At Wayne's 'challenge', both Harry and Malfoy instinctively shrank back.
This was clearly asking for a beating.
Harry cautiously asked, "Wayne, are you in a bad mood today? If something's bothering you, we could postpone the lesson."
"Exactly, exactly." Malfoy, unusually, agreed with Harry. "Tomorrow, or even next week, would be fine."
"Enough nonsense. Right now—who's first?"
Wayne waved impatiently, already drawing his wand.
Seeing this, Malfoy knew today's beating was unavoidable. He immediately stepped backwards, shielding himself behind Harry while forcefully pushing Harry ahead.
"Potter first!"
'You absolute bastard.'
Harry glared fiercely at Malfoy, but seeing Wayne's uncompromising expression, he obediently climbed onto the platform.
"Go easy on me, alright?"
With that, Harry drew his wand and performed a duelling salute, which Wayne returned with perfect form.
The moment he straightened up, the whoosh of a spell cut through the air.
"Not bad speed."
Casually deflecting Harry's spell, Wayne countered with a symbolic attack. Harry, prepared, loudly cast the Shield Charm, deflecting the spell while firing several of his own.
His angles were cunning—casting spells while constantly shifting his footing, wrist flicking wildly to make the spells' trajectories unpredictable.
Though these years had been fraught with disasters, Harry's combat experience far surpassed that of any wizard his age.
Three encounters with Voldemort in four years had drilled reactions into him through sheer repetition.
Wayne, intentionally assessing his combat level, didn't rush to subdue him. Only after Harry had exhausted his repertoire did Wayne exploit an opening, firing a Stunning Spell like an ambush.
Harry raised his arm to deflect it, but the next attack came immediately. With his arm still raised, he couldn't block in time. His Shield Charm shattered, his fierce momentum faltered, his rhythm broken. Within three moves, he was easily subdued.
"Expelliarmus."
The red beam struck Harry square in the chest, blasting him off the platform onto the floor.
"Brilliant!"
Malfoy clapped wildly, as thrilled as if he'd caught the Golden Snitch, immediately rushing to mock Harry.
Meanwhile, a red glint flashed in Wayne's eyes as a wisp of crimson light emerged from Harry, which he absorbed.
His magical power seemed slightly increased, but the change was so minimal he could barely perceive it without careful examination.
"Wayne, that last hit was too harsh," Harry complained, rubbing his backside as he stood.
"Who told you to lose focus?" Wayne's sidelong glance silenced Harry.
The moment his Shield Charm broke, Harry's concentration had wavered. Knowing defeat was imminent, he hadn't maintained his initial combat focus, just thinking 'it's finally over'.
"Never surrender until the very end. Otherwise, all that awaits you is death."
"Like when you duelled Voldemort—knowing you couldn't win, why didn't you just wait to die? Why fight back?"
Wayne's stern criticism left Harry deep in thought, completely missing how Malfoy hadn't contradicted Wayne's mention of Voldemort's existence.
After a moment, Harry nodded solemnly. "It won't happen again."
"We'll see about that," Wayne said before motioning for Malfoy to step onto the platform.
Unlike Harry's fierce combat style, Malfoy could only be described as downright sneaky.
First, he demanded that Wayne double the size of the platform again, then proceeded to summon a pile of obstacles before beginning.
After bowing to each other, Malfoy rolled expertly behind cover and started casting spells.
Snakes, rats, spiders—he summoned whatever was most disgusting, then released a cloud of poisonous mist and vast pools of corrosive liquid that made Harry's scalp crawl. He silently resolved that if he ever had to fight Malfoy for real, he wouldn't give him the chance to cast—just kick him straight away.
Wayne wrinkled his nose at the pungent stench and waved his wand.
"Ventus!"
A sudden gust of wind swept through the room, instantly dispersing the toxic mist. Several snakes were sliced in half by sharp wind blades, and along with the obstacles—and Malfoy—were blown clean off the platform, landing draped over the doorframe.
"Pfft!"
Harry couldn't help it—he burst out laughing.
All that fuss, only to be dealt with by Wayne in one spell. He hadn't even lasted as long as Harry had.
"What's so funny, Potter?"
"I just like laughing. Got a problem with that?"
"Were you laughing when your Muggle cousin beat you up?"
"Malfoy, did you just fish your mouth out of a toilet?"
Wayne sighed. These two could start bickering anytime, anywhere.
Someone might impersonate Ron and fool Harry, but no one could ever pass themselves off as Malfoy. One word out of his mouth and you'd know it was him.
Wayne had no interest in watching their lovers' spat and egged them on to settle things with magic.
But when it came down to it, Malfoy backed off, dodging the issue and dragging out the lesson until time was up.
...
Weekends always passed too quickly, and before they knew it, a new week had arrived.
Umbridge returned to the castle that morning, acting as if nothing had happened, cheerfully greeting the professors.
The staff's attitude towards her had softened considerably—everyone knew Umbridge had secured a batch of funding from the Ministry of Magic.
Though most would go towards school repairs, there'd be plenty left to distribute among the departments.
But as it turned out, the professors had been too naive.
Bang bang bang!
Professor McGonagall had just finished her morning class and returned to her office with a stack of student assignments when rapid knocking interrupted her. Frowning, she opened the door.
"Professor Umbridge, what can I do for you?" Seeing Umbridge clutching a large box of documents, McGonagall instinctively sensed trouble.
Sure enough, once Umbridge sat across from her and theatrically produced several parchments, the accusations began.
"Professor McGonagall, while reviewing past expenditure records, I've noticed several discrepancies. I'd appreciate your clarification."
"You suspect I've taken school funds?" McGonagall's expression darkened.
Such suspicion was a profound insult. She'd devoted half her life to Hogwarts—now someone was accusing her of lining her own pockets?
Watching Professor McGonagall tremble with anger, Umbridge's smile widened. "Please don't overinterpret my words, Professor McGonagall. As the financial auditor, it's my duty to understand the school's expenditures."
"After all, spending tens of thousands of Galleons annually hardly seems reasonable."
"What exactly is your concern?" Professor McGonagall took a deep breath, making a tremendous effort to remain composed rather than throwing the woman out.
Umbridge looked down at the parchment figures. "Two years ago, you purchased five hundred hedgehogs, three hundred rabbits, and large quantities of boxes, wooden tubes and other items, citing teaching materials as the reason."
"Don't you think these numbers are somewhat excessive?"
Professor McGonagall struggled to recall. Had Umbridge not mentioned it, she wouldn't have known they'd bought so many 'teaching aids' two years ago.
Gradually, Professor McGonagall's expression darkened. Umbridge secretly rejoiced, thinking she'd struck a nerve.
Yet just then, Professor McGonagall spoke:
"Professor Umbridge, are you acquainted with Mr Seamus Finnigan?"
Umbridge pondered briefly. "You mean Potter's dormmate?"
Professor McGonagall gave her a penetrating look, now certain Umbridge had come to Hogwarts specifically to target Dumbledore and Harry.
"Precisely. Fifth-year Mr Finnigan."
"Two years ago, he was in his third year, when the curriculum focused on transforming small objects into small animals."
Umbridge immediately wore an expression of disbelief. "Professor McGonagall, are you suggesting all these 'teaching aids' were purchased because of Finnigan alone?"
"He was the primary factor," Professor McGonagall corrected. "Mr Finnigan possesses extraordinary talent in pyrotechnics. The drawback being his ability to cause explosions at any given moment."
"In one academic year, the teaching materials he destroyed equalled an entire class's worth."
"If you don't believe me, compare the expenditure on these items across previous years."
Sceptical yet curious, Umbridge checked the previous year's records—consumption of said items had indeed decreased by twenty to thirty per cent.
"A single student wasted so many resources?" Umbridge remained unconvinced, eyeing her suspiciously.
Without looking up, Professor McGonagall replied dismissively: "Those are the facts. If you don't trust me, ask the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students—Finnigan's reputation is quite notorious in his year."
"Was there anything else? I have work to attend to."
Pretending not to notice the hint to leave, Umbridge pressed on: "Why do you subscribe to thirty copies of Transfiguration Today annually? The yearly subscription costs twenty Galleons per copy."
"Could there be some undisclosed financial arrangement between you and the publishers?"
"You don't know?" This time, it was Professor McGonagall's turn to stare at Umbridge in astonishment.
The pink toad asked blankly: "Know what?"
"Oh, I forgot." Professor McGonagall suddenly understood. "You only scraped an Acceptable in fifth-year Transfiguration. Never attended my advanced class, let alone knew about the Transfiguration Club?"
Umbridge immediately felt her intelligence was being slighted. Suppressing her anger, she pressed on: "What does this have to do with the advanced class and that club?"
Professor McGonagall gave a light snort: "Students who qualify for the advanced class and my club are promising talents. They deserve access to cutting-edge transfiguration knowledge. Naturally, I subscribed to the newspaper for them."
"As for my personal copy, it comes from my salary, not school funds."
"Madam Inspector, surely the Education Department and Ministry of Magic wouldn't oppose investing in outstanding students?"
"Of course not," Umbridge forced a smile, muttered some platitudes, then beat a hasty retreat.
The first confrontation ended with Professor McGonagall's complete victory and Umbridge's disastrous start.
But her targets weren't limited to Professor McGonagall. Unfortunately, there were other options.
In the following days, she approached Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick and others.
Particularly, Trelawney, whom Umbridge demanded provide itemised lists of all tea leaves and crystal balls used.
Why did the school break over a dozen crystal balls annually? Why must tea leaves be used for divination?
These questions drove Trelawney nearly hysterical, but Umbridge was thoroughly satisfied.
This was precisely the effect she wanted.
With Snape, however, Umbridge adopted a much friendlier attitude, subtly building rapport by mentioning her Slytherin alumni status—we're all family here.
...
"I actually saw Snape smile."
In the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Susan recounted what she'd witnessed.
"Umbridge was practically clinging to Snape. They were both laughing happily. Snape even called her 'senior'. Who knew she graduated from Slytherin? No wonder she's so horrible."
Though this was Hufflepuff and Slytherin's first Umbridge lesson this term, her reputation had already spread.
Every lesson consisted solely of textbook recitation. All assignments were book reports.
At least Quirrell and Lockhart's books related to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Umbridge's so-called theories didn't touch magic at all.
Susan hadn't lowered her voice. Several nearby Slytherin students heard her and glared, but upon seeing Wayne in the front row, they swallowed their anger and turned away.
Hannah tapped her creative little brain: "I've never seen Snape so happy before..."
"D'you think... he might fancy Professor Umbridge?"
Wayne's expression turned peculiar as he regarded Hannah with admiration.
Truly Hufflepuff's literary maestro, the undisputed queen of fanfiction—shipping this pairing?
At that moment, crisp footsteps sounded at the doorway as Umbridge entered the classroom.
Her first glance fell squarely upon Wayne...