"Let's head back, Hagrid. I'm starving," Harley said, rubbing her flat stomach and shoving the earlier crap out of her mind.
"I could use a shower too. I've got grass all over me and unicorn hair stuck in my braids," she added.
"One strand? Ten Galleons." Lynn snatched a ten-inch-long, silky white hair out of the air like it was nothing.
"Ten bucks?!" Harley and Autumn swapped wide-eyed looks. They didn't even have to hunt—each pulled a rogue unicorn hair from the other's ponytail.
"Unicorn tail hair gets used for wand cores. It's long—like a foot or more. Ollivander swings by every few years to grab some. But the body hair? Worthless. I knit sweaters with it or pad Fang's dog bed. Keeps you warm in winter, cool in summer, and never smells like ass."
Hagrid waved it off. He collected the stuff out of habit, not profit. "You girls want horns? They shed every decade or so. Got a whole sack at home—take a couple to mess with."
On the walk out of the Forbidden Forest, he spilled more wild stories. The trio ate it up like candy.
They hit the edge of the woods around 10:30 a.m.—still too early for lunch.
"I wanna go back, but the thought of climbing eight damn flights of stairs? Hard pass."
Hogwarts was dope with all its secrets, but no elevators and constant stair-master workouts? Brutal.
"Screw it. Let's eat here, shower, change, grab books, and roll to class," Lynn said.
"You cook?" Autumn shot him a skeptical side-eye. She'd seen Hagrid's rock cakes. No thanks.
"Lunch is hot pot. First time trying it, though. Might not be authentic."
Lynn dug into his bag.
[Dang-dang-dang-dang, dang~~ dang-dang~]
That invisible badass BGM kicked in again.
[Pocket Kitchen~]
"Just press the button. It unfolds into a portable kitchen setup. Helps you cook. Only reason I never used it? Built-in fuel's toast and it won't run on firewood. Dead weight."
"Autumn, you know Incendio? Like, Flames Roaring?"
"Oh yeah, second-year stuff. I pre-read it. Should be fine."
The Standard Book of Spells was basically Magic 101—everyday spells, low difficulty. Autumn crushed it.
"Hagrid, can you slice up some tender beef and grab me a tub of beef tallow? Cut it small."
"No problem. Got tons." Hagrid pointed at his garden. "Veggies are over there. Help yourselves."
"Harley and I'll pick 'em." Harley grabbed Autumn's hand, hyped. This was gonna be fun.
"I'll hit the castle kitchens for spices."
Lynn waved and—poof—teleported to the front gates the second Hagrid turned.
The house-elves went full Golden Corral, handing him every spice under the sun. Staring at the rainbow of jars, Lynn shook his head. How the hell did Britain colonize half the planet, steal all these killer ingredients, and still cook like absolute dogshit? Meanwhile, India just yeets the same spices into a pot and slaps?
Unsolved mystery. Needs a damn documentary.
Autumn lit the stove with Incendio. Once the tallow melted, Lynn went full Iron Chef—ginger, scallions, onions fried crisp and fished out. Then soaked chili flakes, Sichuan peppercorns, and spices hit the pan, doused in high-proof Polish vodka cut with Greek ouzo (white wine substitute) to wake the flavors up. Slow-simmered in the tallow.
Thirty minutes later? Bootleg spicy beef tallow hot pot base. Done.
Frozen beef sliced paper-thin. Lean cuts got egg white, starch, and water slurry for tenderness. Marbled rolls stayed fatty. A bucket of fresh beef blood? Salt, water, lemon juice to coagulate, then steamed with ginger and whiskey to kill the funk. Boom—blood tofu.
Add garden-fresh veggies, and the four of them circled up outside the hut for the feast.
Hagrid's appetite was a war crime. Lynn gave him his own cauldron—dude's one "bite" with tongs was a full meal for the rest of them. Two pounds of meat in one chomp? Normal Tuesday.
The cooking was mid, the broth decent, but the ingredients? Chef's kiss. Magical creature meat slaps harder than Wagyu. Even the veggies—grown in magic-rich soil—were stupid crisp, sweet, and massive.
"Never thought of cooking like this," Hagrid belched, halfway through a barrel of firewhisky, face red.
"I'll give you the recipe. You saw how—it's easy."
"Yeah, I can trade spices with the centaurs. Their stuff's insane for stew. Might kill with this. Swing by in a bit."
"Bet. I'll probably invent something even nastier."
Harley and Autumn were sprawled on the grass, stuffed silly, staring at the sky.
"I'm so full. No more meat. I'm gonna blow up."
Autumn poked her tiny food baby. "Can't… move…"
"Lynn, you hear that? You knocked Autumn up."
"Huh?"
Lynn turned. Harley slapped her belly like a bongo.
"Mine too."
"Kid, you're delirious."
While the girls played dead, Lynn was wired. He'd demolished that whole tray of blood tofu. Re'em牛 blood is steroids in liquid form. Not instant Hulk, but strength and stamina boost? Real. He was sweating bullets and pitched the all-purpose tent.
"Gonna swim off this heat. Holler when you're ready."
The indoor pool was small—5x3 meters, basically a kiddie pool—but perfect for burning energy.
After thirty minutes of laps, the fire in his veins cooled.
"Magic food buffs are no joke. One more bite and I'd be screwed."
Lynn wasn't Superman, but he trained. Wandcraft demands focus. Old man Ollivander? Ripped back in the day—eight-pack, could bench a troll. Research, potion-brewing, alchemy—all need stamina. Chug energy potions all you want; if your body's trash, you're done.
"Lynn, we're coming in! Pants on?" Harley knock-knock-knocked on the tent flap.
"Heading back to the castle?"
"Nah—we're swimming!"
The girls, fully digested, ducked inside. Eyes lit up at the pool.
"Got swimsuits?"
"Yeah, but might not fit."
Lynn pointed to the cabinet. Two blue cat-head floaties hung nearby.
"Sweet!"
Harley bolted, yanked open the door. "Tons in here! Autumn, check it!"
"There's a changing corner."
She pulled a curtain—boom, dressing room.
"Lynn, wanna peek?" Harley popped her head out. "Autumn's skin is so pale."
"Harley!" Autumn yanked her back.
"It's fine. Lynn said he's only into tall girls with big boobs. We're safe."
Giggles and chaos behind the curtain. Three minutes later, they strutted out in matching one-piece kids' suits.
"See? Doesn't even glance. Wasted effort?"
"That's gentlemanly," Autumn flicked Harley's forehead. "It's called class."
"But Lynn also said guys—eight or eighty—only want eighteen-year-old hotties. Facts. I used to crush on senior girls."
"So you don't like twelve-year-old sisters?" Autumn growled, pinching Harley's cheeks.
"Love 'em, love 'em, chill—"
"Hey Lynn, how's Autumn look? I picked her suit."
"Thanks… I guess." Lynn barely glanced. Cute? Sure. Sexy? Lol, no. Little sisters and kittens—same vibe: aww, head pat.
"Looks good. Suits you."
Even 22nd-century styles, kid cuts are kid cuts. Lynn's seen oceans. No waves here.
"Can you swim, Harley?"
"Learned in muggle school. One lesson. Unlike Dudley—he flailed like a drowning pig. My cousin. Same school."
"Teach me?"
"Uh… how?"
"Lynn, you—oh, duh. Bookworm. You know."
"Congrats, you're speed-running answers now."
"Swimming's easy." Lynn paddled over. "I'll teach you."
"Cool." Autumn grinned. "Step one?"
"Get comfy. Forget water = death."
Lynn hopped out, grabbed a toy-looking water gun from his bag.
[Dang-dang-dang-dang, dang~~ dang-dang~]
Mysterious BGM, go!
[Adaptation Lamp]
"22nd century tech. Humans live on lava planets or ice moons. Shine this light—24 hours, you're good in any environment. Volcano? Arctic? Vacuum? Underwater? No sweat."
"Uh… cool?" Autumn stared at the plastic gun.
"Mine's old. Junk. Only works 30 minutes."
Click. He zapped them both.
"Now you can't drown. Swimming's cake."
"Now?!" Autumn side-eyed the toy. This ain't magic… it's sci-fi.
"Hand."
Lynn grabbed hers. "I count to three, we jump. Even if it flops, I got you."
"…Okay." She squeezed her eyes shut.
"3… 2… 1…"
SPLASH.
Autumn freaked for a split second—then realized she could talk underwater.
"Whoa!"
"Lynn, where—"
She looked down. Lynn's face was smushed into her chest, arms locked.
"Girls this strong?"
He blew bubbles. Brain go brrr.
"Pervert."
She let go, covering up, glaring—then cracked up. "Kidding. Did I hurt you?"
"Got hit by a steel plate. Dizzy."
"Hmph!" Autumn crossed her arms. "I have them. Swimsuit's just tight."
"Sure, whatever you say."
"Whatever?!" She glared. "You're dead!"
Once you can breathe underwater, swimming's a joke. A few kicks and Autumn surfaced, scrambling ashore.
"You pissed her off?"
Harley floated over, frog-kicking. From Lynn's angle? Flat as an ironing board bobbing on water.
Shwick. Curtain yanked shut. Rustling. Two minutes later—Autumn stormed out in a legit two-piece beach bikini, kids' size be damned.
She bent over, hands on hips. "See 'em now?"
"Autumn, when did you—?!" Harley clutched her chest in horror. "You were flat five minutes ago!"
"Because I needed…" Autumn adjusted, "…a little magic. But they're real." Glare at Lynn. "Apologize."
"Sorry, Apple Sis."
Deadpan. Eyes crystal clear.
"Apple…" She looked down. Two-second silence. "Apples are great!"
"But they hurt when they bonk your head. Like Newton getting enlightened."
"LYNN! YOU'RE DEAD!"
He bolted underwater, dodging like it was PUBG. Mission "Teach Autumn to Swim"? Accomplished. With friendly fire.