Chapter 88: Practice, News

"Bang!"

The spell exploded, sending Harry flying backward to crash against a padded wall mat. He let out a low groan.

When he looked up again, he was clutching his nose, bright red blood dripping down.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, rushing over. "Are you alright?"

"Hit my nose," Harry mumbled, grabbing some Dittany from a shelf by the wall. He skillfully dabbed it on his nose, then wiped the blood from his face with a tissue.

Neville picked up his wand for him. "Thanks, Neville," Harry said.

His injury healed quickly. Harry looked up and asked, "I think my Shield Charm had a bit of an effect just now, didn't it?"

"Indeed, my spell was off by a bit," Wade confirmed with a nod. He then asked, "But it was too weak, it didn't have the desired effect. Pay attention—'Pro-tay-goh' (Protego), you need to say it more decisively. This charm doesn't require much technique, just repeated practice."

"I understand." Harry took a deep breath, rotated his wrist, and gripped his wand.

"Continue?"

"Of course!"

Harry said decisively, standing firm and forcefully swinging his wand, "Protego!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The spells clashed again, and Harry's wand flew out of his hand once more.

"Is Harry overdoing it a bit these past two days?" Michael asked Neville, who had just walked back. "He's been injured several times today."

"Yeah, a little," Neville said vaguely. "Should we keep practicing the Disarming Charm?"

"Listen to me, Neville—you can never learn all the spells. Only by learning to rest can you learn better," Michael said lazily, sitting on the ground, unwilling to move. "—You're not being hunted by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, so why work so hard?"

Among the SSC members, besides Wade, Harry had made the most progress. He had already learned the Disarming Charm and the Shield Charm, though his invisible protective shield was still at the stage where it would shatter upon impact. Neville, however, was the slowest, having yet to successfully cast a Disarming Charm even once.

But Michael knew that Neville actually worked harder than anyone else. Watching him fail repeatedly, only to pick himself up again and again, Michael felt pain on his behalf.

Neville didn't speak, simply stood silently in the dueling position, then quietly looked at Michael.

Michael: "..."

He resisted the discomfort, feeling as if ants were crawling all over him, and stubbornly lingered on the ground for another two minutes. Finally, he couldn't overcome the pang of conscience and got up.

"Why am I here diligently practicing fifth and sixth-year stuff with you guys?" Michael grumbled. "I am absolutely not coming tomorrow night… I need parties, I need games… even if it's just sitting by the fireplace, doing nothing?"

Neville just smiled.

At first, he would take Michael seriously, worried that Michael wouldn't want to be dragged into training anymore and would stop coming to the Umbrella Room, so he would train for a while, then rest for a while. But later, Neville realized that Michael always just talked, and would still show up on time the next day.

"If he doesn't come, you won't have a partner. Or we could rotate practice, but someone would always be left out." At the end of training, Hermione pointed out the reason for Michael's behavior succinctly: "He just wants to be lazy himself, but he doesn't want to hold back people who are willing to work hard because of it."

Neville was startled, then suddenly felt a little apologetic. "But I still haven't mastered the Disarming Charm… I really feel bad for all his effort."

"Yeah, it's really strange—" Hermione frowned, unable to understand. "Wade taught it very thoroughly, and he said your movements and incantation are fine, so why can't you succeed?"

"Hermione." Harry quickly interrupted.

When a top student asks a struggling one, "Why can't you learn something so simple?" isn't that just like saying, "You're incredibly stupid"?

Neville, however, wasn't as sensitive. He lowered his head, staring blankly at his wand.

...

That evening, after Wade had washed up, he came out of the washroom, wiping his dripping wet hair, and saw a familiar House-elf standing in the room.

"Mikey? Have a seat."

Wade put down the wet towel, then casually poured a cup of water for Mikey and pushed it towards him. He poured one for himself too and drank it in one gulp.

Mikey didn't sit. He leaned against the chair, holding the warm water he himself had brought, his large eyes glistening. He said in a tiny voice, "Wade Gray should not go to the Potions Class classroom tomorrow afternoon. Other students will be using the classroom."

Wade paused. He thought for a moment before putting his cup back.

At lunch today, he had sat near Prewett and, as if casually mentioning it, told Padma that he was going to Potions Class tomorrow to practice the Shrinking Potion.

Wade had originally considered whether he should subtly drop a hint around the Slytherin students – it seemed unnecessary now.

As for Mikey – since their last conversation, he seemed to have learned some kind of bug-exploiting trick. Now, he swayed slightly, drinking his water with great care, looking very happy, and no longer intent on punishing himself for it.

Wade smiled and asked, "Are there any older students?"

"No," Mikey said. "All the same as Wade Gray."

"How many students will be using the Potions Class classroom?"

"Uh…" The House-elf hesitated. "Six? Seven? Six?"

"Six or seven people… someone might not go?" Wade asked.

Mikey shook his head. "They think she's with them, but she's not."

"I understand." Wade took out a small portion of the Book of Friends and handed it to Mikey. "I assume you know how to use this? If it's inconvenient to go to the Potions classroom tomorrow, please let me know, alright?"

"Okay, Mikey will do it—Mikey is happy to help Wade Gray." Mikey happily bowed, then disappeared with a "pop," taking the Book of Friends with him.

...

"Wade, have you noticed—" In A History of Magic, Michael looked left and right, then lowered his voice. "Slytherin is a bit odd today?"

"What do you mean?" Wade asked.

"Just now, at the entrance, Zabini actually smiled at me, which was pretty creepy," Michael said, rubbing his arms. "You don't think they're up to something, do you?"

Slytherin students had a generally poor reputation, but they were very tight-knit. Ever since Wade had a conflict with Malfoy and others in the hallway, the other Slytherin students stopped greeting them. Even in class, the two sides were clearly separated and didn't mix.

However, the conflict between them hadn't escalated to the level of two houses. It certainly wasn't like Gryffindor and Slytherin, who constantly sought trouble with each other.

"Take out the 'don't you think'," Wade said in a low voice. "They're planning to ambush me!"

"Ambush you... in the Potions Class classroom?" Michael suddenly understood. "No wonder you suddenly brought up the topic of Potions yesterday... Are you planning to wait for them to get ready, then report them to the professor? Or..."

His eyes darted around, and he said excitedly in an even lower voice, "Lure Professor Snape over—"

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