Passing Through

The duel was discussed for weeks. Besides the professors' seemingly ordinary yet exquisitely executed magic, the most hotly debated question was: Which professor had actually won the duel?

Judging by the situation, during the final exchange, Professor Flitwick had blocked Professor Fawley's attack without showing any obvious signs of defeat, and then the duel had ended.

To them, it felt somewhat anticlimactic.

Thus, the supporters of the two professors broke into an argument.

"Seriously? Seriously? Professor Flitwick was getting pushed back by Professor Fawley at the end. You can't even see that?"

"Professor Fawley's incredibly powerful attack was completely neutralized. Doesn't that prove how formidable Professor Flitwick's magic was?"

Unable to settle the matter, they had no choice but to seek out the people involved and ask them directly.

Professor Fawley stressed that it had been an evenly matched battle and that they had ultimately tied.

Professor Flitwick, however, said that he had lost in the end because he had used magic that violated the rules—the Super Shield Charm.

This spell had actually gone beyond the scope of the Shield Charm, combining defensive spells such as Protego Maxima and Protego Totalum. It was, without question, advanced magic.

The rule of the duel was that both sides could only use simple spells that students could learn.

Hardly any wizards could master something like combined magic, even after graduation.

Once this explanation spread, the discussions throughout the castle about the duel's outcome gradually died down.

But discussions about magic became even more fervent, and the young wizards' interest in Charms and Transfiguration rose considerably as well.

This left Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall smiling from ear to ear. They taught every lesson with cheerful smiles and occasionally showed the students a few tricks.

Of course, the class receiving the most attention was still Tver's Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Not a single lower-year student missed his classes. Even when they caught colds as the weather turned chilly, they would drag their sick bodies to attend.

Tver would forcibly send them to the school hospital, though, earning him quite a few complaints from Head Nurse Pomfrey.

Taking advantage of the students' soaring enthusiasm, Tver introduced the light-orb game to all three year groups at just the right time.

Naturally, the difficulty was divided into three levels as well.

First-year was the easiest, with the light orb moving only slowly.

Second-year added changes in speed, alternating between fast and slow to make its path difficult for students to predict.

Third-year was the hardest. In addition to changes in speed, the light orb's movements became even more elusive, sometimes even changing direction three times within a single second.

Yet no matter the difficulty, once they tried it, every student fell in love with this game that did not need to be hung from the ceiling. Every day, they discussed their scores and techniques with friends, as well as—

Eavesdropping on the top students' grand discussions in hopes of scoring higher in the next game and securing a better position on the rankings.

Yes, Tver had compiled the scores for every year and created a leaderboard!

The leaderboard was divided by year, but not by House. The four Houses in the same year shared one ranking.

The information on it was simple: rank, name, House, and highest score!

The leaderboard was displayed openly at the back of the classroom, where every student attending class could find their own name and corresponding rank.

Students near the top of the rankings instantly became prominent figures in their Houses, basking in the admiration of their classmates.

Those ranked lower would not be looked down upon either—or rather, even if they were, they had no time to care.

In Professor Fawley's words—"Rather than wasting time on that, think about how to improve yourselves. A low score means there's plenty of room for improvement. Even a tiny bit of progress can bring a huge increase in points!"

Before long, the young wizards were practically pumped full of adrenaline, developing a fanatical interest in the light-orb game.

During breaks and after meals, whenever they saw anything round, they wanted to pull out their wands and hit it.

"Say, if we used Quidditch balls to practise, wouldn't it be more effective?" Ron asked Harry, who had just returned from Quidditch training.

During the second week of term, Harry had secretly joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team in Flying class.

A week later, he had received a broomstick from Professor McGonagall, officially beginning his Quidditch training.

Harry tiredly hid his broomstick away.

Of course, he personally felt that there was no longer much point in doing so. The looks the Gryffindors gave him now all seemed to say, "I believe in you, lad."

Only after finishing all that did he stretch out and lie down on his bed.

"I don't know whether it'd work, but Wood would definitely kill you."

"You don't need to worry," Ron said enviously. "No one has managed to break your score of fifty-eight yet. Even that Granger is still several points behind you."

At that, Harry grinned proudly. It was a good thing he was lying down, or he might have started drooling.

"You can't put it that way. It took me a whole month just to improve by one point. Even Malfoy from Slytherin improved by a full five points!"

"But he's only at fifty-five now. Professor Fawley said that the higher your score gets, the harder it is to improve. Some people's scores have even gone down."

At that moment, a round-faced boy walked in, cradling a notebook in his arms as though it were a treasure.

The moment Ron saw him, his eyes lit up.

"Well, if it isn't the student with the greatest improvement in our year?"

No matter how many times he heard it, Neville would blush furiously, though an involuntary little smile would also appear on his face.

"Please don't say that. I only got thirty-five points. I'm nowhere near as good as you."

"In another two weeks, you'll practically surpass me," Ron said, bouncing in front of him. "Come on, show me what the professor taught you tonight."

Only then did Neville cautiously hand over the notebook he had been holding against his chest.

Ever since he had worked up the courage to ask Professor Fawley for guidance half a month ago, the professor had spent two evenings every week tutoring him.

That was also why he had improved so quickly.

"Why is it still all this stuff about wizarding instincts?" Ron grumbled as he flipped to the end, then handed it back as usual.

Every time Neville returned from tutoring, Ron would borrow his notes. Of course, every time, the contents were things he did not understand.

"The professor seems to really like bringing it up. He even mutters words like soul and will," Neville said. At that, he could not help shivering. "I always feel like the professor is studying me rather than tutoring me."

Ron flopped onto the bed with a thump, absentmindedly twirling his wand.

"Then at least you're worth studying. I'm not even qualified to be studied."

"You could ask the professor for guidance yourself. Maybe he'd have something suitable to teach you?"

After thinking for a while, Ron ultimately gave up on the idea.

"Forget it. The professor probably doesn't like students like me, students who can't even replace their wand, right?"