Avada Kedavra! Guaranteed Vivid Meat!
(Please read on~~~)
Early Saturday morning.
Owen was shaken awake by the Hufflepuff prefect.
The Hufflepuff Common Room lay on the warm, earth-scented basement level of Hogwarts. Unlike the Slytherin dungeons, however, the Hufflepuff area was cozy, bright, and partially built into the slope of the hill. Because Hogwarts Castle sat on uneven high ground, the Hufflepuff basement had windows on one side—round, sunlit, and framed with vines.
Slytherins, by contrast, truly lived underground, beneath the Black Lake.
No sunrise. No warmth.
Just the cold green glow of filtered lake-water.
Just thinking about it made Owen's bones ache with sympathy.
Fortunately, my second playthrough didn't land me in Slytherin.
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The beds in the Hufflepuff dormitory were nothing like those in Slytherin.
Each was shaped like a plump pumpkin—four smooth wooden posts supported a canopy woven from enchanted vines. The leaves and blossoms weren't real, but the magic used to craft them preserved their freshness, giving off a soft, warm glow.
"Hm? A letter for me?"
Owen, still sitting on his pumpkin-shaped bed, noticed a folded scrap of parchment wedged between two flowers on his curtains. No envelope. Just a simple note.
"Owen, you should get going."
Justin's voice suddenly sounded from the doorway.
"Yeah, coming." Owen shoved the parchment casually into his coat pocket.
With a flick of his hand, the vines of the canopy stretched and parted.
Golden morning sunlight spilled across the room.
After washing up, Owen and the other first-years crawled through the entrance tunnel—past the wooden barrels—into the Hufflepuff Common Room.
Warm, abundant sunlight streamed in through the round windows.
Herbs and green plants hung from the low ceiling.
A pumpkin-shaped table sat in the center, and plates of pastries appeared continuously on polished yellow stone tables.
Sweet tea bubbled in little kettles.
Hufflepuffs might not excel at everything, but one thing was certain:
their students never went hungry.
"Owen, sit over there,"
Prefect Truman called, seated in a circle of armchairs. He gestured for Owen to take the spot beside Justin.
"It's just a casual first-year meet-and-greet. Relax."
After everyone settled, Truman stood and spoke:
"It's Hufflepuff tradition to hold a welcome gathering in the first week. Each of you will introduce yourselves, share your favorite spells—even harmless prank spells—and talk about anything troubling you at Hogwarts so far."
So Hufflepuff!
Owen grabbed a licorice pumpkin pasty from a platter and took a satisfied bite.
This was Hufflepuff talk-time.
I love talk-time.
The first-years gradually relaxed.
They shared family stories, funny childhood magic accidents, and the handful of spells they'd managed to learn.
The atmosphere grew warm—gentle—distinctly Hufflepuff.
As Owen listened and munched his breakfast, he noticed something surprising:
there were actually many pure-blood families among Hufflepuff's ranks.
Here, "pure-blood" simply meant that both parents were wizards—not ancient, elite families like the Blacks or Malfoys. Most came from ordinary Ministry workers or small wizarding communities.
Gryffindor and Slytherin might fight for the spotlight, but in truth,
most of the wizarding population resembled Hufflepuff.
The quiet majority.
No wonder Slytherin lost in the end; the masses stood with Gryffindor.
Voldemort simply had no support.
Introductions went on for roughly half an hour.
After Justin finished describing his Muggle family, Truman looked at Owen.
"Owen, your turn."
He had intentionally saved Owen for last—after the Sorting Ceremony incident, Truman wasn't taking any chances.
"Oh, right." Owen set down his teacup and spoke:
"Well, I'm probably half-blood. My mum was a witch, and my father was a Muggle—or so I've guessed from my orphanage records."
"I think I was born in Paris. My grandfather brought me to Britain when I was four or five."
"What? Owen, you're an orphan?" Justin blurted.
Dozens of eyes turned toward him.
Rumors had been circulating that Owen was the heir of some ancient pure-blood line—otherwise, how did he act so boldly, so fearlessly?
No one expected his past to be so bleak.
"My grandfather and I aren't related by blood. If you want to call me an orphan, then yeah—I am." Owen shrugged.
A hush fell.
Several students shifted in their seats.
Guilt flickered across many faces.
Even Hannah's eyes glistened—tears forming as she imagined Owen's lonely childhood. His stubborn, unruly behavior now seemed like the scarred result of hardship, not arrogance.
How tragic…!
They were moments away from collectively composing a million-word tragic novel in their heads.
Then Owen ruined it.
"As for spells I'm good at—I like using the Big Melon Spell!"
Truman froze.
A shadow darkened his expression.
The younger students looked confused, but Truman—who was a sixth-year—knew exactly what Owen meant.
The "big melon" spell.
He must mean—
the Killing Curse. The Unforgivable Curse.
"Ahem—Owen, you're joking." Truman forced a smile. "No one would teach an eleven-year-old the Killing Curse."
Owen frowned. "I'm not lying at all! The shiny green Big Gourd Spell is incredible! Best spell I've ever seen!"
"Instant kill. Leaves no marks on the body. My grandfather used it all the time on magical beasts—well, on animals. Ordinary animals."
"Let me tell you! Animals killed by the Big Gourd Spell taste even better than normal meat—the magic keeps the flavor perfectly intact!"
"I think every Hufflepuff should learn this spell!"
Silence.
Absolute, suffocating silence.
Please… please let him be talking about animals…
Truman's soul teetered on the edge.
This was not talk-time.
This was testimony in a criminal trial.
Any adult casually demonstrating an Unforgivable Curse in front of a child was a certified dark wizard.
Truman's temples throbbed.
He needed to report this.
To Professor Sprout.
To the Headmaster.
To the Ministry.
To literally anyone.
"Ahem—Owen… you do know using Unforgivable Curses can get you sent to Azkaban, right?"
"Yup!" Owen's gray eyes sparkled. "As long as I don't get caught, it's fine!"
Truman's sanity cracked just a little.