Operation Dungbomb

Winslet was utterly stunned.

Hogwarts certainly had no shortage of geniuses.

A first-year had cast a Disarming Charm, a Levitation Charm, and a Knockback Jinx in quick succession, all within a few seconds.

And there had been almost no pause between the three spells. The sequence had been exceptionally smooth.

This was undoubtedly a combination of spells that only an older student should have been capable of casting.

Yet this child came from a Muggle family and had only recently been introduced to magic.

Professor Winslet took a deep breath and hurried out into the corridor.

Super practical-take your pick.

She crouched in front of Montague to check his injuries, then frowned slightly.

"Your arm is broken. You'll need to go to the Hospital Wing. You lot, help him up."

She drew her wand, tapped Montague's arm lightly, and cast a Locking Spell to hold the broken bone in place for the time being.

Then she stood and turned toward Gerald, who was slipping his wand back into his inside pocket in the classroom.

"Mr. Green, please show restraint in your next duel. I will be taking five points from Gryffindor for this."

"Understood, Professor."

Gerald wasn't surprised. Now that he was in Gryffindor, not losing points would practically make him the odd one out.

Besides, he had intended to make an example of Montague. Having people constantly chase after him shouting "Mudblood" would be rather annoying.

"Study on your own until I return. There are to be no further clashes."

"How did you do that?"

The moment Professor Winslet left, a crowd of young Gryffindors gathered around Gerald.

"That's our business partner for you! Come clean-how many more surprises are you hiding?"

"Quite a few, actually."

"???"

Gerald thought nothing of it.

Following a Levitation Charm with a Knockback Jinx was about the most ordinary combo in the game.

It was practically muscle memory.

If he hadn't suddenly remembered that he was in a classroom at Hogwarts, Gerald might have followed up with Diffindo instead.

Before long, Professor Winslet returned from the Hospital Wing.

She walked to the front of the classroom and surveyed the students, her tone brisk and steady once more.

"All right, let's begin our lesson. Although we had a little incident just now, the first spell Mr. Green cast, the Disarming Charm, happens to be one of the most fundamental and useful spells in our Dark Magic Defence class."

She paused and glanced at Gerald.

"I know some of you may think that the Disarming Charm is merely the simplest combat spell, something you can learn in your first year, and nothing particularly impressive. But let me tell you: this seemingly basic spell can often produce unexpectedly effective results in a real fight."

She drew her own wand and held it at chest height so the whole class could see.

"Most adult wizards never achieve true wandless magic in their entire lives. For us, a wand is the essential tool for casting magic. Losing your wand often means the end of the fight. A precise, swift Disarming Charm can end a duel before your opponent even has time to react, just as Mr. Green demonstrated earlier."

Gerald nodded inwardly at that.

In a sense, that was certainly true. After all, Harry Potter, the master of the Disarming Charm, was the best example.

"Now, please open your textbooks to chapter three. We'll begin with the theoretical foundations of the Disarming Charm. Pay attention to the path traced by the wand tip. The angle of this curve is the key distinction between the Disarming Charm and other offensive spells..."

Gerald opened his textbook, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

Professor Winslet was a surprisingly good teacher, explaining complex ideas in simple, accessible terms.

With Defence Against the Dark Arts Professors changing so frequently, their abilities varied wildly. Finding a reliable one was a rare stroke of luck.

What truly interested him, however, was Winslet herself.

The original books had never specified who the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor had been that year.

To Gerald, then, she was an entirely new character.

At dinner, the long tables in the Great Hall were laden with their usual abundance of food.

Gerald had gotten plenty of exercise that day and polished off eight grilled sausages, two large slices of beef pie, and a heap of mashed potatoes in one sitting.

When dessert arrived, he ate his pudding while listening to the twins discuss that night's plan.

"Two Dungbombs. One on the third floor, the other on the second."

Fred lowered his voice and spread a napkin on the table to serve as a battle map.

"He'll think we're on either the second or the third floor, but we'll actually be on the first."

"Once he's gone up to the third floor, we'll set off another one on the first."

Lee Jordan took a few seconds to digest this, then slowly broke into an admiring smile. "What exactly have you two got inside your heads?"

"Wisdom," the twins replied in unison.

Half past seven.

Night fell, and the corridors of Hogwarts grew quiet.

Gerald and the trio slipped out of the common room and headed down the Marble Staircase to the third floor.

The third-floor corridor was deserted.

Fred took a dark green Dungbomb from his pocket, hefted it in his hand, then gave George a meaningful look.

George nodded in understanding and retreated around the corner with Lee Jordan.

Fred took a deep breath, raised the Dungbomb high, and slammed it onto the floor.

A loud bang rang out, followed immediately by an overwhelming stench.

Even Fred staggered back two steps, coughing and laughing at the same time.

Standing a few steps away, Gerald had only one thought.

If you set one of these off in an apartment complex back in my old life, the property managers would sue you into bankruptcy.

At Hogwarts, though, this was just everyday life.

Lee Jordan poked his head around the corner, pinched his nose, and called in a muffled voice, "You two head down to the first floor! Fred and I will set off the second wave on the second!"

George wasted no time. He grabbed Gerald and took off running.

They had run less than twenty metres when Mrs. Norris's piercing cries and Filch's furious shouting sounded behind them.

"Who was that? Who's there? Just wait until I get my hands on you little brats..."

Fred and Lee Jordan set off another Dungbomb on the second floor.

The second floor immediately descended into chaos.

The stench of the Dungbomb filled the entire corridor, while Filch's curses and Mrs. Norris's cries echoed through the stairwell.

Meanwhile, Gerald had already

taken advantage of the confusion to run alone to the corner at the far end of the first-floor corridor.

Gerald stopped outside the door and glanced back at the empty corridor.

Filch was probably still running back and forth between the second and third floors. He wouldn't have time to worry about this place yet.

He quickly drew his wand and aimed it at the lock.

"Alohomora."

The lock gave a faint click, and the door opened.

Filch's office was even more cluttered than he had imagined.

The walls were covered with all sorts of shackles and whips, and the air smelled of shoe polish.

Gerald scanned the room, his gaze quickly settling on an old wooden filing cabinet.

A yellowed label on the top drawer bore crooked handwriting: Confiscated items, highly dangerous.

He pulled open the drawer. Its contents were piled together in a jumble.

Gerald's fingers searched rapidly through the clutter, his heartbeat involuntarily quickening.

At last, he found a neatly folded piece of old parchment, its surface completely blank.

He unfolded the Marauder's Map, lowered his voice, and recited the incantation he had read countless times in the books.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."