Chapter 20: Extra Points, Protecting Shortcomings3d

In the Charms classroom, Sharl's focused voice rang out with repeated incantations of "Lumos."

Watching him wave his wand with precision, the little badgers were inspired. Despite their aching arms, they gritted their teeth and pushed through the pain.

Sharl had earned house points for Hufflepuff, and the others didn't want to let him carry the burden alone.

"Lumos!"

"Luma... no, Lumos!"

Though clumsy at first, the little badgers were beginning to master the spell. Mispronunciations grew rare, and one by one, tiny points of light shimmered at the tips of their wands. The ones who succeeded turned back to help their struggling classmates.

Gradually, more lights bloomed in the dim classroom.

By the time the class bell rang, Hannah Abbott, her face flushed with anxiety and effort, clenched her wand tightly and gave a determined shout.

"Lumos!"

Among the Hufflepuff students, the final spark of light flickered to life at her wand's tip.

Professor Flitwick burst into applause.

"Ten points to Hufflepuff!" he declared. "For your effort and unity!"

The little badgers broke into beaming smiles, their exhaustion melting away with pride. Each one of them stood a little taller.

Across the room, however, the little eagles of Ravenclaw looked distinctly less pleased. At the start of class, they had confidently earned ten points for Ravenclaw. But now, thanks to Sharl and the relentless determination of the badgers, Hufflepuff had earned thirteen.

More than Ravenclaw.

In other words—

They had lost?!

Losing to a cleverer opponent would've been bearable. But to be outperformed by Hufflepuff—whom they considered dull—was a bitter pill to swallow.

As the bell echoed through the corridors, the victorious little badgers rubbed their sore arms and left the classroom with shining eyes.

"No more classes!"

"Time to eat!"

"I'm starving!"

"Goodbye, Professor Flitwick!"

Their joy was genuine, infectious. They had earned this.

The Ravenclaws, left behind, stared blankly at the cheerful exodus. Then their eyes turned to Professor Flitwick, some looking almost betrayed.

Professor Flitwick met their gaze with a peculiar smile.

"You find it strange, don't you?" he said lightly. "Among the four houses, Hufflepuffs are often seen as the dullest, while Ravenclaws are thought to be the most intelligent."

"Then why did you lose today?"

He let the silence linger before continuing.

"At the end of this lesson, I want you to remember one thing: cleverness and dullness are not always what they appear."

"More gifted witches and wizards have come out of Hufflepuff than any other house—and not because there were more of them. Throughout history, eagles surpassed by badgers have not been uncommon."

Some Ravenclaws looked down, discouraged. Others fell into deep thought. But soon, the low rumbling of their stomachs brought them back to reality. They were, after all, still children—and hungry ones at that. With reluctant acceptance, they drifted toward the Great Hall.

Meanwhile, the first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins emerged from the direction of the Potions classroom.

But the two groups looked vastly different.

The little snakes of Slytherin strutted in smugly, heads held high.

The Gryffindors, usually full of fire and spirit, were unusually subdued.

At the Slytherin table, Malfoy and his cohorts—Crabbe and Goyle—were laughing raucously, mimicking what had just taken place in Potions class.

"Ah yes, Harry Potter—our new celebrity," Malfoy began in a dramatic tone.

"'What would I get if I added powdered asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'" he sneered.

"'I don't know, sir,'" Crabbe responded in an exaggerated whine.

"'Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?'"

"'I don't know, sir.'"

"'What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?'"

"'I don't know—sir!'" Goyle chimed in.

They fell over themselves in fits of exaggerated laughter, basking in their own mockery.

At the Hufflepuff table, Sharl chewed absentmindedly, his thoughts elsewhere. His eyes flicked to the goldfish plants he had distributed.

From the size of the reward clusters, it was clear: the plant he had given Hannah Abbott was thriving. Its growth rate was second only to Neville's.

In about five days, hers would be mature.

The others would follow within two to three weeks.

By then, Sharl's Magic Perception Enhancement might finally reach the Silver level.

Based on his experience, the system's ability rating was reliable. Each increase in level wasn't just incremental—it was transformative. When his Soil Loosening Charm and Pruning Charm advanced from Black Iron to Bronze and then to Silver, the effects were dramatically enhanced each time.

If his Magic Perception Enhancement could improve by two levels from its current Black Iron, it would likely unlock a whole new realm of magical sensitivity.

While pondering all this, he was interrupted by another wave of laughter from Malfoy and his gang.

Sharl's focus returned to the present.

So, Potions class had played out exactly as in the original story?

Snape had grilled Harry with those same three questions?

Tsk.

Adding powdered asphodel to wormwood didn't just produce the Draught of Living Death.

Those ingredients together—asphodel and wormwood—symbolized eternal regret.

Snape, the eternal tsundere.

But Sharl recalled something else.

Wasn't Neville supposed to have spilled Pimple-Removing Potion on himself again? Covered in boils and sent to the infirmary?

He scanned the hall—and there was Neville, looking pale but unharmed.

Sharl sighed in relief.

Besides being a distant relative, Neville was his most reliable goldfish plant caretaker. He produced a batch every five days like clockwork. If Neville had ended up in the infirmary, who would keep Sharl's supply going?

Just then, the Slytherin boys' attention shifted.

Having tired of mocking Harry, they spotted Neville.

Their laughter intensified.

"But honestly, Harry Potter isn't even the dumbest."

"Merlin's beard, how can someone like Neville Longbottom even exist?"

"Just watching him mess up is comedy gold."

"I still don't understand why he didn't toss in porcupine quills while the cauldron was still heating—what a missed opportunity! We might have seen him explode and cry!"

"You should've heard what the professor said about Neville Longbottom—absolutely savage. Let us reenact it for you..."

At the staff table, Professor McGonagall was scowling deeply.

Professor Flitwick looked disapproving.

Professor Sprout appeared visibly shaken, her face pale with anger.

"Severus."

"You need to rein in your students."

"That's too far."

"And you," she added, voice rising, "you can't keep using cruel words to belittle students!"

"Not everyone is a Potions prodigy like you!"

Snape, seated calmly, didn't flinch. His tone was cold and indifferent.

"That is my teaching method."

"For students without talent, facing that reality early prevents them from wasting their time on Potions."

"As for what students say to each other, those are just... playground squabbles."

"Professors don't interfere in students' personal conflicts. Isn't that our tradition?"

His tone dripped with sarcasm.

"After all, this is the wizarding world, not some fairy tale."

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