blaise Zabini: resentment points +99]

Signas's eyes shone brightly, as if he had discovered a brand new continent.

He had recently noticed keenly that his classmates were becoming somewhat weary, and the output of resentment points had dropped significantly.

So he had to find a way to restore them to their previous adorable state of arrogance and looking down their noses at everyone.

After all, sustainable draining of the pond to catch all the fish is the path to long-term development.

Sig leaned back in the armchair and let out a long sigh.

The sound was not loud, yet it clearly reached everyone's ears.

The few people practicing spells paused their movements and looked over simultaneously.

Sig slowly swept his gaze over everyone present with eyes full of disappointment and world-weariness.

That look was like an elder who had seen everything examining his disappointing juniors.

"I was just thinking," he began softly, his voice carrying the perfect hint of melancholy, "Before coming to Hogwarts, I had high expectations for Slytherin."

Everyone pricked up their ears; even Nott and Shabini stopped writing.

"I thought, what kind of place must a house that could nurture a powerful Wizard like Lord Voldemortbe?"

The moment the name Lord Voldemort left his mouth, a small commotion arose in the Common Room.

The expressions of Draco and the others visibly changed. Most of their families had former Death Eaterbackgrounds, and this name held extraordinary significance for them.

Sig seemed unaware of the change in atmosphere and continued speaking to himself, his tone growing heavier with disappointment: "And what did I find?"

He chuckled softly, full of mockery, "What did I see? A bunch of hothouse flowers who can't even properly cast the most basic Lumos..."

He paused, his gaze landing precisely on Draco's face, then sweeping over Nott, Shabini, Goyle, Crabbe, Pansy... Finally, his voice suddenly rose, striking everyone's heart like a cold whip:

"Where has your ambition gone? Where are your methods hidden? What else has your boasted Pure-blood superiority brought you, besides the ability to win some verbal arguments?"

He shook his head lightly, his tone carrying unconcealed disappointment. "It's true that hearing about it is not as good as seeing it, and seeing it... is even more disappointing!"

That single sentence enveloped the entire room.

The Slytherin Common Room fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the crisp crackling of wood in the fireplace, as if accompanying the quietude.

All the Little Snakes were stunned.

Initially, a flicker of indignation shone in some eyes, but quickly, that stubbornness deflated like a popped balloon.

The Little Snakes valued their reputation. Their faces rapidly flushed red, and they lowered their heads in unison, none able to voice a rebuttal.

Among those present, whose family hadn't produced a few Death Eaters who followed the Dark Lord? Some even had elders who were his classmates... Consequently, the Little Snakes had heard more or less about the deeds of the person whose name couldn't be spoken during his school days, and they had to admit internally that the Dark Lord had indeed been a stunning genius.

And the talent and ability Sig currently displayed, in the eyes of any perceptive person, were even more dazzling than those of the Dark Lord during his school days.

In comparison, they, who prided themselves on their noble Pure-blood lineage, seemed so... mediocre.

Sometimes, pure insults aren't hurtful, but it is precisely this kind of understated truth that acts like the sharpest blade, precisely piercing all their pride and chilling them to the core.

Immediately afterward, the system notifications in Sig's mind came like a bursting dam:

[From Draco Malfoy: resentment points +99!]

[From Theodore Nott: resentment points +98!]

[From Blaise Zabini: resentment points +77!]

[From Pansy Parkinson: resentment points +66!]

...A string of notifications nearly flooded the system panel.

Sig looked at the rapidly climbing numbers on the panel, feeling utterly delighted.

That's more like it!

This is Slytherin!

How can Slytherin lack a sense of pride!?

Now Sig wished these Pure-blood Little Snakes would be a bit more extreme... ideally, one Lord Voldemort per person... only then would the output value be high!

Chapter 35: Could You Be Like Professor McGonagall and Gift Me One?

The next morning, the Great Hall at Hogwarts, as usual, welcomed the owl army during breakfast.

Draco smugly unwrapped the package sent by his mother, Narcissa—a full two hundred Galleons!

The doting mother, hearing that her son was "short on cash" at school, immediately sent a bag of gold.

At the same time, six robust, long-eared owls were jointly carrying a long, thin object tightly wrapped in brown paper, struggling to descend.

Signas was poking the fried egg on his plate with a fork, and like everyone else, he looked up, curiously examining the large package.

Judging by the shape, it was almost certainly a flying broomstick. He wondered which lucky student managed to have their family send a broom to school.

Thinking of the broken broom he had drawn, Sig sighed deeply internally... Unexpectedly, the six owls circled past Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, flying straight toward the Gryffindor long table, finally landing with a "whoosh" right in front of Harry Potter.

The wind from their wings swept the sausages and bacon off the table and onto the floor.

Sig saw Harry rush out of the Great Hall, clutching the package taller than himself, with Ron following close behind, clearly wanting to find a place to open it.

However, as soon as they reached the Entrance Hall, they were blocked by three familiar figures.

Draco, accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle, stood before them like a human wall.

Without a word, he snatched the package from Harry's hand, weighed it, and felt its outline.

"It's a flying broomstick," he immediately judged, then, with intense jealousy visible on his face, he tossed the package back into Harry's arms. "You wait for your punishment, Potter! First years aren't allowed to have their own brooms!"

Ron immediately stepped forward to defend his friend. "Harry made the House Quidditch team!"

"What?" Malfoy's pale face instantly contorted with jealousy. He aggressively leaned forward, nearly bumping heads with Ron.

"Impossible!" Draco shrieked, his gray eyes wide with shock and envy. "First-year students can't join the House team!"

His pale cheeks flushed with angry color. "You must be lying, Weasley!"

"It's true!" Ron puffed out his chest, a triumphant smile on his face. "Dean McGonagall specially approved it! Harry will be the youngest Seeker the school has ever had!"

Draco looked choked. He glared fiercely at Harry.

"Just you wait," he hissed, lowering his voice with unconcealed malice. "We Slytherin will knock you off your broom, Potter."

Friday morning brought another Potion Class shared by Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Professor Snape seemed even gloomier than usual today, his waxy, yellow face tight, as if the whole world owed him Galleons.

When Sig entered the classroom, everyone fell silent for a moment; Snape's poison gas incident last time was truly memorable.

As soon as Snape saw Sig, his resentment points list began to refresh... Snape still couldn't forget that spraying incident... Today, his skill in sarcasm and mockery was undiminished, pushing "nitpicking" to the extreme.

Poor Harry was nearly numb from the criticism, exuding a defeated aura of "whatever, just get it over with."

Sig, however, was much more comfortable.

Every time Snape passed by him with a sullen face, Sig could acutely feel the cold resentment.

[resentment points from Severus Snape +44!]

[resentment points from Severus Snape +44!]

...Although the single amounts weren't large, the frequency was high.

Sig even felt that Snape's patrol route always seemed to unintentionally circle half a lap closer to him.

The moment Snape announced the end of class, everyone sighed in relief.

Just as Sig was preparing to leave, that cold voice rang out behind him: "Mr. Shalk, come with me!"

[resentment points from Severus Snape +66!]

The classroom instantly fell silent, and all eyes focused on Signas.

Malfoy and the others showed undisguised expressions of schadenfreude, as if they already foresaw Signas being dragged into Snape's office and torn limb from limb.

Although Sig wasn't sure why Professor Snape was calling for him now, he maintained a calm smile on his face.

Amidst the complex gazes of pity, curiosity, and secret delight from his classmates, he unhurriedly followed behind Professor Snape.

Snape's office was not far from the Potion Class classroom. He tapped the door lightly with his wand, and it silently slid open.

Sig followed him inside. Glass jars filled with various Potion ingredients lined the shelves on the walls. A complex aroma, mixing various herbs and chemical reagents, immediately assaulted the senses.

Snape sat down behind his large desk, his black eyes, illuminated by the dim light, resembling two bottomless tunnels.

He stared at Signas, as if every word he was about to speak was forced out reluctantly.

"Cygnus Sharke!" Snape drew out the long, threatening tone characteristic of him.

"You can call me Sig, Dean," Signas replied with a smile.

He figured it couldn't be anything major; if Snape genuinely wanted to settle a score, his attitude wouldn't be like this.

Seeing Sig's mature and composed demeanor, Snape's mouth twitched uncontrollably, clearly recalling the previous spraying incident.

[resentment points from Severus Snape +88!]

...Thinking of this, Snape's veins bulged, and he felt an urge to strike.

But remembering the task assigned by the Principal, Snape suppressed the urge to act, closed his eyes, and calmed himself slightly.

"Very well!" Snape opened his eyes again, squeezing the two words out from between his teeth.

He truly did not want to see that face for another second.

But Dumbledore, that old busybody, actually believed McGonagall's nonsense, claiming Sig had amazing talent in flying and should join the Quidditch team to help him "integrate" better into Slytherin.

Integrate?

Snape scoffed.

He felt that letting this boy integrate into Slytherin was like dropping a drop of ink into a pot of soup—it would only ruin the whole batch!

"Presumably, you know something about Quidditch..." Snape said, his face drawn long, in a tone that sounded like a death sentence.

Signas nodded and replied earnestly, "Of course, Dean. It's a sport that heavily tests teamwork. It requires not only exquisite flying skills but also extraordinary talent and a strong heart..."

The more he spoke, the darker Snape's face became, and the veins on his forehead began to pulse.

"Silence!" he growled, interrupting Signas's "popular science lecture." "Do you think I know less about Quidditch than you do?"

Sig immediately shut up, shrugged helplessly, and made a "go ahead" gesture.

An awkward silence fell over the office.

Snape's face cycled between green and white, as if he were engaged in a fierce internal struggle.

Finally, he spoke through gritted teeth, enunciating every word: "You are only a first year, but... the school has decided to make an exception and allow you to join the Slytherin Quidditch team."

Signas paused slightly, showing a look of surprise.

"Your performance during the first Flying Class was seen by Professor McGonagall," Snape explained coldly. "She reported your situation to the Principal. Therefore, your participation in Quidditch... is the Principal's decision. He believes you need to participate in more group activities!"

Signas finally realized it was Professor McGonagall's and Headmaster Dumbledore's idea.

This was actually a good thing for him!

Because at Hogwarts, where entertainment was scarce, most of the school would attend a Quidditchmatch.

With so many people, how many resentment points would be generated?

But there was a complication... Snape's icy stare fixed on Sig, who looked troubled. "Do you have any objections?"

"But, Dean," Signas frowned, a look of difficulty on his face, "I don't have a flying broomstick?"

He glanced at Snape and tentatively asked, "I heard Professor McGonagall gave Harry a flying broomstick. Could you be like Professor McGonagall and gift me one? I think the Nimbus 2000 is excellent; I hear it's the latest model... and it's not expensive..."

"Aha!"

Snape suddenly let out a strange, cryptic laugh—a hoarse and sharp sound, like fingernails scraping a blackboard, making one's scalp crawl.

[resentment points from Severus Snape +77!]

Once he had laughed enough, he abruptly stopped, looked at Signas as if he were an idiot, and snorted a sentence through his nose: "That is your problem... If you don't have a broom, don't even think about joining the House team!"

"Now, get out!"

Chapter 36: The Slytherin Quidditch Team Got Stronger

The Quidditch Pitch on the weekend was bathed in the crisp autumn sunlight, and the emerald green of the Slytherin uniforms was particularly striking.

Marcus Flint, the captain of the Slytherin team, was a fifth-year student who resembled a Troll.

He paced past each team member, his heavy boots making dull thuds on the grass.

This team had won the House Cup for five consecutive years, and at Hogwarts, it was synonymous with Quidditch.

All team members not only had superb flying skills but were also fully equipped with the latest Nimbus 2000 brooms.

But when Flint's gaze swept to Cygnus Sharke, the first-year new student at the end of the line, his already unattractive face twisted even further.

[resentment points from Marcus Flint +10!]

Because Signas exuded the aura of someone with connections from head to toe.

Flint scrutinized him from top to bottom, his gaze finally settling on the 'flying broom' in Signas's hand, his mouth twitching uncontrollably.

[resentment points from Marcus Flint +15!]

What in Merlin's beard was this?

The broomstick was unpolished raw wood, with several dents from bumps; the twigs at the tail were withered and split, sticking out messily.

Flint would bet his front teeth that this thing was at least four hundred years old—back then, flying brooms also had to double as cleaning tools, truly needed for sweeping.

What bothered him even more was that with the arrival of this 'connected' person, the team's original Seeker, seventh-year Terence Higgs, immediately announced his withdrawal from the team to focus on preparing for his N.E.W.T.s.

Reportedly, he wanted to work at Gringotts and needed to achieve enough Outstanding grades.

The sky was falling.

Flint felt his dream of six consecutive championships shattered by this first-year student wielding a fire poker.

Without Higgs, the team only had Signas, this newcomer, who could serve as Seeker. But he didn't look like he could catch a Golden Snitch.

This meant that this year's Quidditch Cup would see Slytherin with a fatal weakness.

Cho Chang of Ravenclaw and Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff were both said to be formidable.

If Slytherin's Seeker was too incompetent, then the room for the Beaters and Chasers to perform would be too small.

The more Flint thought about it, the worse his mood became. He couldn't understand why Dean Snapehad forced such a new student onto the team.

As far as he knew, the boy's relationship with the Dean wasn't exactly harmonious.

Could it be... that the Dean deliberately sent him to suffer?

"Signas, right?" Flint asked gruffly, his tone clearly impatient.

"Yes, Captain, you can also call me Sig!" Signas replied with an eager, excited smile, seemingly oblivious to Marcus Flint's furrowed brow and irritated expression.

Originally, Sig planned to expand his spell tutoring business to save money for a decent flying broom.

However, after Daphne, who had learned the news, dragged him to the Quidditch Pitch for a test flight on Friday afternoon, he unexpectedly discovered the unique qualities of his 'Humble Cleansweep 9000'.

His 'Humble Cleansweep 9000' wasn't fast, but its 'auto-navigation' feature was incredibly overpowered.

As long as a navigation target was set, the broom could automatically plan the optimal route, accurately navigating to it no matter where it hid.

It was primarily 'fully automatic'.

In a Quidditch match, Chasers need to avoid Bludger attacks and opponent interceptions to score by getting the Quaffle into the goal; Seekers must search for and catch the Golden Snitch to secure victory.

Sig found that his 'Humble Cleansweep 9000' was perfectly suited for both positions—

As long as the target was set to the opponent's goal, the broom would automatically evade all Bludgers and opposing players, guaranteeing 100% goal scoring!

If it was to lock onto the Golden Snitch, that was even better.

In a match, Seekers spend most of their time looking for that small golden ball. Daphne had said that a match in 1884 lasted six months because the Snitch couldn't be found.

Sig's broom could directly lock onto the Golden Snitch and auto-navigate—how could he possibly fail to catch it?

"This... broom of yours," Flint narrowed his eyes, suspiciously examining the bare wooden stick, "can it really fly?"

"Don't worry, Captain!" Signas confidently patted his chest, his face full of sincerity. "This broom and I have reached a state of unity! Although it's not fast, its main feature is'stability'! This year's House Cup champion, you can count on me!"

Huh?

Stability?

Champion?

Count on you?

Flint didn't believe a single word.

[resentment points from Marcus Flint +10!]

He had already made up his mind: he would reassign the original Chaser, Drian Pucey, to Seeker, and as for Signas, he would be a mascot sitting on the bench.

Although this meant there would be no substitute, it would at least allow the team to maintain its strength to the maximum extent.

Even if Adrian's skill as a Seeker couldn't compare to Cho Chang and Cedric, he still had the ability to interfere with them catching the Golden Snitch.

This way, with the team's offense centered around Marcus, plus the steady defense of Keeper Bletchley, there was still a great chance to win the championship this year.

During the subsequent training, Signas realized something was wrong.

Flint merely waved his hand, telling him to stay on the bench, then led the main players soaring into the sky.

The Golden Snitch was released, tracing unpredictable paths in the air.

Drian Pucey, reassigned as Seeker, was clearly not accustomed to his new position, chasing frantically and missing the Snitch several times.

"Useless! Are your eyes on your backside?" Flint roared furiously in the air, his voice echoing across the entire pitch.

Signas sat on the cold bench, watching his teammates in disarray in the sky.

As most of the training time passed and Pucey hadn't even touched the shadow of the Snitch, Flint's patience finally ran out.

He landed on the grass, angrily throwing his broom down.

"Who can catch that damned little thing!" He glared around at the dejected team members, like an enraged bull.

Signas stood up, brushing grass off his robes.

"Captain," he said in a very calm tone, "how about I give it a try?"

The entire team's gaze instantly focused on him.

"You?" Flint scrutinized him, suspicion practically overflowing from his eyes.

[resentment points from Marcus Flint +10!]

A suppressed chuckle rippled through the other players.

Flint sighed gruffly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "Everyone go, training ends here today. We'll go back once the Golden Snitch is caught..."

Signas smiled and straddled his 'Humble Cleansweep 9000'. He didn't elegantly push off the ground like others to ascend, but instead grasped the broomstick and muttered a word no one understood.

The next second.

"Thump-thump-thump... Vroom—vroom-vroom—!"

The enormous sound made everyone cover their ears.

[resentment points from Marcus Flint +33!]

[resentment points from Bletchley +33!]

[resentment points from Archie Dolohov +22!]

[resentment points from Bole +22!]

[resentment points from Drian Pucey +33!]

...A tremendous noise, comparable to the roar of a Muggle airplane, erupted on the pitch, drowning out all other sounds!

Flint's mouth hung open. He thought that if this noise occurred during a match, it would definitely drown out the commentator's megaphone!

Then, Sig's dilapidated broom vibrated violently, and a faint, grassy-smelling white smoke spewed from its tail.

Everyone was startled by the commotion, backing away and staring dumbfounded at Signas.

Amidst a chorus of astonished gazes, Signas, broom and all, started up like an old car, wobbling and drawing crooked lines in the air!

"My Merlin..." a team member exclaimed.

Signas, in the air, set the navigation, targeting the Golden Snitch.

"Auto-navigation, activated."

The 'Humble Cleansweep 9000' seemed to receive its command, making an extremely stiff ninety-degree turn in mid-air and accelerating sharply in one direction.

Though its awkward flying posture wasn't fast, it made those below feel their hearts pound, as if it would fall apart any second.

But with an uncanny, aerodynamically impossible gait, it accurately and relentlessly pursued the fleeing Snitch.

Left turn, right turn, sudden stop, then accelerate again!

Just as Drian Pucey was still struggling to find the Snitch, Marcus saw Sig riding that broom directly towards the north stands.

He quickly spotted the Golden Snitch hiding behind the stands, and then watched as Sig perfectly anticipated the Snitch's next move with every turn.

In less than thirty seconds.

Under everyone's stunned gaze, Signas reached out and effortlessly clasped the small golden ball, still vibrating its wings, in his palm.

He piloted the 'thump-thump-thumping,' smoking broom, slowly descending in front of Flint, and dismounted.

"Vroom..." The broom let out a satisfied sigh, sputtered out, and reverted to its ordinary cleaning tool appearance.

Signas spread his hand, revealing the Golden Snitch in his palm, a pure and harmless smile on his face.

"Captain, it hasn't even been five minutes, has it? I told you, it's very'stable'."

The entire Quidditch Pitch was silent.

The same thought surfaced in everyone's minds.

"Dean Snape really has a good eye for people..."

Chapter 37: We Surrender, Completely

Evening, the Slytherin dormitory.

The moment Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle entered the dormitory, they immediately started a frantic flurry of activity.

Goyle diligently set up the table, Crabbe carried a large bag of high-end snacks from the cabinet, and Draco carefully held a delicate set of family heirloom tea ware, his face plastered with a fawning smile.

As Signas, exhausted after just finishing Quidditch practice, pushed the door open and entered, the three immediately rushed forward to greet him eagerly.

Watching their extremely practiced movements, as if rehearsed a thousand times, Signas raised an eyebrow. A wave of unity, friendship, and harmonious bliss washed over him!

It seemed his "educational" work over the past few days had been too successful. The sharp edges of these young masters had been smoothed out, and they had become docile and humble!

But this would cause him to lose a stable source of resentment points.

Just as Sig was secretly lamenting this loss, Draco, still smiling obsequiously, handed over a steaming cup of black tea: "Sig, this is genuine Indian Assam Black Tea. I specially had a House-elf send it. I added a little milk and a spoon of honey. Be careful, it's hot..."

Signas didn't lift his head, merely grunting a response through his nose.

He took the warm teacup. The moment his fingertips touched the cup wall, a line of cold text silently popped up on the system panel in his mind.

[Detected trace Potion components: Living Death Potion (Draught of Living Death), possessing weak lethal and deep comatose effects. System Recovery price: 1 resentment point.]

[Do you wish to recover?]

Signas's movement froze.

He lowered his head and looked at the clear black tea in the cup.

The amber liquid shimmered invitingly under the light, and faint traces of milky white slowly swirled open, looking delicious and harmless.

Draught of Living Death?

He raised his eyes, his gaze calmly sweeping over the three people in front of him.

Draco still wore that stiff, fawning smile, but his eyes betrayed him; a hint of undisguised nervousness and expectation flickered in those gray eyes.

Crabbe and Goyle, meanwhile, stood behind Draco like two door guardians, their fists unconsciously clenched, even holding their breath.

Signas thought to himself, he had assumed they had settled down. Now it seemed they had merely evolved from childish, open provocation to the stage of poisoning him from behind.

They were certainly learning the Slytherin way of doing things.

First, enduring silently, then showing weakness, and finally delivering a fatal blow when you are most relaxed.

He still underestimated these Pure-blood descendants—they still had the nerve to seek trouble with him!

"Levitation Charm!"

Without any warning, Signas's wand was drawn out like lightning, the tip tracing a swift and concise arc.

Invisible magic instantly wrapped around Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.

The three felt their feet lighten, and their bodies floated up uncontrollably, like three cats held by the scruff of their necks, their limbs flailing uselessly in mid-air.

The color drained completely from Draco's face in a flash, turning the same shade as his hair.

The Potion was colorless and odorless, how could he possibly have discovered it?

He hadn't even consumed the Potion, only touched the cup!?

Was it some kind of magic?

"It seems you haven't recognized reality, nor are you completely convinced!"

Signas's voice was so calm that no emotion could be discerned.

He set the doctored black tea on the table and sat down unhurriedly, completely ignoring the three people struggling mid-air, whose faces were turning from white to blue.

He wasn't in a hurry to interrogate them; instead, he opened the system panel with great interest.

Draco's "poisoning" attempt had unexpectedly triggered a new system function—Recovery.

It turned out that besides the lottery draw, the system could also exchange magical items for resentment points.

Signas was instantly intrigued.

This function came at the perfect time.

He currently had quite a few magical items on hand, such as the pile of junk he had previously won in the draw.

Although most of them looked like prank products, items like troll boogers were indeed standard Potion ingredients.

If the system was willing to recover them, he could at least exchange them for some resentment points.

More importantly, living in the Magical World in the future, he would certainly acquire more magical items.

This was equivalent to opening up a stable source of resentment points!

Sig pulled a small crystal vial containing transparent liquid from Draco's bedside cabinet—he would try it out with this vial of Draught of Living Death first.

[Living Death Potion (Inferior Imitation), not owned by the Host, cannot be recovered.]

The system's prompt made him frown. It seemed Recovery had restrictions—items not owned by him were unacceptable.

Sig activated his mind, calling out all the "junk" obtained from his ten-consecutive draws in his System Space, and checked the Recovery price for each one.

After seeing this, his expression gradually became serious.

[Cornelius Fudge's Original Underwear, Recovery price 0.01 points (1 resentment point)]

[Gilderoy Lockhart's Autographed Photo, Recovery price 0.01 points (1 resentment point)]

[One Hundred Tips for Talking to Trolls, Recovery price 0.04 points (4 resentment points)]

[troll boogers, Recovery price 0.1 points (10 resentment points)]

...Looking at the end, even the most valuable item he won, the [Humble Cleansweep 9000] broomstick, had a Recovery price of only 1 point, equivalent to 100 resentment points.

Signas nearly passed out from shock.

One must remember that each of these items cost 1,000 resentment points to acquire. The highest Recovery price was only 10% of the cost, and the lowest was a mere 0.1%.

This system was practically the shadiest merchant in history, with a price difference of hundreds of times the original cost.

However, on second thought, this function wasn't entirely useless.

This cup of tea spiked with Draught of Living Death, even though it was only an inferior imitation, could be exchanged for 1 resentment point.

If it were a large cauldron of high-quality Draught of Living Death, wouldn't that be worth hundreds, thousands, or even several thousand resentment points?

The more Sig thought about it, the more logical it seemed, but then he considered that Potions were expensive to make, and the brewing process was time-consuming and laborious.

Even if he could exchange them for the corresponding resentment points, the profit seemed minimal and the speed slow—far less efficient than harvesting other people's resentment points!

It seemed that to make money using the Recovery function, he would have to find a way to lower the cost of the magical items he acquired. Otherwise, even if he obtained the Philosopher's Stone, he might still lose money if the cost was too high.

Sig's fluctuating expression, seen through the eyes of Draco dangling in mid-air, was an entirely different and terrifying sight.

Draco looked at Signas's silent and gloomy face and felt a chill rush straight from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head.

He couldn't fathom what Signas was thinking at the moment. This kind of unresolved dread, the terror of being completely controlled, was far more agonizing than any direct punishment.

He even started imagining what dark curse Signas was considering using to torture them—Crucio, or turning them into slimy slugs?

Fear finally overwhelmed the last shred of hope, and Draco's psychological defenses collapsed.

"It... it was Draught of Living Death," his voice trembled, laced with a sob, "but... but I only added one drop! Really, just one drop! It won't be fatal, at most... at most, you'll just sleep for most of the day!"

Draco shook in mid-air like the last leaf in a gale. "Sig, this was all... all my idea. I brought the ingredients from home, and I brewed the Potion. It has nothing to do with Crabbe or Goyle! You... if you must punish someone, punish me alone..."

He pleaded incoherently, yet didn't forget to take the blame upon himself.

In that moment, he actually displayed a bit of "responsibility" worthy of a Pure-blood noble—even if that responsibility was entirely born of terror.

Crabbe and Goyle were also terrified, stammering as they tried to speak, but they couldn't squeeze out a single word due to excessive fear.

Hearing Draco's wailing, Signas finally snapped out of his contemplation regarding the system's Recovery price.

He looked up at Draco's tear-streaked face and finally spoke: "You're saying you brewed this Draught of Living Death yourself?"

Draco nodded tremblingly.

Sig looked at Crabbe and Goyle, and the two of them also nodded vigorously.

Sig's attention was no longer focused on the poisoning attempt at all.

He was surprised by Draco's talent in Potions—the Draught of Living Death was a sixth-year curriculum item, and for a first-year student to successfully brew it was truly remarkable.

He suddenly recalled that Draco later seemed to become a key member of the Death Eaters, even having a seat at the Long Table Meeting. It seemed he did possess genuine skill, otherwise Lord Voldemort wouldn't have valued him.

"As for today's incident, I won't report it to the school..."

The three hanging in mid-air nodded like pounding garlic.

"But this vial of Draught of Living Death is an instrument of crime..."

Before Sig could finish, Draco quickly interjected: "I'll hand it over! I'll voluntarily surrender it! I'll hand over all the remaining ingredients too!"

Sig nodded in satisfaction.

Just as the three thought they had escaped punishment, Sig continued: "As for the penalty, old rules apply..."

"Crucio!"

Another crimson light flashed, striking the three accurately.

The three turned pale, but their mood inexplicably stabilized—after being dealt with several times, they were already familiar with this routine and knew that this spell was not the genuine Crucio.

The next second, Sig lifted the Levitation Charm.

The moment they landed, their bodies began twitching uncontrollably.

The three of them were thus forced to dance disco in the dormitory for a full two hours.

[resentment points from Draco Malfoy +5. resentment points from Crabbe +56!]

[resentment points from Gregory Goyle +56!]

...It wasn't until Draco felt his waist was no longer his own that Sig finally lifted the magic on them.

*Thump—!*

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle uniformly dropped to their knees, bowing deeply toward Signas.

"Big Brother, we surrender, we completely surrender..."

Chapter 38: You Guys Keep a Close Eye on Quirrell

In the face of despair, people become increasingly numb.

Draco was now out of options. For more than half a month, not only was he helpless against Sig, but even Dean Snape had been rebuffed by Sig!

Moreover, Sig was getting stronger and stronger, and Draco still couldn't see an opportunity for revenge.

At this moment, Draco suddenly remembered his father's teaching: never go against someone stronger than yourself.

And Signas also felt this change.

He clearly remembered that when he first dealt with Draco and his companions, the young master had a fiery temper, and just a few words could generate fifty or sixty resentment points.

But now?

Even if they were hung up and forced to dance the "Crucio Disco" for another two hours, the resentment points generated didn't increase; the marginal utility was severely diminishing.

Signas increasingly understood the essence of a profound truth:

Leeks cannot just be cut without being nurtured. Occasionally, they need to be fertilized and watered to grow stronger, so that sustainable overfishing can be achieved.

He walked over to Draco, who was slumped on the ground, and gently patted his shoulder.

Draco shivered all over, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, almost springing up directly.

"Draco, you've really impressed me," Signas's voice showed no emotion, but it made Draco's heart leap into his throat.

"To secretly brew the Draught of Living Death..." Signas drew out his words, as if savoring the matter. "Just with this skill in brewing Potions, you certainly have reason to be proud. In comparison, your bloodline and family background seem less important."

This compliment was like a sweet spring in the desert for Draco, making him feel comfortable all over!

After all, Signas was the most talented student in Hogwarts this year—no, in these past few decades—a genius comparable to You-Know-Who... What?

Sig wasn't Pure-blood?

He suddenly remembered his father mentioning You-Know-Who by the fireplace, in a complex and reverent tone.

That Lord was also not of Pure-blood origin—but did that affect Lord Voldemort's Pure-blood prestige?

A month ago, Sig was a Muggle, but that doesn't stop him from being Pure-blood starting today!

If anyone dared to question Signas's bloodline in front of Draco in the future, Draco Malfoy would be the first to object!

Strength is everything!

"Seeing that you still have some 'ambition,' I've decided to give you an opportunity to atone for your mistakes," Signas's voice pulled Draco back from his chaotic thoughts.

"Sig..." Draco struggled to get up, but his legs gave out, and he fell back down.

He simply stayed kneeling, looking up at Signas, his tone more sincere than ever, "It was my ignorance before, it was all my fault! From now on, you are my boss!"

Sig nodded slightly: "Very good." He then looked at Crabbe and Goyle, "What about you two?"

Crabbe and Goyle, who were nearby, also reacted, scrambling over and nodding like pounding garlic: "Big Brother! Ah, no, Boss! Just give us your orders from now on!"

"Very good," Signas nodded in satisfaction.

He slowly raised a finger: "First, starting today, the three of you are to keep a close eye on Professor Quirrell."

"Professor Quirrell?" Draco was stunned, and Crabbe and Goyle exchanged bewildered glances.

Why keep an eye on that stammering Professor who smells of garlic?

"Exactly," Signas explained patiently. "You don't need to do anything special, just record his daily whereabouts and report them to me at any time."

Sig had no choice.

Professor Quirrell had been avoiding him like the plague recently. He wouldn't allow questions in class and would slip away as soon as class ended.

Such a rich vein of resentment points couldn't be left to waste; he had to find a way to explore it further.

Signas raised a second finger, a playful expression on his face.

"Second, I've recently had an idea to recompile a 'pure-blood directory,' which will, of course, be a long-term endeavor."

"What?!" Draco's eyes instantly lit up, and his breathing quickened.

Recompiling a pure-blood directory? What a... what a magnificent undertaking!

"Today's Pure-blood families are a mixed bag," Signas said with a tone of disappointment. "Too many ignorant and untalented good-for-nothings are flaunting their ancestors' glory and swindling people, simply defiling the words 'Pure-blood.' Therefore, I will remove all these imposters from the registry!"

Of course, this was just the superficial reason.

Signas's true goal was to filter out those Pure-blood fools who were both incompetent and pretentious.

The resentment points from such people were often easy to obtain and plentiful, making them perfect'sustainable harvesting resources'.

But to Draco, this was an inspiring and noble goal!

His face flushed with excitement, as if he could already see himself holding a quill, crossing out names he had long found disagreeable.

"And you, you'll be responsible for finding these people for me. Understood?"

"Understood, Boss!" The three said in unison, their eyes gleaming with fanaticism.

Signas stood up, resuming his condescending posture, and changed the subject: "Of course, in return, I will also guide you in learning some... truly useful things..."

Upon confirmation, Draco indeed had considerable talent in Potions.

He had been exposed to Potion brewing since childhood, and his family lacked neither Potioningredients nor knowledge—which showed that the Malfoy Family's education was not bad, but their Pure-blood supremacy ideology had gone astray!

Sig walked to the table, picked up the bottle of Draught of Living Death Draco had brewed, uncorked it, sniffed, and then poured a little onto his fingertip to rub it.

"The Daffodil Root Powder isn't ground finely enough, leading to insufficient medicinal penetration. Also, the sopophorous bean juice was added at least thirty seconds too early, which caused unstable magic during brewing. The effect of this Potion is at most 40% of the genuine article."

The few problems Signas pointed out casually left Draco dumbfounded.

These few sentences precisely identified the most uncertain parts of his brewing process!

He had spent an entire week, poring over reference books, and failed twice before barely brewing this one bottle.

He knew the difficulties and key points better than anyone.

And Signas merely took a glance and a sniff, and explained it flawlessly.

At this moment, a trace of genuine admiration for Signas appeared in Draco's eyes.

He was thoroughly convinced.

Early the next morning, a strange scene appeared in the Slytherin Common Room.

Signas calmly walked towards the Great Hall, followed by three "henchmen."

Draco, like the most obedient attendant, held Signas's textbooks for the day; Crabbe and Goyle, one on each side, walked with chests out behind him, scanning the surroundings with vigilant eyes, looking like two moving door gods.

Many little snakes of Slytherin who saw this scene were so astonished their jaws almost dropped, whispering and discussing amongst themselves.

It wasn't until Signas impatiently waved his hand, telling them to go monitor Quirrell, that the three reluctantly left.

Chapter 39: How Could Poisoning Be Useless?

Over the next month, Sig attended classes and training while secretly keeping an eye on Professor Quirrell's movements.

Thanks to the continuous flow of intelligence from the Draco Trio, Sig gradually figured out Quirrell's strange pattern of activity.

He discovered that the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor often lingered near the corridor on the right side of the Fourth Floor.

He suddenly remembered that during the opening ceremony, Principal Dumbledore had warned students against entering the corridor on the right side of the Fourth Floor.

Could that place be where the Philosopher's Stone is stored!?

Was Quirrell trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone?

One evening, Quirrell showed new movement.

"Boss!" Draco dashed into the dormitory. "Professor Quirrell left his office and headed towards the Forbidden Forest. It looks like he's going to find Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds!"

Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle followed breathlessly, one holding a telescope and the other clutching a crudely drawn map.

Signas sat up from his bed. "Understood. Well done."

A few days ago, he had deliberately gone to the restricted corridor on the Fourth Floor to "casually encounter" Quirrell once.

The moment the man saw Sig, he looked like he had seen a debt collector; the system prompt [resentment points +77] had barely finished sounding before he was gone.

This further solidified Sig's guess—Quirrell must be plotting to steal the Philosopher's Stone!

After all, this object was a crucial item for helping Lord Voldemort resurrect!

"Boss, should we..." Draco rubbed his hands, his face a mix of excitement and unease.

"We'll follow him now," Signas jumped neatly off the bed. "Let's see what he wants with Hagrid!"

The night was as dark as ink.

Hogwarts Castle looked like a sleeping behemoth under the moonlight.

Four shadowy figures, moving stealthily through the shadows of the corners, crept out of the Castle and arrived at Hagrid's isolated cabin.

Signas made a gesture, and the four immediately crouched low, quietly creeping toward the window like four foraging marmots.

Inside the cabin, Hagrid was drinking heartily while gesticulating wildly, showing off his "little darling," with spittle almost splashing onto Professor Quirrell's distinctive large Turban.

"...Have another drink, Quirinus, the brandy you brought is really strong!" Hagrid's voice was seven parts drunk, and he reached out and heavily slapped Quirrell's shoulder, nearly knocking him to the ground.

"I'm telling you, all the treasures I raise are incredibly smart! Take Fluffy, for example. I got him from a Greek fellow, and he..."

"F-F-Fluffy?" Quirrell struggled to push himself up from the floor, his characteristic stutter sounding more urgent than usual. "Is that... the one... g-guarding the Fourth Floor?"

"That's right!" Hagrid slapped the table, making the cups and plates rattle. "Dumbledore borrowed him for a bit! Don't mind that he has three heads and looks scary. Actually... actually, he's very cute!"

Outside the window, the Draco Trio listened, their hearts nearly leaping out of their chests.

A three-headed "good boy"? That was practically a joke from Merlin!

"Then... then he must be very... very difficult to handle, right?" Quirrell asked coaxingly.

"Difficult? Hahaha, not difficult at all..." Hagrid's tongue was already starting to knot up.

Quirrell's heart was in his throat. He fought off the drunkenness, leaning forward, his ears perked up like an alert rabbit, terrified of missing a single word.

Hagrid let out a loud burp, spewing a strong scent of brandy that nearly knocked the leaning-in Quirrellunconscious.

He mysteriously leaned closer to Quirrell, lowering his voice—though the volume still sounded like thunder: "To deal with Fluffy, actually... hehe... it's really simple. You... you just need to..."

Just as the words reached his lips, Hagrid's eyelids suddenly drooped as if weighed down by lead.

His massive head bobbed, eventually hitting the table with a dull thud, followed by thunderous snoring, having completely passed out.

"..." The anticipation on Quirrell's face instantly froze, replaced by uncontrollable fury.

Panicked, he set down his glass, extended his trembling hands, and frantically slapped Hagrid's hairy face: "Wake up! Rubeus! Wake up! What do I need to do? Tell me!"

"Th-that damned... stupid Giant!" Quirrell cursed furiously, completely losing his usual stuttering, cowardly demeanor.

But he himself had drunk quite a bit, and after only two curses, he felt dizzy and weak in the knees. If he hadn't grabbed the table in time, he likely would have followed Hagrid's fate.

Clearly, getting a Keeper of Keys and Grounds with Giant blood drunk was a difficult task for him as well.

Just then, Sig outside the cabin made his move.

Draco and the other two were still a bit confused, not fully understanding the discussion inside, but Sighad understood: Quirrell was trying to extract the secret Hagrid held.

But Sig didn't want him to succeed. If he got the Philosopher's Stone too soon, where would Sig find Lord Voldemort to farm resentment points?

Sig crouched low and silently slipped over to the water barrel next to the cabin, pulled out a small crystal bottle, and poured all the Calming Potion inside into the barrel.

An entire bottle!

"Boss, w-will pouring this in really work?" Draco asked nervously, lowering his voice.

Signas turned back, giving him a look that said, "What a foolish question," and stated calmly, "Of course it works. How could poisoning be useless?"

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle exchanged glances... [resentment points from Draco Malfoy +15!]

[resentment points from Vincent Crabbe +10!]

[resentment points from Gregory Goyle +10!]

"The person inside is coming out, hide!" Signas hissed.

The four instantly dropped to the ground, curling up tightly, completely hidden behind the Giantpumpkins beneath the window.

With a creak, the cabin door was pushed open.

Professor Quirrell staggered out, walked straight to the water barrel, scooped up a ladle of water, and drank it down with loud gulps.

A cool, sweet sensation slid down his throat, instantly clearing the haze in his mind.

"Hmm?" Quirrell paused, feeling clearer than ever before, his thoughts significantly sharper.

He assumed it was the effect of mountain spring water, instantly cheered up, and drew a full basin of water, which he carried steadily back inside.

Signas immediately clung back onto the windowsill like a gecko.

He watched as Quirrell raised the basin over his head and, without hesitation, splashed the water "whoosh" onto Hagrid's large face.

"Awooo!"

Hagrid jerked awake from his sleep as if struck by lightning.

Shaking his massive head to fling off the water droplets, he opened his eyes in confusion and said, "Wha... what happened to me?"

"Rubeus, you just fell asleep," Quirrell said, overjoyed to see Hagrid awake, and continued trying to extract information. "I think you might have drunk too much..."

"Nonsense! I'm not drunk!" Hagrid's booming voice interrupted him. "The brandy you brought is great! Come on, look, there are three bottles left! We can't waste such good stuff, we have to finish it tonight!"

Hagrid now felt refreshed and energetic; the previous drunkenness and fatigue had vanished.

He felt like he could drink three more bottles right now!

This is truly good wine!

It doesn't go to your head at all!

Chapter 40: Quirrell's Turban Gets Blown Away

Without explanation, Hagrid, with his fan-like hands, 'thump-thumped' open all the remaining brandy bottles and filled two enormous goblets to the brim.

He first took a big 'gulp-gulp' himself, then let out a comfortable sigh: "Ha! Refreshing!"

Hagrid licked the spring water dripping from his hair and turned to Quirrell: "Hey, Quirinus, where were we just now?"

Quirrell was secretly delighted, but his expression remained unchanged. He also took a big drink and started talking about the three-headed hellhound again.

Hagrid's conversational enthusiasm only grew. He drank heavily, spitting as he continued to boast about his 'little darling'... Outside the window, Signas frowned.

The calming effect of this advanced Potion was indeed remarkable.

Almost instantaneous!

But why was there no sign of the side effects?

Quirrell was about to extract Hagrid's secret, yet there was no reaction at all?

Signas's heart was pounding.

This wasn't right. Last time, Professor Snape only touched a tiny bit with his tongue, and the side effects erupted like a volcano, unstoppable.

Professor Quirrell drank several large gulps of water mixed with an entire bottle of the Potion, yet he was acting as if nothing happened?

Could it be that the Potion reacted differently to different people?

Because Quirrell had two souls inside him, one of which was the Dark Lord, the Potion's effectiveness was reduced?

When Hagrid in the room became red-faced and boisterous again from drinking, he suddenly slapped his thigh and leaned mysteriously into Quirrell's ear.

Quirrell's heart almost leaped out of his chest. He held his breath, fully focused, his eyes gleaming with greed.

"I'll tell you a secret... to deal with Fluffy... you... you just need to..."

The crucial moment had arrived!

Just then, Professor Quirrell's face instantly paled by three shades, and then his body stiffened abruptly, as if a Petrificus Totalus had been cast on him.

"Gurgle... gurgle-gurgle..."

A strange sound, like a blocked sewer being forcibly cleared, abruptly emanated from beneath Professor Quirrell's robes.

The sound wasn't loud, but in the pause of Hagrid's speech, it was particularly jarring, forcefully interrupting his words.

Hagrid blinked in confusion: "Hmm? What was that sound?"

"N-nothing..." A bead of cold sweat appeared on Quirrell's forehead. An ominous premonition, like a tsunami, surged through his mind.

He decided to hold it in a little longer; victory was within reach. It wouldn't be too late to go to the toilet after getting the information!

"R-Rubeus, just... just what was it?" Quirrell stammered, forcing himself to endure the churning pain in his abdomen and the overwhelming urge that was about to burst forth.

Hagrid was already hazy with drink, completely oblivious to Quirrell's face, which had turned from pale to ashen.

He smacked his lips, his tongue tied: "Ah-ha, this... this is actually very... simple, you... just..."

Just as the last syllable of the secret was about to be uttered, Quirrell's face suddenly turned from ashen to purple. A fierce and sudden 'gas,' like a wild dog unleashed, stormed through his intestines, searching for an exit.

He tried to suppress it with his will, but that force, mixed with the Potion's dominance, was completely unreasonable!

"Bang!"

"Poof!"

"Crack!"

It wasn't just a simple release of gas; it was a series of explosive roars, intensely compressed, then suddenly breaking through the sphincter's restraint!

Three loud bangs, each louder and more shocking than the last, vibrated the windows of the wooden cabin and made dust fall from the rafters.

These three muffled thunderclaps completely drowned out Hagrid's words.

"???" Quirrell's eyes widened, his mind a blank.

Just now... did Hagrid say something? What did he say? He didn't hear it at all!

[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +299!]

[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +299!]

Quirrell felt the abdominal cramps intensifying, but he believed he was only one step away, so he endured the discomfort and asked tremblingly, "Rubeus, what... what did you just say?"

At this moment, an indescribable scent finally spread from its source.

It was a scent with distinct layers.

At first whiff, it was the pungent sourness of old, smelly socks; upon closer inspection, it was the nauseating stench of a rotting Troll carcass; the aftertaste was the toxic gas of old feces mixed with spoiled durian.

Hagrid, who was about to repeat himself, opened his large mouth and took a deep, hearty breath of this concentrated essence.

"Ugh!"

Hagrid's massive body trembled violently. He couldn't stand the smell, which was strong enough to kill a Dragon. He felt his head spin, his stomach churn, and he abruptly turned his head, spewing out the brandy he had just drunk and his rock cakes dinner against the corner of the wall with a loud "whoosh."

He felt his head spin, his stomach churn, and he abruptly turned his head, spewing out the brandy he had just drunk and his rock cakes dinner against the corner of the wall with a loud "whoosh."

At this moment, the toxic gas also mercilessly wafted out the window.

"Holy crap!" Sig almost got taken out by this biological attack the moment he smelled it!

Damn, how many years had this pickled herring can been fermenting to become like this?

The smell was absolutely incredible!

He quickly covered his nose and mouth. Draco and his two companions reacted even more violently. Draco dry-heaved on the spot, while Crabbe and Goyle rolled their eyes, nearly fainting.

Inside the room, Quirrell still maintained his upright sitting posture, but his hands were pressing tightly against his thighs.

His entire body was trembling violently, his cheeks flushed, as if he was engaged in a final, desperate struggle with a demon.

Meanwhile, Hagrid, after throwing up, swayed his huge body, then rolled his eyes and collapsed heavily onto the table, snoring like thunder, completely unconscious... [resentment points from Lord Voldemort +299!]

[resentment points from Professor Quirrell +99!]

[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +399!]

Signas watched the system panel's prompts, flashing with an eerie red light and refreshing frantically, and his heart bloomed with joy.

But Quirrell felt he could still salvage the situation!

He tremblingly shuffled his body, like a crab with its tail tucked in, sidling over to Hagrid, who was sprawled unconscious on the table. He reached out and gently patted Hagrid's back, still trying to extract information.

But just at that moment, another anomaly occurred!

Only a "gurgle-rumble—" sound, like a mountain collapsing and a tsunami roaring, came from Hagrid's stomach, who was lying on the table!

Quirrell's hand froze in mid-air.

Outside the window, Signas's eyes widened, and he instinctively clutched Draco beside him.

Well, well, it was a double kill after all!

Hagrid had also drunk the water Quirrell had splashed!

"Crack!"

A crisp sound.

Quirrell watched in horror as Hagrid's fan-like hand, unconsciously, actually pinched off a large chunk of wood from the edge of the thick wooden table!

This was just the beginning!

Hagrid's massive body suddenly shook, as if a sleeping volcano had abruptly awakened.

Immediately after, accompanied by a tremendous roar that seemed to tear the air, Quirrell felt a strong gust of wind in front of him.

No, that wasn't wind.

It was a shockwave, emanating from Hagrid, erupting suddenly with a pale yellow mist!

"Boom—bang! Bang! Bang!"

The wooden table, wooden chairs, sofa, and storage cabinet in the room seemed to lose their weight in that instant, pushed by an irresistible force, emitting harsh "creaking" sounds, and all moved back half a meter!

The hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling whistled as they flew out the window, as if launched by a catapult.

The brass kettle in the fireplace was even more outrageous; it was actually forced into the chimney by this airflow, and with a series of clanging noises, it shot out of the chimney opening, tracing an arc in the night sky.

For a moment, inside and outside the house, sounds rose and fell.

"Puff puff puff puff puff!" was a dense, drum-like series of short explosions.

"Bang—bang—" was a heavy, muffled thud, powerful enough to shake the roof beams.

"Phew—" finally ended with a long, lingering, trembling tail sound.

Professor Quirrell... he was standing at the center of the storm.

His height reached exactly Hagrid's waist.

Hagrid's moleskin coat was now like a hoisted sail, blown rigid by powerful gusts of air.

And Quirrell stood directly behind the'sail,' enduring the most direct and violent impact.

A series of strong air currents unexpectedly rushed at him, so powerful that they actually smoothed out the wrinkles on his face!

His iconic purple turban bore the brunt, flying out the window like a kite with a broken string, swept away by the gale.

Signas and the trio of Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle desperately covered their noses and mouths, witnessing a scene they would never forget through the window's cracks.

Quirrell's turban was blown away.

His back of the head was thus exposed defenselessly to the air.

On it was a face, pale as wax, without a nose, only two scarlet vertical pupils... [resentment pointsfrom Rubeus Hagrid +68!]

[resentment points from Professor Quirrell +99!]

[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +699!]

[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +799!]

[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +899!]

[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +999!]

[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +999!]

[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +999!]