Chapter 81: Racing Against Time

"Green sparks?" asked Weasley.

"That's right, green sparks," Xiwen replied with a smile, nodding. "It seems that my habit of adding a little interjection when casting spells confused some classmates."

"So the spell you just cast was 'Ah, Verda' rather than 'Avada'?" Abraxas poked Xiwen's arm, his expression blank.

"Exactly!" Xiwen nodded as if it were obvious. "I told you Professor Lore's lessons are useful, but you wouldn't listen. Now you regret it, don't you?"

"But I don't recall Professor Lore ever teaching you to use the Spark Charm like that..." Mobley felt his worldview shatter; perhaps he'd never be able to take the Killing Curse seriously again.

He imagined seeing a terrifying dark wizard raise his wand to utter the unforgivable curse, only to recall Xiwen scaring young Gryffindor witches with green sparks...

"Pfft!" Mobley couldn't contain himself and burst out laughing.

"Ahahaha—" Abraxas, infected by Mobley's laughter, joined in heartily.

Weasley watched their antics, glanced at the bewildered expressions of the Gryffindor first-years, and felt a powerful urge to laugh himself.

But he held it back. With a strange expression, he untied the bindings on the four Gryffindor first-years. Then he addressed Xiwen and his companions, as well as Moody and his group: "Due to your unauthorized fighting in the Great Hall, Gryffindor and Slytherin will each lose five points!"

With that, Weasley hurried away from the scene, exiting through the Great Hall doors.

Once he was gone, Xiwen and the others could clearly hear Weasley's loud laughter echoing from the entrance courtyard...

After Weasley left, only seven first-year witches remained in the hall.

Moody's three roommates looked uneasy, but their fear of Xiwen kept them from causing further trouble. They turned away and hastily fled the hall.

Moody himself lingered, gazing at Xiwen with a complicated expression, as if wishing to speak but hesitating. Finally, he followed his roommates, but as he passed Xiwen, he muttered a stiff, barely audible "Thank you."

Xiwen chuckled softly and shook his head.

'Moody isn't foolish after all. Playing the villain for him this time wasn't in vain!' Xiwen thought with satisfaction. 'I hope they can stand together like that again in the future.'

"Xiwen, why did Moody thank you?" Abraxas, having overheard Moody's words, asked in confusion.

"Ha, must be something wrong with his head—getting beaten up and then thanking you?" Mobley mocked mercilessly.

Xiwen looked at his two clueless roommates and laughed heartily.

"Who knows? Maybe he really does have a few screws loose!"

...

A minute later, Xiwen's good mood vanished completely.

The three sat at the Slytherin long table, knocking on their plates as usual, waiting for food to appear.

Nothing happened.

Mobley, unwilling to accept it, tapped all the plates, bowls, and cups around them, but the situation remained unchanged.

"Mobley, stop," Xiwen said, taking out his pocket watch and sighing as the minute hand passed the Roman numeral VI. "Lunch service is over."

They had arrived at the Great Hall late, just as the kitchen was finishing lunch. Xiwen, on a whim, had meddled in other people's affairs, causing them to miss their meal entirely.

Abraxas and Mobley were stunned. "Does this mean we'll have to go hungry through Herbology and History of Magic?"

Thinking of the professor's targeted questions in Herbology and the dreary monotony of History of Magic, Xiwen swallowed nervously.

"It seems we'll have to race against time!" He took a deep breath and addressed his roommates. "We have twenty-seven minutes until Herbology. If we're fast, we can take three minutes to reach the kitchen, five minutes to eat, and fifteen minutes to run to Greenhouse One. We have just enough time!"

With that, Xiwen led Abraxas and Mobley at a sprint toward the kitchen in the basement. He scratched the pear in the portrait, and as soon as it became a doorknob, he yanked open the door and called out, "Booty, we need you!"

The enthusiastic house elf Booty quickly prepared a handy sandwich for each of them.

With milk and sandwiches hastily devoured, the trio dashed out of the kitchen and sped toward Greenhouse One.

However, Xiwen had overestimated Abraxas and Mobley's stamina. They barely made it to the teaching block before collapsing against the wall, gasping and refusing to go any further.

"I... I can't do it. If you want to run, run by yourself..." Abraxas panted, utterly defeated.

"I'm the same. My stomach hurts too much!" Mobley leaned against the wall, clutching his abdomen.

"Well, I suppose forcing you pampered young masters to exercise after lunch is a bit much..." Xiwen sighed helplessly.

He glanced at his pocket watch and silently calculated the time. It seemed they might just make it if they walked. "Alright, let's walk. Catch your breath as we go, okay?"

Abraxas and Mobley reluctantly nodded and left the wall behind.

At last, the three arrived at Greenhouse One just as the bell rang for class...

Professor Essard regarded the three students with a sharp gaze, then recognized her old acquaintance—Xiwen.

"What a coincidence, gentlemen!" she said, her tone hardly friendly. "Arriving so late, you must be very confident in your abilities."

"So, who among you can tell me how to deal with those plants in the wild?" She pointed to a squat green plant in a distant flowerpot, covered with yellow thorns. Though she appeared to invite any of the three to answer, her gaze remained fixed on Xiwen.

"This brown-haired gentleman seems quite sure of himself. Why don't you answer?" Professor Essard said.

Xiwen pursed his lips, unable to understand why Professor Essard, who clearly knew his name, insisted on referring to him as "the brown-haired gentleman."

But since he had been called upon, he had to answer; otherwise, the professor might spend the whole lesson lecturing him...

"That's a thorn bush. It fires those spikes at anyone who gets close, but you can destroy it with a fire-starting spell," Xiwen answered. "But it's best to try and avoid them from a distance. When attacked, the spikes retaliate, and anyone nearby is likely to be struck."

Professor Essard pressed her lips together, seemingly unable to find fault with the answer. She waved them back to their seats.

"Why aren't you writing this down?!" she snapped at the other students.

...

...