0.16138027839—the number that was about to slip out of his mouth was something that Flitwick, who was looking over, hadn't yet been able to calculate.
As soon as Vincent said "zero," he felt his right middle finger touch something hard and small.
The middle finger brushing against its smooth edge made Draco's mouth, which was pressed against his lower lip, gape open.
"Fa——"
With a "smack," the Dungbombs flew over the Little Snakes' heads and swung at an angle toward the gap in the classroom door that wasn't closed properly.
"Clatter--"
The shell of the Dungbombs cracked on the hard floor of the corridor.
A captivating "fragrance" instantly wafted into the Charms class classroom through the gap.
The words that Malfoy blurted out were swallowed back down as if in a stress response.
Along with it, the familiar taste was also swallowed.
"Fuck!"
Vincent, who had spoken up for him, was secretly relieved, covering his nose.
This thing definitely came prepared!
Just look at that little golden retriever's expression, like he's eaten shit, and you'll know who threw that Dungbombs in class.
Flitwick's reaction was not slow at all.
He had already flicked his wand as the scent passed over the Little Snakes and was about to reach the Little Lions.
The not-so-strong hurricane swept away all the smells.
That door that wasn't closed properly was also closed tightly.
"Who is it!"
Filch, who was holding out on the fourth floor, was furious.
In broad daylight,
Someone actually dared to throw Dungbombs into the corridor!
Is he tired of living?
He sped toward the Charms class as if he had become twenty years younger.
Before anyone could react, Vincent got up and opened his pockets.
"I am innocent."
Seeing that the Little Lions were all imitating each other, Flitwick dispelled his doubts about them.
"Professor, they're crying 'stop thief!'"
Draco stood up, his face contorted as he glared at Vincent.
"We cannot abandon our suspicions about him."
After pondering for a moment, Flitwick thought it made a lot of sense.
Even if he has a good temper, what happened today was too terrible.
Look at those little wizards shivering in fear; they've only been in class for two days.
But who is the real culprit?
Surely no one would be foolish enough to bring a second one, right?
"Professor, I think a certain spell can help us—"
Vincent, once again in the spotlight, calmly gave his answer, "During my vacation, I discovered that the Repairing Charm can not only repair items, but also return them to their original position."
Draco's fair face became even whiter.
Filch's grumbling outside the classroom was enough to give him a hard time, so how could that short professor of Charms let him off so easily?
Flitwick slapped his forehead. "Oh, I was almost forgetting another use for this spell."
As he pointed his wand at the classroom door, he muttered a spell under his breath.
"Reparo— "
The yellowish-brown, unidentified, viscous liquid splattered all over the ground gathered into clumps and mixed with countless fragments.
Filch looked up with an extremely cruel smile.
This incredibly smooth Dungbombs flew into the classroom, heading towards Vincent from above the Little Snakes' heads.
After pausing above his head, it actually flew back towards the Little Snakes.
Draco's little toe under the table immediately kicked Crabbe's shin.
"Aww—"
He stared blankly at the Dungbombs flying towards him.
"It's me, Professor!"
Crabbe's sudden "confession" as the scapegoat caused Flitwick to tremble slightly with his wand.
The physical evidence landed right on Draco's forehead.
If it had been any later, it would have gone back into the pocket where it was originally hidden.
"Professor, I think—"
"Professor, I can testify that he threw it!"
Draco Vincent.
He pointed at Crabbe with a look of deep disgust, "Even though I was calculating carefully just now, I know what kind of tricks he's up to."
"Yes, I did it!"
Crabbe nodded excitedly, "I did this because I didn't like Wayne!"
Since the other party had turned himself in, Flitwick completely stopped casting the Repairing Charm.
Vincent, his face full of regret, knew that even if he released it again, the result would ultimately only be the real culprit's forehead.
The process of casting magic cannot be undone.
This Dungbombs, which had been repaired once, has had its status reset.
"Because Mr. Wayne's suggestion is very timely," Flitwick said with a smile, "I have decided to add two points to Gryffindor."
"Thank you, Professor." Vincent didn't dwell on it any further.
Regardless of whether the real culprit is the blondie, Slytherin will definitely lose points because of this.
Sure enough, Flitwick then glared coldly at Crabbe.
"Mr. Crabbe has violated classroom discipline, and I have decided that Slytherin will have 10 points deducted for this."
The scapegoat, who shares the same name as Vincent, remained completely unmoved.
But as the saying goes, one may escape the death penalty, but how can one escape the punishment?
"Mr. Filch, do you have anything to add?"
With an incredibly dangerous look in his eyes and a cruel smile on his lips, Filch stood outside the classroom door, chuckling maliciously.
As Squib who cannot use magic, he gets especially excited whenever he encounters such a situation.
"Clean the castle corridors for a month!"
In addition to all the men's restrooms!
Besides..."
Poor Mr. Crabbe, this month is over.
With each punishment announced, his large face paled a little more.
That round, chubby face was almost as big as Draco's when he arrogantly raised his chin.
"Professor Flitwick, that's all I can think of for now."
Crabbe, swaying precariously, stared at the podium with his pitiful, large eyes.
"Ah—I..." Flitwick still softened.
"How about we have Mr. Crabbe complete it in batches over the next year?"
Filch's expression suddenly became even more excited. "Of course, he will definitely understand where he went wrong."
What could have been a month of fun can now be a whole year of fun.
This is not a reduction in punishment; it's clearly a disguised increase in severity.
Professor Flitwick is so kind!
"Let's go back to the classroom."
He smiled at Vincent again.
After the other party revealed the answer, he added three Gryffindor without having calculated it correctly.
This unexpected stroke of good fortune instantly made the Little Lions cheer loudly.
The Little Snakes on the other side each had their own ugly expressions.
"Let's end class early." Seeing that it was almost time, Flitwick ended the class ahead of schedule.
"The Gryffindor!"
"Merlin, thank you for sharing Wayne with us!"
The playful Little Lions all gathered around Vincent as they walked out of the classroom.
Today was another day with the most Gryffindor.
Hermione, who was the last to leave the classroom, Draco, whose face was contorted with rage, a long, hard look before she left.
She also knew who the real culprit was.
I also know why I have to do this.
There must have been a "brutal" wizard duel somewhere in the castle last night.
Its severity is so great that people would probably go to any lengths to retaliate.