The sudden incident left the entire classroom silent for several seconds.
Umbridge lay peacefully, a faint smile still on her lips, motionless with barely detectable breathing.
Everyone stared blankly at the podium, privately marvelling at how physically robust this new professor was—falling asleep instantly like that. Many young people couldn't even achieve such sound sleep.
"Absolutely safe?"
Someone muttered under their breath, and the classroom instantly erupted into a sea of laughter.
They'd never encountered such an unlucky Defence Against the Dark Arts professor before.
Even Lockhart back then had at least been knocked out by magical creatures and had held on for quite a while.
A curious student approached and looked up at the ceiling, where a large hole had appeared.
It was probably due to the building's age—loosened bricks naturally falling from deteriorating walls.
But who could blame Umbridge for standing directly beneath that particular brick?
After the laughter subsided, they quickly sent her to the hospital wing.
As for the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, no one dared stay—who knew if more bricks might fall?
Madam Pomfrey gave her a brief glance, couldn't even be bothered with medication, and simply instructed the students to dump Umbridge on a bed.
Just knocked out—more sleep would fix it.
This year's hospital wing budget had been cut again. How could they waste precious potions on her?
Seeing Madam Pomfrey's attitude, everyone happily went about their business—except Hermione, who seemed thoughtful.
She felt... this had something to do with Wayne.
...
"I'm truly innocent."
Holding Hermione in his arms, Wayne faced a panel visible only to him.
[Congratulations, Host, for completing the achievement—'The Shadow Over the Castle.' Reward: 500 points. Task completion rate increased.]
"Alright, it does have a tiny bit to do with me."
Seeing the witch's sceptical expression, Wayne had to amend his statement.
Hermione snorted softly and withdrew her hand from the boy's waist. "I knew it. The castle's reinforced with magic—how could a large stone suddenly fall and hit Umbridge so precisely?"
She'd read 'Hogwarts: A History' three times cover to cover and knew all about the castle's magical properties.
Wayne pinched her nose in mock annoyance. "I only said it had a tiny connection to me—that doesn't mean I admit to making that stone fall."
"Then what did you do?" Hermione asked curiously.
Wayne made a gesture that would make Korean men blush.
"I cast a minor curse on Umbridge. For a period after activation, she'd have particularly bad luck."
Hermione's expression turned odd. "Where did you learn such a mean spell?"
A whooshing sound came from the adjacent study as 'The Darkest Arts' flew into the room and landed in Wayne's hands. "From this book. What I just described counts among the mildest ten categories here."
"If you're interested, take it back and study it."
Hermione initially wanted to refuse—she had no interest in Dark Magic—but then remembered that knowing one's enemy was crucial for victory, so she accepted it.
Even if she wouldn't learn it, she needed to understand it to avoid being caught off guard by enemies in future.
...
Soon, news of Umbridge's injury spread like wildfire through every year group.
This was the very first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term, and before even one class could finish, she'd been hospitalised.
Instantly, people's high expectations for this new professor with countless titles came crashing down.
Senior Undersecretary, Head of the Department of Magical Education... seemed like nothing special after all, no different from those useless professors before her.
"Could she be a fraud like Lockhart?" a student questioned.
"No way," a girl immediately retorted. "Even if Lockhart was a fraud, at least he was a handsome fraud with great fashion sense. Just look at her? Ew~"
The girl didn't finish her sentence, instead making a disgusted expression.
Currently, the hottest topic among the girls was criticising Umbridge's fashion choices—truly an eyesore.
During dinner in the Great Hall, everyone heard the detailed account from students who'd attended that day's lesson.
Knocked unconscious by a falling stone...
Countless faces twisted in bewilderment.
If you said Umbridge was unlucky, she certainly was.
The castle had never seen anything like this before, let alone hitting someone. Umbridge could be called the first in centuries.
Yet she was also quite fortunate.
From such a height, such a large stone, and only getting a concussion that would heal in days.
It left everyone unsure how to judge the situation.
However, another piece of information passed on by fifth-years deserved attention.
Not only were they forbidden from using wands in class, but no new spells were taught either—just memorising safety regulations.
Seemed like Defence Against the Dark Arts wouldn't teach anything useful this term either.
Many older students felt foreboding. Two good years had made them almost forget—the Defence post was cursed.
...
Hufflepuff common room.
Wayne was sampling Hannah's new dish—bacon-wrapped olives.
"Well?" Hannah studied Wayne's expression nervously.
"Flavour's decent, but the olives are too sour, overpowering the bacon."
"The kitchen olives are all pickled. The sourness is unavoidable."
Hannah frowned. "Fresh olives also have that bitter taste. Seems I still chose wrong ingredients."
"Then let me recommend something."
Wayne said, "Do you know Enoki mushrooms?"
"What's that?" Hannah's large eyes filled with confusion.
"A type of mushroom. Ask the kitchens. If they don't have it, I'll have some sent over."
"Alright."
Hannah hurried off excitedly. Just as Wayne turned to return to his dorm, a portrait in the common room suddenly shrieked, a noblewoman nearly pushed out of her frame.
"Lawrence! Lawrence!" Sir Cadogan bellowed. "The gargoyle says to tell you—Dumbledore isn't in the Headmaster's office now, get over there quick!"
Swish, swish, swish!
Everyone in the common room—reading, playing games, chatting—froze.
After a brief silence, all eyes turned to Wayne.
Wayne saw black, nearly fainting on the spot.
Why did the gargoyle pick this idiot as a messenger?
Cedric looked oddly at Wayne, patting his shoulder: "Lad, best not walk the path of crime..."
"I'm not, I didn't, don't talk nonsense, I'm just going to get a couple of books."
Wayne quickly made an excuse for himself, thanked Sir Cadogan, and hurried out of the common room.
...
Dumbledore had no idea that the moment he left, the gargoyle had sold him out.
Considering Umbridge's injury was technically work-related, as Headmaster, it was only proper for him to pay her a visit.
Arriving at the hospital wing, Dumbledore greeted Madam Pomfrey before entering. Since it was just the start of term, the ward contained only one patient—Umbridge, her head swathed in bandages.
"Professor Umbridge, are you alright?"
Dumbledore gave her a concerned look as he sat by her bedside.
"Thank you for your concern, Headm... hiss..." Umbridge flashed her trademark fake smile, only to pull at her wounds and suck in sharp breaths.
"I'm terribly sorry this happened. I've already asked Professor Flitwick to repair the classroom."
Dumbledore showed no trace of schadenfreude, offering a sincere apology before adding softly, "I've just consulted Madam Pomfrey—you'll need several days' rest. As for Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, another professor will cover them."
"Was this really an accident?" Umbridge stared hard into Dumbledore's eyes, but the old man's pale blue orbs remained bright and unreadable.
"No other professor has encountered this," she shrilled. "Yet it happened to me, right on my head. Do you really expect me to believe it was accidental?"
She suspected this was Dumbledore's doing—a warning shot across her bows. But she had no evidence, only suspicions.
"You think someone tampered with it?" Dumbledore looked astonished. "Professor Umbridge, I assure you this was purely accidental."
"As you know, the castle is over a thousand years old. Even the strongest magic fades over time. The school invests heavily in maintenance every year."
His expression turned troubled. "But this year, the Education Department apparently didn't account for such expenses, cutting our funding by half. That's why this unfortunate incident occurred. I do apologise."
Umbridge gaped at him, dumbfounded.
The funding cuts had been her doing. So in the end... she'd sabotaged herself?
Dumbledore continued as if oblivious to her reaction. "Come to think of it, perhaps I should file a report with the Ministry to request additional funds."
"Professor Umbridge, you wouldn't want more stones falling on your head during lessons, would you?"
"Is that a threat?" Umbridge snapped.
"How could it be?" Dumbledore shook his head with wounded innocence. "I'm merely considering staff and student safety."
"If the request is denied, you may have to hold classes outdoors."
"You wouldn't let that happen, would you? As Head of the Education Department, I'm sure you'll fight for our students' welfare."
Umbridge opened her mouth to retort, but a sharp pain lanced through her skull.
Fear crept in.
If this really was the castle's fault, what happened today could happen again. And again.
This time, she was lucky, landing on a relatively flat stone. What if next time it's something sharp...
Umbridge swallowed hard and stammered, "I-I'll submit an application to the Ministry."
"Then we'll be counting on Professor Umbridge."
Dumbledore smiled. "Best apply for more funding. Thanks to you, I've been able to identify hidden dangers within the castle."
"Your dedication to the school will be greatly appreciated by both the students and myself."
With that, the old man stood up, nodded politely, and turned to leave.
The moment his back was turned, his smile took on a more mischievous quality.
The aura of a curse...
Not particularly strong, but undoubtedly present.
By rights, as Headmaster, he ought to assist any professor who'd fallen victim to Dark Magic and help resolve the matter.
But this dreadful old man lacked the capability. Though he could detect the curse's presence, he couldn't lift it. Professor Umbridge would have to endure it for a while.
This mild curse wouldn't be fatal—just cause discomfort for a few days at most.
"Ouch~!"
A sharp clatter was followed by a cry of pain.
Dumbledore, who hadn't yet left, turned back to see Umbridge sprawled on the floor with water spilt everywhere.
She must have slipped while fetching water.
Pretending not to have heard or seen anything, he quickened his pace with surprising agility for a centenarian, swiftly making his escape from the hospital wing.
"Toffee fingers."
Reaching the eighth floor, Dumbledore spoke the password. The gargoyle hesitated momentarily before stepping aside with its companion, shouting:
"Dumbledore! Back so soon?"
"Just paying a brief visit to our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Didn't take long."
The impending influx of funding put a spring in the old wizard's step as he boarded the automatic lift.
The oak office door swung open of its own accord.
Dumbledore froze.
Someone was just emerging from within.
Wayne held several books in his left arm and the Sorting Hat in his right hand.
The two men stared at each other in silent astonishment.
Finally, Dumbledore broke the awkward silence, asking tentatively:
"Mr Lawrence... stocking up on supplies, are we?"