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Chapter 116: Malfoy Becomes Smarter
In this regard, Hermione could only silently observe Harry. Fortunately, Harry had long since grown used to it. After all, his life had always been filled with unpleasant people like Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley, Malfoy, Snape, and Filch.
He had already understood that life was not always kind. In fact, if one day no one hated him, he might find the world strangely unreal.
Outside the window, the heavy rain continued to pour. The dark sky seemed to spill ink endlessly from above, ghostly and suffocating.
Harry quickly turned his head back. Inside, the room was warm and bright. The fire in the fireplace cast a soft glow over the armchairs. Gryffindor students sat around—some reading, some chatting, others doing homework. The atmosphere was peaceful and calm.
Fred was busy experimenting, trying to see what would happen if he fed some powerful fireworks to a salamander. He had no intention of taking any safety precautions. After all, everyone here was a wizard—so long as no one died, they could always be sent to the hospital wing.
Perhaps it was because he often got injured during his strange experiments that his thinking had become so unconventional. He always came up with endless bizarre ideas.
The orange-red salamander was technically a protected magical creature, and Fred had "rescued" it. So now, as repayment, it was forced to endure his experiments.
At the moment, it lay gloomily on the table, its belly stuffed with explosive fireworks. It began to swell and burn silently, surrounded by a group of curious onlookers.
Harry had planned to tell Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Quick-Spell correspondence course he had seen, to see if they knew anything about it. As for keeping Filch's secret? That wasn't something any normal person would consider.
But before he could speak, the salamander suddenly couldn't hold back any longer. With a whoosh, it shot into the air like a rocket, darting wildly around the room, scattering sparks everywhere with loud bangs.
Percy shouted hoarsely at Fred, sounding just like Mrs. Weasley. If no one kept an eye on Fred, he would cause trouble everywhere. At times like this, Percy truly admired his mother for raising such a chaotic family.
The salamander continued to burst with orange-red sparks, lighting up the room in a dazzling display.
At this moment, it was no longer a pitiful creature—it had become like a fire-breathing dragon, soaring freely and venting all its grievances in flames. But gradually, its firepower weakened. With one final burst, it vanished into the flames.
After the commotion, Harry suddenly forgot what he had originally wanted to say.
A few days later, Harry finally remembered and told Ron and Hermione about Filch and his Quick-Spell course. Ron burst into laughter immediately.
"I knew it!" Ron laughed, rocking back and forth. "No wonder Filch hates students—he's never been able to use magic himself. Looks like he's just an idiot."
"What's a 'Squib'?" Hermione asked curiously. She felt the term sounded unpleasant.
Seeing her confusion, Ron tried to tone down his mockery. "It's not really something to joke about," he admitted awkwardly. "But it explains a lot about Filch."
"A Squib is someone born into a wizarding family but without any magical ability. They're basically like Muggles—they can't perform magic at all. It's the opposite of Muggle-born wizards."
He paused, then added, "Calling people things like 'Squib' or 'Mudblood' is really insulting—we shouldn't say that. But it does explain why Filch hates students. He's jealous."
Ron looked quite satisfied with his explanation. "And trying to learn magic through those correspondence courses? Everyone knows they're scams. That just proves he's a Squib."
In the final days before Halloween, Harry still hadn't made much progress with his aiming technique on a broomstick. Because of this, he had to make several adjustments.
On one hand, he practiced his "Hawkeye" technique constantly in daily life, making use of every moment. On the other hand, he reduced the time spent practicing it on his broom and focused more on team coordination.
He didn't want to waste all his time chasing a skill he might not master in time, only to end up dragging the team down.
It wasn't easy—actually carrying out this balance was much harder than just thinking about it.
Then came more bad news: Harry learned that Malfoy had also started practicing the Hawkeye technique.
"This is bad," Ron said, noticing Harry's concern. "Malfoy already has a good broom, and now he's learning that detection skill too."
"It's fine," Harry replied calmly. "I don't really believe Malfoy can master it before I do."
He was no longer relying entirely on that ability. After all, casting spells mid-flight without a wand was incredibly difficult.
"Malfoy's gotten a lot smarter lately," Hermione said, clearly surprised. "I can't believe it. Last year he was just arrogant, but now he's actually thinking. He even realized that Hawkeye could be useful in matches—and I've seen him practicing on the field."
This year's Malfoy was completely different. His academic performance had steadily improved, rising from average to excellent. He had also begun training seriously instead of wasting time showing off and causing trouble.
"Well, that's good," Harry said. "At least he won't have as much time to bother us."
Malfoy might not be a good person, but as long as he stayed out of Harry's way, it didn't matter.
As for whether Malfoy would become stronger and harder to deal with—Harry didn't care.
After all, his real enemy was far greater: Voldemort, the one who terrified the entire wizarding world.
Compared to that, Malfoy—no matter how much he improved—was hardly worth worrying about.
(To be continued…)