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For most people at Hogwarts, the first stage of the holidays was a time for pure entertainment and play.
No classes, no Professors watching over them, no homework deadlines—it was simply paradise.
They could play chess in the common room until midnight, wander around the Castle, have snowball fights in the snow, or lounge by the warm fireplace all day. As for homework? That was something to be considered only before the start of term.
Thus, on the last day before the Christmas break ended, such a scene appeared in the Hufflepuff Common Room:
The crowd that had been laughing and playing just a few days ago had now become silent and taciturn.
Everyone was hunched over every flat surface—tables, chairs, windowsills, and even the floor—hurriedly catching up on homework they hadn't touched.
Quills scratched across parchment, ink bottles were passed around, and occasional groans of frustration rang out.
This was a traditional activity across all Hogwarts houses. It happened once or twice every year, without fail.
Take Edgar, for example.
He was leaning against the sofa by the fireplace, scratching his head as he wrote. His posture was incredibly awkward—slumped against the armrest with parchment spread across his lap, his head nearly buried in the paper. The quill in his hand seemed to have a grudge against him, every stroke written through gritted teeth.
"The old bat is up to no good..." he muttered as he wrote, his voice just loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Who is he trying to kill with all this homework... a five-foot Potions essay... why doesn't he write it himself... he must have nothing better to do every day than torment students..."
Lynn sat not far away, leisurely flipping through a book. The space in front of him was empty, without a single piece of parchment.
Hearing Edgar's grumbling, he looked up and glanced over.
"Alright," he said. "Just get on with it. Yours is nothing compared to Harry Potter's homework; his is the real killer."
Edgar paused.
He looked up, a hint of confusion on his face.
"Harry Potter?" he repeated. "Isn't he a champion? He still has homework?"
Lynn raised an eyebrow.
"Who told you champions don't have to do homework?"
Edgar froze for a moment.
"Uh... no one. I just thought, since champions are so busy preparing for the tournament, the Professors would..."
"Would what?" Lynn interrupted. "Exempt them from homework? In your dreams."
He put down his book and shifted into a more comfortable position.
"I only have special permission from the Professors to skip the foundational stuff. Harry Potter doesn't have that privilege; he can't escape any of the homework he's supposed to do. And..."
Lynn paused, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.
"I heard from Fred... or was it George? Snape gave him an extra five-foot Potions essay."
Edgar's eyes widened.
"Five feet?!"
"Five feet," Lynn nodded. "Just for him alone."
Edgar fell silent.
He looked down at the pile of parchment in front of him—a three-foot Transfiguration essay, two and a half feet of Charms homework, and a foot each for Herbology and History of Magic.
It added up to seven or eight feet.
But that was the sum of all his homework.
Harry alone had ten feet for Potions?
Edgar's mouth opened and closed, and finally, he squeezed out a sentence:
"Snape really hates him."
Lynn shrugged and said nothing.
Edgar took a deep breath and went back to writing furiously, his mind feeling much more at ease.
...
Time slowly approached night.
Outside, the sky had darkened completely, and moonlight spilled through the gaps in the curtains, casting faint shadows across the floor.
But no one was in the mood to enjoy the warmth; there was less than a day left before the start of term.
Time was tight, and the workload was heavy.
So much so that hardly anyone went to the Great Hall for dinner.
No matter how lavish the dinner prepared by the house-elves was, it couldn't compare to the importance of the pile of unfinished parchment. A few students hurried to the kitchen to grab some food and then carried it back to the common room, eating while they continued writing.
The Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall looked exceptionally empty. Compared to the "lively" scenes of the other houses, there were only a few scattered figures on the Hufflepuff side.
Of course, this might have been because Hufflepuff was so close to the kitchen. They could grab food whenever they wanted, so there was no need to sit in the Great Hall.
Night deepened.
The flames in the common room flickered, occasionally making soft crackling sounds. Most of the students had already gone back to sleep.
Take Edgar again, for instance.
He was lying on his bed, with only a few inches left on his parchment. He really couldn't squeeze out any more insights. His hand was sweaty from gripping the quill, and every stroke felt weak.
Suddenly—
Growl~~~
A clear stomach growl came from his belly, sounding particularly loud in the quiet dormitory.
Edgar's movements froze.
He looked down at his stomach, then looked around.
William and Ollie were still buried in their writing, not even looking up.
Edgar's gaze moved away from them and finally landed on Lynn, who was about to head out.
Lynn had already changed into his coat and was holding his wand, looking as though he were going somewhere.
"Lynn!"
Edgar's voice carried a hint of urgency.
Lynn turned back.
"What?"
Edgar pointed at his stomach, a flattering smile spreading across his face.
"Bring me something to eat, thanks."
Lynn raised an eyebrow and looked Edgar up and down.
"You've got a lot of nerve. Is this your attitude when asking for a favor?"
Edgar's smile froze.
He looked at Lynn's half-smiling face, and for a moment, countless emotions flooded his heart.
Anger, helplessness, frustration, and deep regret—regret for using that tone of voice.
But his stomach growled again.
Growl~~~
Louder than before.
Edgar's dignity and survival instinct engaged in a fierce struggle at that moment.
Dignity said: You can't be so submissive! You're a Hufflepuff student! Have some backbone!
Survival instinct said: Can backbone be eaten? You're the one starving to death, not him.
Dignity fell silent.
Survival instinct won.
Edgar took a deep breath and said through gritted teeth,
"Thank you! God Father!"
Lynn nodded with satisfaction.
"Wait here," he said, his tone carrying the kindness of an elder. "Your godfather will be right back."
Lynn walked toward the kitchen. At this hour, very few people were wandering about. Just as he stepped out of the common room, he ran into a familiar figure.
Cedric.
He was also heading toward the kitchen, carrying an empty bag and clearly planning to get food for someone.
"Cedric," Lynn greeted him. "Finished your homework yet?"
Cedric looked up, saw it was him, and gave a bitter smile.
"Not yet," he said, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. "Still have the last two inches. You?"
Lynn shrugged.
"I don't have to write it."
Cedric paused, then nodded in realization.
"Right, I forgot. You have special permission from the Professors."
Lynn smiled, and the two walked side by side.
"Who are you getting food for?" Cedric asked.
"Edgar," Lynn said. "His stomach was growling like crazy, and he begged me to bring him something."
"And you?" he asked. "Who are you getting it for?"
Cedric shook the empty bag in his hand.
"Cho. She's also rushing to finish her homework."
Lynn raised an eyebrow.
"Cho?!"
Cedric nodded, and Lynn fell silent.
Even Ravenclaw students had to rush their homework?
He had always thought Ravenclaws were the type to finish their homework early and then leisurely read books.
"What," he said, "do Ravenclaws procrastinate on homework too?"
Cedric gave a bitter smile.
"Cho said she's been spending all week helping me look at the golden egg and research clues, so she hasn't had any time for homework."
Lynn nodded in understanding.
"Then you definitely should bring her some."
They soon arrived at the kitchen door. Before they could even reach out to push it open, terrified screams from the house-elves came from inside.
Lynn, Cedric: !!!
The two exchanged a glance, and in the next second, their wands had slid from their sleeves into their palms.
Without a word, they both made the same move—sidestepping to the door, backs pressed against the wall, keeping their breathing as quiet as possible.
The elves in the kitchen were still screaming, their voices sharp and piercing, filled with terror and panic.
Cedric took a deep breath and nodded to Lynn.
Lynn returned the look: You open the door, I'll cover you.
Cedric reached out and carefully touched the pear in the painting. According to custom, you had to tickle it to make it laugh before the door would open.
Just as his finger touched the pear—
Lynn's other hand had already risen, and a silent Silencing Charm struck the pear with perfect precision.
The pear had just opened its mouth, but before it could laugh, it was forcibly cut short.
A shiny doorknob quietly appeared.
Cedric didn't hesitate. He reached out and pulled the handle—then both of them dodged to the side, hiding themselves completely behind the door.
"Stupefy!"
"Stupefy!"
Two spells, one after the other, shot through the crack in the door!