Hogwarts: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me From Studying

Vid didn’t respond, he just slightly adjusted his posture, squinting slightly as he looked ahead.

The lights in the banquet hall slowly dimmed.

The spotlight on the stage lit up, and Mark Paul stepped onto the stage, holding a microphone with an appropriate smile on his face.

”Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests.”

Paul’s voice clearly resounded throughout the hall, ”Welcome to Stonefield Manor. Thank you all for coming to attend tonight’s special exhibition.”

He paused, allowing a few seconds for the restrained applause to rise and fall.

”Before we officially begin, please allow me to present to you the stars of our night—”

Paul knew what everyone wanted to see, so he didn’t waste words, turning sideways and gesturing directly, inviting them to watch.

The heavy curtains at the back of the stage slowly drew open.

Poppets began to walk out one after another—

Pale and handsome vampires, tall and burly werewolves, handsome young men, vibrant young women, dignified middle-aged figures, and even children in their teens.

Vid’s lips curled into a faint smile.

Illari—the alchemist who reportedly joined the Scourers—his poppet technology seemed to have made little progress, but he had devoted considerable effort to adjusting the appearance of the poppets.

The movements of the poppets looked somewhat rigid, like models walking in identical strides on a runway, lacking some vitality and authenticity in Vid’s eyes.

But their smooth skin, beautiful appearance, fluid movements, and ageless bodies were enough to make the audience’s breath suddenly become rapid.

Under Paul’s command, the poppets made a round on the stage, then showcased various actions—

Running, jumping, shotgun rises, 360-degree spins, dancing, combat...

The sounds of exclamation and applause rose continuously, everyone was captivated by the poppets, as the stage above scattered changing colored lights, while the lighting in the audience area was further dimmed, leaving only faint guiding lights at the chair edges.

The refreshing scent in the air became more intense.

Vid’s nose twitched slightly, his brows furrowed, then he looked towards the other members of the Stonefield Clan in the box.

They were still watching the performance with interest, completely unaware that anything was amiss, and several young people enthusiastically compared the poppets on stage with a robot that Japan planned to launch.

”I heard they use that ASIMO kicking a football as a publicity stunt!” One tall and thin young man waved his arms excitedly, saying, ”I think this is what we want to see!”

”Uncle John, are you leaving?” A young man sitting slightly behind noticed Vid moving backward, quickly stood up and greeted him respectfully.

Vid glanced at him, speaking in John’s slightly irritated tone: ”Going to the restroom.”

Naturally, no one stopped him, and most people were entirely unaware of his departure.

The corridor was equally dim, with only weak indicator lights near the floor. Two bodyguards stood at the entrance to each box, and seeing Vid exit, someone immediately approached him.

Before the other person got close, Vid waved his hand impatiently and said, ”Stop asking over and over, I’m just going to the toilet!”

Perhaps because he was also part of the ”Stonefield” family, the bodyguards all halted, and even the servants in the corridor simply watched, not accompanying him.

Vid quickly entered the restroom, taking out a small bottle of homemade antidote from his pocket, enhanced with The Undetectable Extension Charm, and drank it, a cool sensation instantly spreading throughout his body, and his drowsy head cleared.

He rubbed his forehead, fingers resting on the ventilation window, as hundreds and thousands of tiny ants suddenly appeared with his movement, they crawled through the narrow vent, and in the blink of an eye climbed onto the exterior wall.

Yet Vid himself didn’t leave immediately; he pressed the flushing button, washed his hands, and then leisurely walked out of the restroom.

Predictably, a servant was waiting outside.

He respectfully whispered, ”It’s so dim, let me guide you back to the box, Mr. John Stonefield.”

”Then brighten the lights!” Vid acted impatiently, saying, ”Is there a performance here too? Why not turn on all the lights?”

The servant maintained his bowed posture, replying gently, ”Please understand, these are Sir William’s instructions.”

Vid immediately fell silent, pursing his lips and clicked his tongue, gesturing for the other to lead the way.

When he returned to the box, the poppet exhibition was still ongoing, and the music on stage had changed to a more rhythmic electronic tune.

In the audience, people were obviously more excited—

The sounds of whispered conversations increased, some people unconsciously drummed on the armrests, others stood up, craning their necks to look at their favorite poppets, everyone’s breaths became particularly rapid, inhaling the floral-scented air indoors.

Suddenly, among the audience, an elderly lady’s body grew soft, her head leaning to one side, falling asleep.

Her companion nudged her, received no response, and was startled, fearing the person had suddenly died; as he reached out to touch her breath under the nose, his own body began to sway.

”Thump!”

The sound of a human body falling mixed in with the music was inconspicuous, yet it was like the first domino piece being knocked over.

The guests began to slouch on the seats one after another, everywhere people losing consciousness, eyes rolling back in their heads, swaying left and right.

Some attempted to stand, but their legs grew soft, collapsing onto the ground;

Others sensed something amiss, struggling to rush towards the exit, but immediately had their mouths covered by the nearest bodyguard;

Someone shouted ”Doctor! Call a doctor!” but the shouts were quickly drowned by drowsiness.

The entire process lasted about two minutes.

When the last strong former Marine attempted to resist but was pinned by five bodyguards and injected with a strong sedative, the venue fell completely silent.

On stage, only the poppets continued to mechanically circle, the music ending appropriately at this time.

”Stop.”

Paul’s voice rang out.

All the poppets stopped their movements simultaneously, as if a video had been paused.

Inside the venue, bright lights suddenly flooded down, illuminating every corner.

The glaring white light dispelled any ambiguity and hallucination, all ventilation systems turned on, the room was filled with a strange buzzing noise, as if a sleeping giant beast was snoring.

Moments later, the pleasant floral fragrance faded, replaced by the cool air of an autumn night.

Under the light, the sleeping posture of over two hundred guests was revealed in detail:

Some drooling at the mouth, others snoring loudly, some twitching unconsciously in their coma, some having their masks fall to the ground, crushed indifferently by the bodyguards.

Even in the box, those members of the Stonefield Family weren’t spared, all unconscious at this moment.

”Creak—”

A soft sound, the side door of the stage opened, a young man pushed a wheelchair and walked out.

In the wheelchair sat a frail elderly man, as if a gust of wind could scatter him—Sir William Stonefield.

He wore a plain white outfit without any patterns, sparse white hair slicked against his scalp, his eyebrows coarse and disheveled, his face covered in age spots and deep furrows.

But his eyes—those eyes sunken into their sockets—were exceptionally bright and sharp as an eagle.