Chapter 31. Child.
In the following days, Edward always maintained a stance of "aloof but not isolated."
In Charms class, he would sit with Draco, easily making the feather float in the air, even making it spin around his fingertips. Draco invited him to team up for a Levitation Charm duel, but he shook his head: "No need, I want to practice basic spells more."
In Herbology Class, he and the Slytherin first-years repotted Mandrakes together, skillfully putting on earmuffs to avoid the baby-like cries. A Ravenclaw first-year asked him for tips on magic control, and he would offer a few concise pointers - these small favors wouldn't waste much of his time and could even earn him some connections.
In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Quirrell was wrapped in a thick turban, stuttering as he spoke, his voice trembling uncontrollably when discussing Vampires and werewolves. His lessons were shallow, mostly covering basic defensive spells and pop science about Dark Arts creatures. Edward found it somewhat boring, yet he keenly noticed that an odd shadow occasionally flickered beneath Professor Quirrell's turban, and he always deliberately avoided others' gazes, as if hiding some secret. Edward buried this doubt in his heart, diligently noting down the key points of defensive spells in class, and headed straight to the library after class to consult ancient books on Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Draco invited him multiple times to go to the practice field to ride broomsticks or to the kitchen to ask the house-elf for snacks, but he refused them all: "I'm going to the library."
The Slytherin first-years gradually figured out his temperament - this heir to the House of Black did not reject necessary social interaction in class but absolutely loathed boring pastimes. He was aloof, powerful, and his mind was filled only with magic and books.
But everyone had to admit that Edward was extremely protective of his own.
Tuesday afternoon's Flying class was a combined lesson for Slytherin and Gryffindor, and conflict was ready to erupt at any moment.
Neville's broomstick wouldn't listen to him, smashing hard into his nose, and the Remembrall rolled to Draco's feet. Draco picked up the Remembrall, held it high in his hand, and provoked Harry: "Potter! If you have the guts, come and get it!"
Harry mounted his broomstick and flew over like a bolt of lightning. Ron suddenly shouted: "Malfoy is a coward! Slytherin are all cowards!"
This sentence instantly ignited the anger of both sides. The Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years all pulled out their wands, and the sound of spells rose one after another.
Madam Hooch was so angry her face turned pale, but she couldn't stop them at all.
Edward stood up immediately. He didn't take out his wand; a flame just flashed and vanished from his fingertips, and two silent Finite Incantatem spells shot precisely at the first-years in the front row of both sides. The spells that were half-chanted instantly dissipated, and the scene went quiet in an instant.
Madam Hooch seized the opportunity to reprimand them sharply, and both sides reluctantly put away their wands. The Slytherin first-years gathered around, thanking him in a clamor, but Edward only said indifferently: "It's just class; don't cause trouble."
What truly made Edward win the complete approval of the Slytherin first-years was the Potions class on Thursday morning.
The Potions class classroom was on the basement level, damp and dark, with rows of glass jars hanging on the walls, filled with various hair-raising biological specimens. Professor Snape walked into the classroom wearing a black robe, his expression gloomy. His cold Black eyes swept across the room, finally fixing on Harry, and a cold sneer curled the corner of his mouth.
"Class," his voice hissed like a snake, "Potter, I have a question for you. If you add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what do you get?"
Harry nervously clutched the corner of his robe, stuttering and unable to speak.
Snape's smile turned even colder: "It seems you don't take Potions class seriously at all. Gryffindor, take one point."
The Gryffindor first-years let out dissatisfied boos, and a curly-haired girl stood up abruptly: "Professor! You are too biased! There are Slytherin first-years who don't know it either; why don't you take points from them?"
Edward sat in his seat, his fingertips gently rubbing against his wand, but a ripple rose in his heart.
He had read in books from the Muggle world that the language of flowers for asphodel was regret, apology, and lifelong remorse. And wormwood, in magical texts, was often linked to imagery like "reminiscence" and "the past." This question from Snape seemed like a basic inquiry for Potions class, but combined with his almost deliberate targeting of Gryffindor, especially his hostility toward Harry, it was all too intriguing.
Could it be that in Snape's past, there was some remorse related to Gryffindor? Or rather, was this question itself an obscure confession to someone?
Edward's gaze swept over Snape's tense profile and then landed on Harry's bewildered face, and he quickly suppressed these thoughts.
Potions was a rigorous discipline, and the language of flowers was nothing more than a romantic association from the Muggle world. No matter how much Snape targeted Gryffindor, he wouldn't go so far as to use a Potion question to express his feelings.
It was probably just a coincidence.
He withdrew his thoughts, and the moment Snape was about to flare up, he stood up slowly, his voice clear and steady: "Mixing powdered root of asphodel with an infusion of wormwood results in a Draught of Peace, used to relieve minor burns and spasms. Adding bezoar can triple the efficacy; adding valerian sprigs will reduce the efficacy."
Snape's gaze landed on him, and a hint of imperceptible approval flashed in his cold eyes: "Very good, Black. One point to Slytherin."
The curly-haired girl still wanted to argue, but was swept back by Snape's cold gaze. His eyes were as sharp as knives, carrying an indisputable pressure. The girl's words choked in her throat, and she could only sit down dejectedly, not daring to say another word.
The small interlude in class subsided, and Snape continued to explain the Potion recipe. His tone remained gloomy, but he no longer deliberately targeted any Gryffindor student.
The bell rang, and Edward closed his textbook, picked up his books, and followed the flow of people out of the Potions class classroom. He didn't linger, heading straight in the direction of the library, leaving the cheers of the Slytherin first-years behind him.
Returning to the dormitory, Edward had just put down his books when Draco rushed over excitedly, lowering his voice, his tone filled with a bit of agitation: "Edward! I've challenged Potter to a duel in the Trophy Room at midnight! You must come and help me! We're going to teach that savior a good lesson!"
Edward's hand, which was wiping his wand, paused. He raised his eyes to look at him, his eyes filled with indifference: "I'm not going."
"Why?" Draco was stunned, "This is a great opportunity to teach Potter a lesson!"
"Child's play," Edward said indifferently, putting his wand back into its box, "At midnight, I could read half of Advanced Potion-Making, or practice the Incendio spell twenty times. Compared to boring things like dueling, these are much more meaningful."
He paused and added: "Handle your own affairs yourself. Don't cause trouble for Slytherin."
Draco was rebuffed and left dejectedly with Goyle and Crabbe. Before leaving, he looked back, unwilling to give up, only to see that Edward had already opened a thick magic tome, the flame at his fingertips dancing gently on the pages, his whole being immersed in his own world.