"The Shadow Clone Jutsu creates real, physical copies of yourself," Professor Jack explained. "Your magical energy gets split evenly between you and every clone you make."
"This isn't like the basic Doppelganger Charm. These clones are solid. They can throw a punch, and no special eye technique can see through them. You can even use most spells through them."
"They've got their own thoughts, can take a hit, and when you dismiss them, everything they learned and experienced comes right back to you."
"The hand signs are: Ram, Dog, Dragon, Rat, Dog, Boar, Snake, Tiger. Got it?"
"Now listen, this is important. Don't get carried away. When a clone pops, all its exhaustion hits you at once. You'll be feeling double the fatigue."
"So, for Merlin's sake, don't make a clone just to study 24/7 without a break."
"Even when you're using them to learn, dismiss them regularly. The last thing you need is to absorb a library's worth of information and then collapse when the clones vanish!"
To Hermione, Professor Jack's detailed, almost fussy instructions weren't annoying—they were incredibly thoughtful.
He knows. He knows I want this to learn faster. He's not just powerful; he's brilliant.
As Jack walked Hermione through every possible pitfall of the Shadow Clone Jutsu, the other eleven students weren't slacking off either. Each of them, having earned the Great Fireball Technique, was drilling relentlessly, desperate to be the first to unleash the powerful C-Class spell.
Among them was Percy Weasley. Gryffindor Prefect. Ron's older brother. The third son of the pure-blood Weasley line and a consummate top student. Of course he had been one of the thirteen to succeed.
He'd been praised by Professor Jack himself. He'd earned a point for Gryffindor. He should have been floating on air.
He was happy for Hermione, Harry, and Neville, too. All those points for Gryffindor put them in a great position for the House Cup.
But then he'd seen it.
Hermione Granger. The Muggle-born. She'd mastered a complex transformation after hearing the trick once.
Her raw talent was staggering. And it stung.
He was the Prefect. The top of his class. And he'd been utterly shown up by a first-year from his own house.
It wasn't fair.
A senior, a recognized genius, couldn't be worse than a new student who'd barely dipped her toes into the wizarding world.
She had to be getting help.
It was the only explanation.
It had to be Professor Jack. Who else? It was his magic. A little private tutoring, and of course she'd excel.
Rumor was she'd been to his office multiple times alone. She was the class representative. She had all the access.
He couldn't deny she was smart. She worked hard.
But she couldn't be better than him.
He didn't know why the Professor had chosen her, but Percy felt a burning certainty in his gut: He could have done it. She just got lucky.
Was it really just because she answered a question on the first day?
Percy didn't buy it.
But the result was what mattered. She had proven herself before the whole school. The professors were impressed.
Envy burned in Percy's chest, fueling a fierce determination. He would work harder. He would surpass her.
He'd been practicing the Great Fireball Technique non-stop, obsessed with being the first to cast it.
That's why he was out here now, long after curfew, the castle dark and silent behind him.
You couldn't practice a fireball that could reportedly crater a stone floor in the Gryffindor common room. One slip-up and he'd be expelled for burning the place down.
He, Percy Weasley, who lived and breathed the rules, was now breaking them. The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd chosen the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, hoping to avoid Filch.
Sheer force of will would see him through. He was sure of it. Day and night. He would succeed.
Snake. Ram. Monkey. Boar. Horse. Tiger.
His hands moved through the signs again and again. His magic flickered, struggling to keep pace. The timing was everything. The flow of power had to be perfect for each seal.
It was far, far harder than he'd ever imagined.
But Percy Weasley did not give up. Failure just meant he had to try again.
On his latest attempt, as the fizzled magic dissipated from his fingertips, a primal warning screamed in the back of his mind.
Something was wrong.
He started to turn.
A voice cut through the darkness from behind him.
"Stupefy!"
There was no time to react. The world dissolved into blackness.
A figure emerged from the shadows, stepping over to the fallen prefect, wand aimed directly at his forehead.
"Legilimens!"
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