"Sir, is very happy to serve you. What would you like?"
Maybe it was just Arthur's imagination, but this house-elf who had lived in the East seed more pleasing to the eye.
"I heard you can cook Oriental food. Can you make breakfast?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I'll have soy milk, stead buns, and fried dough sticks. Oh, and these four legs—prepare them with garlic vermicelli."
Arthur handed over four spider legs.
"Of course, sir! Please wait in the dining hall. will bring it right away."
He sat down, and before long, a plate of authentic Oriental breakfast appeared before him.
"Cousin? Up this early again? Don't tell you didn't sleep?"
The little witch's intuition was sharp.
Arthur didn't answer. He just rolled his eyes and dug into his food. After a whole night of work, his stomach was growling.
What? You say it was only his avatar working, not him? Please—ntal labor is still labor.
That's when Hermione noticed his al.
"Cousin, is that the soy milk you made before? Did you wake up early to cook?"
"No, it's the house-elves. If you ever want sothing special, just ask them."
Arthur shook his head. He had to admit, the elves' cooking was top notch.
"You can do that? Where's the kitchen? I want to try next ti!"
"Directly under the Great Hall. On the way to the Hufflepuff dorm, there's a painting of fruit. Just tickle the pear—it'll laugh and turn into a doorknob. The kitchen's right behind."
"Marvelous!"
Just then, his spider legs arrived.
The hair had been scrubbed off, the legs halved, topped with garlic and vermicelli, garnished with scallions. Authentic preparation—clearly, knew her craft.
Hermione stared at the four strange legs on Arthur's plate.
"What's that? King crab legs?"
"Nope. Spider legs."
Hermione: ???
"Those things… edible?"
"Don't know. I'm about to find out."
He speared a piece. The at was pale, stringy—uncannily like crab.
As he chewed, Hermione asked curiously, "Well? How is it?"
"Not bad. Fresh, springy, fragrant."
"Really? Then I'll try."
"Hm? You're not scared?" Arthur asked, surprised. Weren't girls supposed to hate creepy-crawlies?
"Why would I be? It's cooked already."
She trusted her cousin's judgnt. A good cook always had a good palate. If he said it was tasty, it couldn't be bad.
At that mont, Harry and Ron walked in.
"Hey, what're you guys eating?"
"Delicacy. Want a bite?"
Arthur winked at Hermione, who nodded in understanding.
"Yes," she said, "my cousin got so special ingredients. Try it?"
Harry and Ron each grabbed a leg, chomping down.
"Cool! Best thing I've ever eaten!"
"Totally! Arthur, what is this? I need my mum to cook it daily."
Arthur and Hermione smirked. Then, in unison, they revealed:
"Spider legs."
Harry: ???
Ron: ???
Harry froze. It was already in his stomach, and honestly? Pretty good.
Ron, however, had a natural phobia of spiders. The realization hit him like a curse. His face went white, and he fainted dead away.
Luckily, Harry caught him before he hit the floor.
"Ron! Ron! Is he okay?"
Arthur and Hermione couldn't stop laughing.
"Hahaha!"
"Don't worry, Harry. He's just terrified. Passed out from fright."
"What do we do now?"
"It's the weekend. Just let him sleep it off in the dorm."
"…Fine. What about you two?"
"We're going to the library. Want to co?"
"No, no thanks."
Harry backed away quickly. He didn't hate studying, but spending weekends in the library? No way.
Back in the dorm, Ron suddenly bolted upright.
"rlin's beard! That was horrifying!" he gasped.
"What's so bad? It was just a spider leg."
"No! I dread it burst out of my stomach!"
Harry grimaced at the image. "Alright, stop. Just a dream."
"And… didn't you think it actually tasted good?"
Ron paused. Rembering the flavor, he swallowed hard. The fear didn't vanish, but it did shrink a little.
Maybe, just maybe, this was the way to conquer his phobia.
Ti flew. Soon ca the first-year students' very first flying lesson.
Honestly, Arthur had no interest in broomsticks. A plain stick between your legs—uncomfortable in… sensitive places.
Sure, broom-riding witches looked charming in manga, but for boys? Just awkward.
And he had a touch of germophobia. Who knew how many hands had sweated all over these school brooms?
He eyed the frayed twigs skeptically. Would they fall apart mid-flight?
Unable to resist, he cast a Scourgify on his broom. Hermione, seeing this, handed hers over too.
She'd picked up his quirks quickly, especially his neatness. Even her famously bushy hair was now kept tidy, tied in a neat ponytail—making her look more lively and capable.
The lesson unfolded much as in the original story.
Neville's broom went haywire, tossing him to the ground and dropping his Rembrall. Draco snatched it, mocking him.
Harry demanded it back. Draco refused, soared off, and hurled it toward the castle.
In a daring dive, Harry caught it midair.
McGonagall saw it all. That's how Gryffindor gained its youngest Seeker.
Arthur only intervened once—casting a Levitation Charm to soften Neville's fall. Even so, Neville ended up in the hospital wing from the fright.
Afterward, Madam Hooch decided diving straight into practice was too dangerous. She made the rest of the class sit through an entire period of theory.
Had Arthur known, he'd have volunteered to escort Neville earlier—better than sitting around, wondering if brooms really did jab uncomfortably.
After class, Hermione looked worried.
"What's wrong? Upset you didn't get to fly?"
"No. I'm worried Harry might be punished."
"No need. In fact, this could be good for him."
"How could it?"
"Didn't you see? His flying was extraordinary. And he's never touched a broom before. Gryffindor hasn't won the Quidditch Cup in years. I bet McGonagall will make him join the team."
It made sense, but Hermione still looked doubtful.
Right then, Harry burst into the common room, face glowing.
"Harry, did you join the Quidditch team?" Hermione blurted.
Harry froze. "How did you know?"
"Ha! Cousin guessed it."
Hermione's eyes shone with admiration.
"You're amazing, Arthur! How did you figure it out?"
Harry, curious too, asked, "Yeah—how?"
"Your flying was far beyond beginner level. That kind of talent doesn't just appear. Probably inherited from your father."
"My father?"
"Yes. Check the Quidditch trophies in the Gryffindor case. His na's on them. Haven't you noticed?"
Harry was dumbfounded. Who actually stopped to read all those nas?
"I'll go see. Thanks for telling !"
And off he dashed before Arthur could answer.
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