Easter break—a holiday that, in Eda's eyes, wasn't of much use. During this break, students weren't allowed to leave the school, and they still had to deal with piles of homework assigned by the professors. It lacked all the joy and excitement of the Christmas holidays.
Still, there was some good news.
As the weather warmed, there were more and more pleasant days at school, and even the wind felt warm.
Shedding her heavy winter cloak and changing into lighter clothes, Eda could once again take Garlon for walks along the shores of the Black Lake.
Ever since she had found a way to counter the puppet, Eda had been visiting the underground chamber more frequently. But even with a method in hand, she still hadn't managed to defeat the puppet.
She knew where her weaknesses lay, and she knew how to make up for them—but improvement required a process. After all, Rome wasn't built in a day.
Eda needed to improve her control over spell timing, maximizing the advantage each spell could bring her. At the same time, her attacks had to become more flexible and less predictable, so no one could easily read her patterns.
It was a tough process, and Eda needed both time and determination to correct the bad habits she had formed. Fortunately, Eda was someone who could be ruthless with herself.
And she was still young—time was on her side, and she had the potential to grow into a better version of herself.
While Eda was locked in this struggle with herself, the school remained peaceful as ever. Though Quirrell appeared paler and more emaciated by the day, he still made no moves. The twins even joked that he probably couldn't even get past the three-headed dog, Fluffy.
You couldn't really blame the twins for disrespecting the supposed main villain—Quirrell's image as a total loser had become deeply rooted in everyone's minds. Students believed he might be the weakest magical staff member at the school, only slightly better than Hagrid and Filch.
Filch never showed any magic at all. He always used his tattered broom to clean dust, and students thought it wasn't that he chose not to use magic—he probably just didn't know how.
The Forbidden Forest's guardian, Hagrid, didn't use magic either. Of course, it wasn't that he wouldn't—he couldn't. Even without magic, with his massive build and the little "pets" from the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid still possessed an intimidating presence.
As a core subject professor at Hogwarts, Quirrell had already been lumped into the same category as Hagrid and Filch.
That pretty much said everything about his status at the school.
Even Professor Bathsheda Babbling, who had once admired him, now had conflicting feelings—part sympathy for his situation, part disdain for the pitiful state he was in now.
One afternoon, the sky was exceptionally clear and blue—like the color of forget-me-nots. It was the best weather they'd had in months.
Eda sat on a boulder by the Black Lake while Fred and George rolled up their pant legs and waded into the still-slightly-chilly water. Garlon, the puppy, was bounding around nearby, chasing butterflies.
Fred and George were having a skipping stones contest, with a Sickel as the prize. George's stone skipped five times in a row. Fred, clearly disgruntled, handed over a silver Sickel to his brother and then, in frustration, chucked all his remaining stones into the lake.
"This is getting way too boring. We need to find something to do!" Fred suggested. Things really had been dull lately. The repetitive daily routine was starting to sap everyone's energy.
Eda gently touched her earlobe and said slowly, "How about I make you two a set of revision exercises? Guaranteed to keep you entertained."
"Ay—No need for that," George waved her off, declining Eda's enthusiastic offer. "The exams are still a while away—no need to rush. And besides, we've been very serious in class this year."
"I had no idea I could actually sit still in one chair for so long!" Fred exclaimed. "I'm starting to admire myself."
Eda, channeling her inner sarcastic cheerleader, clapped her hands enthusiastically and said in a mock-serious tone, "Does Mrs. Weasley know just how much you admire yourself?"
"Of course she knows. She must be incredibly proud to have given birth to two such smart and capable sons!" George joined in on the self-praise, not to be outdone by his brother.
"Alright then, you two outstanding Mr. Weasleys—how about we pay Fluffy a visit tonight?"
Eda's suggestion was met with enthusiastic agreement from the two Weasley brothers, and so, at midnight, the three of them appeared in Fluffy's room.
The enormous three-headed dog didn't roar.
It had grown familiar with the trio's frequent visits.
Instead, all six of its eyes locked onto them, silently warning that if they dared to come a step closer, its iron jaws wouldn't show any mercy.
Three-headed dogs were notoriously untamable magical creatures. Aside from their recognized owner, no one could get near them. Though the trio had visited often, they weren't Hagrid—his face alone could get him past Fluffy's guard.
Fortunately, Eda had come prepared. She began to whistle—there was no instrument cheaper than that. She had practiced for a long time just to produce a proper melody. As the tune echoed through the room, Fluffy's massive body began to sway, and soon, it drifted off to sleep.
Fred and George quickly lifted the trapdoor. Beneath was a pitch-black abyss; they couldn't see a thing. Just as they were about to ask Eda what to do, they saw her still whistling—clearly unable to reply—so the brothers gritted their teeth and jumped straight down.
Seeing them recklessly leap in, Eda had no choice but to follow. Luckily, they didn't crash to the ground; they landed softly—on a bed of plants.
A light sparked in the darkness. Eda's Lumos spell lit up every corner beneath the trapdoor.
As the light gradually dimmed, the plant covering the ground extended tendrils like snakes, beginning to wrap around the three students who had landed on it, attempting to strangle the intruders.
The plant moved quickly to entangle the twins, but when it came to Eda, it was much slower—almost as if it were deliberately avoiding the glowing wand in her hand.
"Why does this thing look so familiar?" Fred shouted, his legs bound tightly and unable to move.
"More than familiar—I think we studied this before!" George, who had been struggling, found himself even more tightly bound, his limbs completely restrained.
Thanks to the light from her wand, Eda could clearly identify the plant wrapping around them—it was Devil's Snare, a plant that thrived in dark and damp environments, and strangled anything that got too close with its vines.
"Relax your body. Don't struggle," Eda said to the twins. The Devil's Snare loosened its grip on her as she stopped resisting, and she fell down, landing safely on the ground.
A moment later, the twins also dropped down. They trusted Eda unconditionally—if she told them to relax and stop fighting back, then they obeyed, even if it meant risking being strangled by the plant.
Landing on solid ground again, Fred muttered, "This is the first time I've ever felt so grateful for having my feet on solid earth."
"This thing's Devil's Snare, isn't it?" George said as he massaged his aching limbs. "We learned about it in Herbology."
"Yeah. This big mass of Devil's Snare was probably provided by Professor Sprout," Eda replied, pausing before she added, "just like how Hagrid provided the three-headed dog. So the others must.."
Although Eda didn't finish her sentence, the twins understood what she meant—this indicated that more obstacles, designed by other professors, lay ahead of them.
"Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, that old bat Snape…" Fred began counting on his fingers. "Plus Dumbledore—did I miss anyone?"
"And our dear Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirrell!" George added, having counted one more than Fred.
"Whoever else there is, I just hope there's nothing set up by Trelawney or Professor Babbling," Eda said.
Eda had only attended Divination class once. She had no interest in that vague and mysterious subject.
As for Professor Babbling's Ancient Runes class—it was simply too difficult.
Though technically just another language, the problem was that it hadn't survived in complete form.
Over time, many languages had vanished. Few people spoke Old English nowadays, and Ancient Runes were in a similar state.
Add to that the chaos of the Middle Ages, during which large quantities of runic manuscripts were lost, and the language had become fragmented. Modern wizards could only deduce the meanings of rune characters from the surviving fragments in order to grasp the grandeur of ancient magic.
Often, Eda would painstakingly work through a translated runic text only to find her progress bar barely move—or not move at all—because the translation was full of mistakes, misleading content, or outright nonsense. The system not deducting points or roasting her for reading such drivel was already merciful.
That's why Eda hoped there wouldn't be a trap designed by Professor Babbling up ahead. No one could guess which runes she might have used, whether their meanings were contested, or which interpretation she had chosen to go with.
The unknown, after all, is the greatest source of human fear.
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