"But I'm not introducing him to you until I believe you can handle a pack of eight-eyed Acromantula," Leonard said firmly.
"You're underestimating us. We won't be beaten by a bunch of Acromantula," Fred protested. "Sure, they've got the numbers… and the speed… and the magic resistance… and the venom… alright, fine, they're dangerous. But we'll figure something out."
"I remember seeing a spell in the library specifically meant to stop creatures like that," George said after thinking it over. "Fred, do you remember?"
"I do! I even said that spell would be perfect for Ron," Fred said, clapping his hands. "So the problem's solved, right?"
"No, it's not, Fred," George sighed. "Do you remember which book it was in?"
Fred's face fell. "I thought you remembered."
"Clearly, we both forgot," George groaned, scratching his head. To be so close to striking gold, only to miss it because of carelessness—that was truly tragic.
"In short, if you want access to the Acromantula venom market, you need to prove you can handle them on your own."
Leonard waved a hand. "Enough thinking about it. Let's head back."
"Alright," the twins agreed. Considering that without Leonard they might genuinely have been eaten, they had no complaints.
"But what about the rabbits?" Fred asked, pointing to the ones gnawing on his shoes.
Leonard stared at them in silence for a moment. His mind filled instantly with images—fragrant, spicy, steaming dishes.
Spicy rabbit, cold rabbit slices, stir-fried rabbit, red-oil rabbit bites…
The rabbits, who had been biting their shoes so boldly moments ago, froze. Their fur puffed out in terror, and they bolted in every direction.
With a touch of regret, Leonard said, "What do you think? I'm not eating them."
For all their lively and adorable appearance, these rabbits were still transformed giant spiders—poisonous ones.
Even if the Transfiguration had thoroughly altered their magical flow and essence, the idea of eating them was still unsettling.
Most importantly, Leonard wasn't sure they were even safe to eat.
According to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, you cannot transfigure food.
He wasn't sure if that applied to living creatures as well, but he wasn't going to gamble on it.
Leonard swept his wand toward the rabbits.
"Boom!"
Fireballs erupted, engulfing the fleeing rabbits. With the scent of charred meat rising in the air, one by one the rabbits collapsed, burnt to ash.
Lowering his wand, Leonard explained to the startled Weasley twins, "Professor McGonagall said Transfiguration can't produce food. I don't want these rabbits running into the forest and being accidentally eaten by some creature—or person."
In truth, Leonard simply didn't want to accidentally eat one himself someday.
Even he wouldn't be able to tell them apart from ordinary rabbits.
"Oh, that makes sense." George and Fred nodded, then helped toss the charred rabbits into the nearly solidified swamp to erase all traces.
Only then did Leonard finally comment on the Portable Swamp.
"This version's a big improvement, but there's still room to refine it," he said casually. "If you need materials you can't buy normally, come find me."
"It's just the depth and the duration left," George and Fred said, their confidence returning immediately when discussing their specialty.
"That part's tough, since we never formally learned alchemy. Hogwarts only offers the subject in sixth year," George sighed.
"And even then, everyone's already chosen their future path by then. No one wants to dive into something that complicated. So the class never actually gets offered," Fred added.
"Then go to the Restricted Section. There are enough books there to learn from," Leonard said as he led them back.
"That takes too much time. Those books are insanely difficult—there's a ton we can't understand," Fred said helplessly.
It wasn't just a gap in knowledge. Sometimes, George and Fred simply couldn't understand Old English at all.
The gap between Old English and modern English was even wider than the gap between classical Chinese and modern Chinese.
Leonard had read Old English texts from the Restricted Section himself, so he understood their struggle—but he couldn't help much.
"Then take your time. You're still young," Leonard said lightly.
"You sound like you're older than us, but you're only a first-year!" Fred complained.
"Hmph. There's a saying in the East: 'The accomplished lead first.' Meaning whoever excels in a field is the senior." Leonard shot them a glance. "Aside from age, you two aren't even close to my level."
"Damn it… I hate how much that makes sense," Fred muttered bitterly.
George sighed and patted his brother's shoulder in sympathy.
The three of them joked, bickered, and laughed as they left the Forbidden Forest and headed back toward Hogwarts.
...
Meanwhile, in Hogwarts Castle, inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, Quirrell locked the door. Carefully, he unwrapped the snow-soaked turban from his head, revealing Voldemort's face.
"My apologies, Master…" Quirrell said fearfully. "I have shamed you."
"These are trifles," Voldemort said, opening his eyes. His tone dismissed the matter, but his gaze was filled with venom. "Merely insignificant setbacks on the path to my resurrection."
If he didn't fear Dumbledore discovering him, he would have killed those two brats who dared throw snowballs at his face.
"As expected of you, Master," Quirrell praised, then continued, "I've secured the dragon egg. Soon I'll get that oaf to reveal how to bypass the Three-Headed Dog."
Because Voldemort's consciousness strained Quirrell's body greatly, he was rarely awake when Quirrell was out. Naturally, he had no idea what Quirrell had been doing.
Voldemort wasn't worried about betrayal. Their situation meant if Voldemort died, Quirrell would die. And if Quirrell died… Voldemort would simply find another host.
"Good," Voldemort said. "Judging by your scattered thoughts, you have news to report?"
Quirrell hesitated, then said, "Yes, Master."
"Speak."
"Yes," Quirrell said respectfully. "While I was in Knockturn Alley, I overheard many people spreading a rumor."
"A rumor? What rumor?" Voldemort demanded.
"It concerns you, Master," Quirrell said, wiping cold sweat from his brow. "They say you have returned."
"What!!?"
...
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