James had it rough.
Vincent dragged him off for a long-distance run around the school.
"On your left."
Five minutes later, Vincent brushed past him again.
"On your left."
Once, twice, three times.
James's face flushed red as he put every ounce of strength into chasing after him.
A little over ten seconds later, he stopped, gasping for breath.
He braced his hands on his knees and sucked in huge breaths, then suddenly turned around as if he had realized something.
Five minutes passed, and sure enough, there it came.
"No, no, no, don't say—"
"On your left."
"Merlin's underpants!" James sprinted forward a few steps before collapsing flat onto the grass beneath his feet.
Before he had even caught his breath, Vincent came running back after another lap.
"Ah—stop saying it, old Vin! You're going to kill me!"
"On your left."
"I know I was wrong—"
James got to his feet and jogged after him.
A dozen or so people stood beside the castle gates.
Alfred looked thoroughly delighted by James's misfortune, while Neville beside him was holding back laughter.
Harry and Ron, standing close to the pillar, both deeply sympathized with James's plight.
Fred and George, at the front, had their lips pursed as though they did not think there was anything to fear.
Rolf was studying Cedric carefully, occasionally shaking his head with great regret.
Half of Hermione's body remained inside the castle, and she still did not dare lift her little head.
Wood wore a broad smile, as though he had discovered a new training method.
Percy was diligently taking notes, probably intending to recreate it on someone.
At the very end, Cho and Marietta were quietly discussing something, most likely about improving physical fitness.
Vincent was merciful.
At least, after lunch, he did not continue