HP: Wormwood and Lightning Wood

The first class of the semester was Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class, which was attended by Gryffindors and Slytherins together.

The bright morning light streamed through the stained-glass windows of the auditorium, illuminating the boy's silver-green tie.

West got up early and looked at the Gryffindor long table while having breakfast, only to find that neither Harry nor Ron were there.

Hermione Granger entered the Great Hall carrying a stack of textbooks taller than her head. After quickly finishing breakfast, she took the textbooks to the classroom, her brown curly hair bouncing in the air with her hurried steps.

Sure enough, the bell rang, but Harry and Ron were still nowhere to be seen.

When West and Draco arrived at the classroom just in time, Hermione, the diligent little girl, was already sitting in the classroom reviewing her textbook.

A cat sat upright on the podium, its sharp and majestic eyes scanning the students present.

The Gryffindor girls, oblivious to everything, were still whispering among themselves, "What an adorable kitten~ The professor hasn't come yet, can I go pet it...?"

West and Draco sat together.

Draco whispered to West that it was actually Professor McGonagall's Animagus.

Harry and Ron arrived at the classroom, panting, when the clock tower chimed its second bell.

Just as they breathed a sigh of relief at not seeing Professor McGonagall, the tabby cat on the podium jumped down, unfolded in the dim light of the Transfiguration Charm, and transformed into Professor McGonagall, giving everyone quite a fright.

"I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall, we're lost..." Harry realized what was happening and quickly apologized.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, if there's a next time, I wouldn't mind turning you into compasses—so you won't get lost."

McGonagall said sternly, "Now, sit down right now."

"Transfiguration is the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall gave the new students a stern warning. "If anyone dares to cause trouble in my class, I will ask them to leave and never return."

Professor McGonagall began her lecture.

West noticed that Harry in the front row was scribbling on a piece of paper with a quill, a sign of his frustration.

Then, Professor McGonagall gave everyone a match and asked them to try to turn it into a needle.

West made some notes and gained a general understanding of how to use Transfiguration.

He closed his eyes, recalling the nights he spent at the Dursleys' house, sitting by the window in the moonlight, clumsily mending clothes for Harry and himself with needle and thread—clothes torn by Dudley, or damaged by their magical outbursts.

Harry lay down beside him, dozing off.

With a gentle wave of his wand, West transformed the match in his hand into a cool, gleaming needle.

"West! How did you get here so fast!" Draco exclaimed, noticing the scene and attracting Professor McGonagall's attention.

Professor McGonagall's stern face finally broke into a smile of appreciation, her eyes gleaming with admiration. "Perfect transformation! Precise control of magic! Mr. Potter, for your outstanding performance, Slytherin gets five points."

As class was about to end, apart from West, only Hermione managed to change the match.

After class, West planned to talk to Harry and slip him the breakfast he had packed.

"Harry, are you late?"

Harry gave him a reproachful look, but his mood improved considerably from the warm breakfast. "Oh. You finally remembered me."

West laughed—the first time he had laughed so genuinely since arriving at Hogwarts, because of Harry's long-lost little tantrum.

"Alright, don't be angry. Look, we're still in class together. There's no difference," West said softly, holding Harry's sleeve.

"It's different! We're not in the same dorm anymore!" Harry said irritably. "I had insomnia last night, after all, we've never been apart since we were born."

"That's a shame, but you'll have to get used to it. We'll have to part ways eventually, Harry. We've grown up now," West comforted Harry.

Harry knew West was right.

Although he was still a little upset, all he could say was, "Okay, if you teach me how to turn a match into a needle, I won't be angry anymore."

West breathed a sigh of relief and beamed, "No problem at all."

The second lesson was Defense Against the Dark Arts—a class West was particularly looking forward to. He sat next to Harry, their green and red outfits blending harmoniously in the otherwise contrasting red and green classroom.

To be honest, Quirrell's garlic breath ruined all my expectations. Incidentally, his lectures were terrible.

West frowned the entire time; if it weren't so impolite, he would have even covered his nose and left the classroom.

When West remembered that Ron had just said that Professor Snape also wanted the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, he thought Quirrell might as well leave as soon as possible and give the position to Professor Snape.

Although he hadn't yet attended Snape's class, West was completely convinced of Professor Snape's abilities when he recalled the excellent silent spells he had demonstrated at the Dursleys' house.

Days passed by like this. During this time, they also attended Professor Flitwick's Charms class.

He taught the Levitation Charm in the first lesson.

When West successfully made the feather float, Flitwick was so excited he almost fainted.

Hermione succeeded quickly, and then Harry and Draco, under West's guidance, became the third to succeed.

A boy named Seamus Finigan somehow managed to create an explosion while casting the Levitation Charm, throwing the entire classroom into chaos.

Friday arrived just like that.

This was an important day for Harry—he and Ron had finally found their way to the Great Hall early.

West was having breakfast when he saw Harry brazenly dart over to the Slytherins, squeezing between him and Draco, his red and gold tie standing out starkly against the others.

"Good morning, West, Draco." Harry looked pleased. "May we sit down and eat together?"

West reluctantly pushed the pumpkin juice and honey pancakes in front of Harry.

Draco was pushed aside, and angrily punched Harry. (Harry: It didn't hurt.) "Harry, you know our two houses don't get along, right?"

"So what? West and I are brothers, what's wrong with having breakfast together? Besides, aren't we friends? Draco?" Harry stared intently at Draco with his round green eyes.

When Draco heard Harry say they were friends, he became completely elated and immediately forgot his earlier annoyance.

West tapped his fingertips lightly on the table. "Eat quickly, Professor Snape's Potions class is coming up soon."

"Oh!" Harry pretended to clutch his head in pain, and was about to say something when a sinister voice came from the side.

"Gryffindor's little lion? How dare he come to our snake pack!"

In an instant, West's face darkened as he looked at the newcomer.

Marcus Flint, a fifth-grader, is a typical pureblood supremacist.

Ever since he found out that West was a half-blood wizard, he had never given West a kind look. But West didn't care, since he hadn't caused him any real harm. It was really shameless for a fifth-year student to target a first-year student.

This person actually dared to provoke Harry right in front of him.

Draco's expression was also quite unpleasant. Although he was young, he was backed by the Malfoy family, and he hadn't expected any fool to dare offend him and his friends in front of him.

Harry jumped up, his face ashen, and was about to say something sarcastic when West grabbed his arm.

Marcus looked even more smug. "What savior? He's just a good-for-nothing, all talk and no action..."

Before Marcus could finish speaking, he suddenly lost his voice and his mouth shut.

West put down his wand, looked at Marcus who was under the control of the Silent Tongue-Locking Charm, and smiled insincerely with narrowed eyes, "Senior, if you can't speak, you can shut up."

Harry, standing behind his brother, laughed heartily. "Merlin's coat, you know. It's embarrassing for a Slytherin senior to target a first-year student—West is helping you out, senior."

Marcus was furious. He picked up his wand, only to find that he couldn't utter the spell at all.

The Slytherin table was deathly silent; the students who didn't want to cause trouble had already quietly left.

"What happened?" A somber, familiar voice rang out.

As Snape's billowing black robes approached, West already wore an innocent and puzzled expression. "Headmaster, it seems my senior has suddenly fallen seriously ill. Should I take him to the hospital wing?"

Snape's hawk-like gaze swept across the four people, but the moment his eyes met those emerald green eyes, he swallowed the venom he was about to spray.

He could only look at Marcus with a grim expression and say, "Explain."

Marcus was furious, but he didn't dare to act recklessly in front of the dean, so he could only point to his mouth.

With a flash of blue light, Snape broke the tongue-locking curse for him.

"Dean, West used a spell on a fellow student!" Marcus shouted angrily, pointing at West.

West said slowly, "I didn't, senior. Ask Draco if I chanted a spell."

Draco immediately stepped forward and said slowly in an aristocratic tone, "No, Dean, perhaps it was because Marcus talked nonsense that Merlin punished him."

Draco started talking nonsense. He was holding a grudge against Marcus for embarrassing him like that; he was determined to write to his father when he got back!

"Marcus Flint, Wednesday in the cellar, one week of confinement," Snape announced grimly, then looked at the Potter brothers, "Now, stop your childish tricks and don't cause me any more trouble."

West shielded Harry behind him, nodding obediently. "Professor, we've been very good."

Snape tossed his robes and left.

Marcus was furious and impotent, stamping his feet in anger, but dared not say anything more and immediately ran away.