The next morning was Saturday, which meant most students slept in. It wasn't until after nine o'clock that they stumbled into the Great Hall, yawning as they filled their plates with breakfast.
Despite a few hiccups, last night's Dueling Class had been a resounding success in the students' eyes. Their only complaint? It was far too short. Too many grudges had gone unsettled, too many rivalries left unresolved.
But the next chance wouldn't come until after Halloween.
"Why can't this class be permanent? At least once a week!" students grumbled.
In truth, Rouse had already fought tooth and nail to make the class happen every two weeks. His original proposal had been just once a month.
The Heads of House believed dueling lessons offered limited benefit. Before honing combat skills, students first needed the foundation of magical knowledge. Weekly duels would lead to exhaustion, not growth.
Rouse, however, had argued that dueling was more than training. It gave students an outlet, a safe place to unleash all their pent-up energy. That argument had struck home with Professor McGonagall, who knew all too well the chaos that came from corralling restless teenagers.
"Tom, what are you doing later?" Daphne asked as she dabbed her lips with a napkin after finishing her last bite of cod.
"Nothing. I'm going to the lake to bask in the sun."
Tom had decided to give himself two days of pure rest. Ever since term began, he had been working nonstop—like a spinning top.
No, not even a spinning top. Those required someone else to crack the whip. He spun all on his own.
"I'd love that," Daphne nodded eagerly. "I'll have Parra bring some sweets."
Astoria opened her mouth, tempted to tell her sister to slow down on the desserts before she really did turn into a little pig. But she clamped it shut—if she dared say it aloud, her cheeks would pay the price. Better to let Daphne indulge now and face her guilt later.
So the three of them dragged along Hermione—who had wanted to study in the library—and headed out of the castle. They sprawled on the grassy shore of the Black Lake.
Hogwarts weather was already turning brisk. Tom conjured a wind shield and lit several floating flames of blue fire, their warmth circling above them. Only then did he settle into true leisure.
Astoria curled up beside him and drifted off to sleep in minutes.
Meanwhile, Hermione and Daphne whispered together, still dissecting the previous night's dueling lesson.
Hermione had been unstoppable, trouncing Gryffindor girls one after another until a fifth-year prefect finally ended her streak. And though she wasn't bragging, there was frustration in her voice.
"I don't understand them," Hermione sighed. "They lose to me, and instead of working harder, they blame me for winning—as if succeeding is some kind of crime. This morning, half of them acted like I didn't even exist."
"They're just jealous," Daphne said bluntly. "My mother always told me—most Gryffindors are small-minded. They hate those who have what they lack, and laugh at those who don't. They're self-satisfied fools who think they're the best. The moment someone outshines them, they feel threatened."
Hermione found herself nodding despite herself.
That description was too accurate.
She'd once tried to help, pointing out mistakes to classmates. But instead of gratitude, she got resentment. Ron was the perfect example. At least, to his credit, he had eventually apologized. Compared to the rest, that made him one of the better Gryffindors.
Still, Hermione regretted her Sorting. When the Hat had given her the choice, she had picked Gryffindor because her books had convinced her that Dumbledore's House was the noblest of them all.
Now, it was far too late.
"Ugh…" she sighed. "Forget it. I don't even want to be their friend. I'm just tired of the nonsense."
"Then don't think about it." Daphne smiled and handed her a slice of Basque cheesecake. "Parra just bought this from Diagon Alley."
Tom tilted his head back, staring at the clouds. He had promised himself idleness, but it wasn't long before his thoughts drifted back to problems.
He had hit bottlenecks.
The centaurs' assistance was waning. Some materials had been successfully improved, but others remained unsolved. After all, centaurs weren't alchemists. Their expertise lay elsewhere.
Tom almost felt guilty—he didn't want to turn them into unpaid labor. To balance things, he had offered a "sweet date." If the centaurs ever faced an existential threat, he would call on Usagi to intervene.
That didn't matter much to them—the Forbidden Forest's ecosystem was stable. As long as Tom didn't stir trouble, the biggest danger had already been removed.
But the second condition? That had hit home.
Tom had promised Magorian he would bring a herd of mares to balance their tribe's lopsided gender ratio. At present, there were far too few females. That meant many stallions would never find mates, and their next generation would inevitably shrink. Worse, if those primal urges weren't channeled, they often erupted as violent conflict among themselves.
So yes—Magorian had been tempted.
The mighty centaur had become a loyal little helper, assisting Tom's research.
Another problem was materials. He had already dissected the Whomping Willow and found it could replace many ingredients. But there was only one such tree at Hogwarts, and it wasn't enough. He needed to acquire several saplings of his own.
Then there was Aberforth.
Tom was starting to suspect the old man had run off with his pocket money. Every time he asked, Aberforth would say, "Soon. Just wait a little longer."
Could it be? Had the old goat decided to disappear, cheating both Tom and his own brother?
Fine. Tom would give him one more month.
If Aberforth still had nothing to show for it… Tom swore he'd butcher that herd of goats he doted on and feast on mutton skewers for weeks.