66-70

Chapter 66: The First Teaching Session

"Today, we’ll be learning a spell called—The Blasting Curse." Luke reverted to his usual tone, finding Snape’s drawling voice unbearable.

Greasy, drawn-out, and unnecessarily harsh on the throat.

"Everyone, repeat after me," Luke instructed, channeling the demeanor of his former English teacher. "Reducto."

"Reducto," the students echoed in unison.

A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over Luke. It felt just like teaching elementary English—except these students were about the same age as middle schoolers and only differed in skin tone.

However, one particular incident caught his attention.

"Mr. Finnigan," he called, singling out the infamous "explosion enthusiast." "Please repeat the incantation."

"Redu'o," Seamus mumbled, his pronunciation clearly off, marked by a thick Cockney accent.

He had swallowed the "k" sound entirely.

"Perhaps your accent could use some work," Luke remarked regretfully. "In spellcasting, especially at the beginner level, a minor mispronunciation can lead to catastrophic results. I believe I now understand why your spells tend to explode unintentionally—"

"Now, once again, with me: Reducto," Luke encouraged, guiding him patiently.

"Reduc'o," Seamus tried again, this time adding the elusive "k."

"Good, much better, Mr. Finnigan," Luke praised. "Pay closer attention to the positioning of your mouth and tongue. Both plosive sounds must come through: Reducto."

"Reducto." It still sounded a bit awkward, but Seamus finally managed to pronounce the missing consonant.

"Excellent, Mr. Finnigan. Keep practicing at your desk," Luke applauded. "Now, let’s move on to the most exciting part of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

The students perked up, visibly intrigued. Harry and Ron leaned back so far in their seats that they almost toppled onto the students behind them.

To Luke’s surprise, even the typically composed Draco Malfoy looked at him with an eager expression.

Luke clapped his hands, and Tom and Jerry entered, carrying an odd, ancient-looking full-length mirror.

"The Mirror of Erised! That’s the Mirror of Erised!" Harry exclaimed, instantly recognizing it. "No wonder I couldn’t find it—you took it!"

Luke waved his wand gracefully, like a conductor directing an orchestra. "All right, now, you’re about to face a creature from the depths—"

The students collectively gasped.

"The depths? What’s that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, living up to her Chinese-translated name, which signified curiosity and intelligence.

"You can think of it as hell, or perhaps purgatory," Luke shrugged. "Not exactly a pleasant place, and I’d rather not elaborate… Now then, Miss Granger, since you were the first to ask, you’ll be the first to face the trial!"

There was a hint of personal payback in his tone.

A classic case of talkative students learning the hard way.

"Everyone, line up behind Miss Granger. Yes, like that," Luke instructed as the students formed a long queue.

Walking over to Hermione, he gestured toward the Mirror of Erised. "Remember the incantation, Miss Granger?"

"Y-Yes," Hermione stammered nervously. She was clearly unsure of herself. After all, none of them had experienced anything like this before.

"Three… two… one," Luke counted down, flicking his wand toward the mirror.

Then, without warning, he casually covered his ears with his hands, leaving the students bewildered.

The surface of the mirror rippled like water. Suddenly, a bony, gnarled hand emerged, gripping the mirror’s frame. Moments later, the hideous head of its owner followed—a corpse-like creature from Lothric’s High Wall.

"AHHHHHHH!" Hermione shrieked, her scream so piercing it could almost rival Vitas.

The creature—a "hollow"—was the very embodiment of decay, resembling a gaunt, zombie-like human with skeletal features.

"All right, Miss Granger," Luke remarked with his trademark dry humor. "You might consider auditioning for a soprano role instead of staying at Hogwarts. Perhaps the opera is your true calling? In case you hadn’t noticed, the hollow is almost fully out."

Hermione’s face flushed red, her instinctive reaction being to run. It wasn’t her fault—encountering such a terrifying sight would shake anyone, especially a thirteen-year-old witch.

Hermione’s birthday was in September, meaning she was a year younger than Harry and the others when they first enrolled. At this point, she was barely thirteen—just a first-year middle schooler.

Imagine yourself at that age, facing a monster like this. How would you react?

"It’s almost out," Luke continued, his tone laced with mockery.

Hermione shakily raised her wand, her voice trembling. "P-Professor, w-what should I d-do?"

"Relax, I’m here," Luke reassured her, gently patting her shoulder.

Encouraged, Hermione took a deep breath, steadied herself, and waited until the hollow fully emerged. Then, she pointed her wand and confidently shouted, "Reducto!"

The spell shot from her wand, striking the hollow squarely. Unable to withstand the force, it disintegrated into ash, which was then sucked back into the mirror.

To avoid traumatizing the students, Luke had ensured that the Lothric hollow was modified to be as "environmentally friendly" as possible.

The Gryffindor students erupted into cheers. Though Hermione wasn’t always their favorite, she had set a brave example for everyone.

"Professor, shouldn’t we get some points for this?" Ron asked with an innocent grin. "Look at how amazing Hermione was—just one point for Gryffindor?"

Luke chuckled mischievously. "I don’t have the authority to award points, but I can deduct them. How about it, Mr. Weasley? Want to experience that?"

"Uh, no thanks," Ron replied sheepishly, eliciting a round of good-natured laughter.

A paper crane fluttered by and landed in Harry’s hand.

Glancing in the direction it came from, Harry saw Draco Malfoy smirking and winking at him.

Unfolding the crane, Harry found a magical GIF-style drawing. It depicted a bespectacled figure—clearly meant to be him—being kissed by a grotesque hollow.

Harry froze, his face turning red with both embarrassment and anger. He glared at Draco, already thinking of a witty retort.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 67: Slytherin’s Origami Crane Only Flies to the One They Love*

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, what are you two up to?” Luke noticed their little antics, walked over, and confiscated the small note Harry was holding. “Yooooooo—”

Luke deliberately made a dramatic expression, as if he’d stumbled upon a great discovery. His tone turned teasing: “It seems that, after a period of silence, our dear Mr. Draco can no longer suppress his longing for Mr. Potter?”

Both of their faces turned crimson in an instant. Harry couldn’t take it and shouted, “No, it’s not like that!”

Luke didn’t reply but waved his wand, transforming the piece of paper back into an origami crane. Shaking his head, he tutted playfully. “I remember a saying: A Slytherin’s origami crane only flies to the one they love. How romantic! Yooooooo—”

The whole class burst into laughter, joining in on Luke’s “yoooooo.” Their synchronized teasing even got Hermione, who usually kept her composure, laughing so hard her prominent teeth shone brightly.

Several fangirls, especially Pansy, looked like their eyes were about to pop out of their sockets, gleaming like lanterns. It was obvious they were already drafting thousands of words of Draco/Harry fanfiction in their minds.

Let’s just hope their stories aren’t as sickly sweet as a Blackcurrant and Licorice Pie.

“Seems like Mr. Malfoy would love to become the Inferius that Potter faces. How about... the two of you duel each other?”

The two boys shook their heads rapidly, their panic almost audible.

“What enviable affection. It seems neither of you can bear to harm the other,” Luke said with a devilish grin.

“Alright, alright. Loving someone isn’t such a difficult thing to express.” With a mischievous smile, he handed the origami crane back to Harry, patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t let Mr. Malfoy’s sincerity go to waste. Alright, class, let’s continue.”

Amid the uproar, Luke waved his hand to signal the next student to proceed.

Inferi, after all, are tireless laborers. Unfortunately for them, under the spells of young wizards, they didn’t stand a chance. Of course, this was exactly why Luke had chosen them for the lesson—they were frail, making them perfect targets for first-year students.

Outside the door, Dumbledore nodded approvingly. It seemed that Luke was a trustworthy young man. Hmm, and his disguise as Severus earlier was quite convincing too. Smiling like an old fox, Dumbledore slyly extracted the memory with his wand, storing it in a crystal vial to show Snape later.

Let him see what his prized student, the treasured son of his most respected senior, and Slytherin’s top seedling, had been up to in class.

Luke, of course, had no idea Dumbledore had just set him up. Otherwise, he’d have sent Jerry to the headmaster’s office to swipe all of Dumbledore’s sweets.

Don’t underestimate Jerry’s abilities; he even had a secret tunnel into the headmaster’s office.

One can only imagine Snape’s reaction when he learned about today’s events.

“Alas.” Dumbledore sighed, humming an unfamiliar tune as he walked away with a spring in his step.

This was a solid, heartfelt revenge for that little Christmas prank.

Overall, the students’ performance wasn’t bad. Except for Hermione, who was caught off guard and frightened by the first Inferius, the others managed reasonably well.

Of course, you couldn’t really blame Hermione—she was still young, and her tolerance wasn’t particularly high. Those Inferi were terrifyingly grotesque, after all.

Luke’s teaching methods seemed to be effective, tailoring his techniques to suit each student. For instance, with Neville, he stood right beside him, patiently correcting his wand movements, pronunciation, and tone.

“Don’t be nervous, Neville.” Luke patted his shoulder and demonstrated with a flick of his wand. “See? Just like this. Simply flick your wand and focus on shattering your target. Got it?” He snapped his fingers. “Easy as pie.”

The phrase “easy as pie” (or “Bob’s your uncle”) is an old British idiom originating in the late 19th century. It refers to Robert Cecil, a British prime minister who frequently promoted his nephew, Arthur, to prominent government positions. Arthur eventually succeeded him as prime minister, leading to the expression being used to describe something easily accomplished.

After several failed attempts, Neville finally managed to cast the spell successfully under Luke’s guidance. With newfound confidence, he aimed at the Inferius Luke had restrained with a spell and released a perfect Blasting Curse.

This lesson demonstrated to Luke how vital proper guidance was. If Snape had been teaching this class, Neville might not have even managed to lift his wand, let alone cast a spell.

The thought made Luke want to smack his forehead.

Their head of house, as brilliant as he was, seemed to suffer from a chronic case of poor teaching techniques. His standards were excellent, his content impeccable, but his attitude and methods left much to be desired. To top it off, he blatantly played favorites.

If he could treat everyone equally, he’d actually be a great teacher.

But, this is Britain—not a land of model educators. Expectations for their teaching skills should be adjusted accordingly.

It’s worth mentioning that Seamus’s Blasting Curse seemed to have an explosive effect. The Inferius he hit disintegrated into a cloud of dust, filling the entire classroom. Luke had to summon a strong wind to clear the room of what was likely a mix of ash and bone fragments.

Seamus, however, looked quite pleased with himself, wearing an expression that screamed, “Aren’t I amazing?”

Luke resisted the urge to make him dance a Tarantella and instead, as a responsible teacher, restrained himself.

“Alright, Gryffindor loses a point,” he announced, much to the disappointment of the Gryffindor students, especially Harry and Ron, whose faces immediately fell.

Truly a worthy protégé of Snape—his knack for wielding authority with flair was unmatched.

“Next time, control the strength of your spell. After all... inhaling bone dust isn’t great for anyone’s health,” Luke said matter-of-factly, without a hint of embarrassment.

At that moment, an origami crane floated gracefully into the room and landed in his hand.

---

(End of Chapter)  

*Chapter 68: How to Deal with a Tsundere*

Under the eager gazes of his classmates, Luke opened the paper crane message. It bore the signature of his senior.

The gist of the message was that she was waiting for him at the classroom door and had something to discuss after class.

Luke folded the paper crane and, looking up, was immediately met with the nosy stares of his classmates.

"Professor, who was that?" Draco, who had just been teased by Luke into blushing, quickly switched to a gossiping and teasing demeanor. "Let me guess—it must be Miss Vole, right? What did it say? Something like asking her 'beloved little deer' to wait for her after school?"

"I distinctly recall what you just said. What was it again?" Draco continued recklessly, oblivious to the danger. He turned to his Slytherin peers. "Oh yes! Slytherin's paper cranes only fly to those they love. Professor, I think you should man up and boldly confess your feelings, instead of—"

"Slytherin loses five points because of your big mouth," Luke interrupted coldly, issuing the ultimate decree. "Additionally, report to Professor Snape’s office every evening. You’re in detention for a month."

"Lastly, let me remind you—Miss Vole is standing right outside the door."

A chill ran down Draco's spine, and he turned his trembling head toward the doorway. Sure enough, there was Catherine’s expressionless but striking face.

He’s doomed... Draco silently pronounced his own death sentence. Not even his father could save him now.

Draco sat in his seat, his legs shaking uncontrollably, his heart pounding wildly. He genuinely believed that if his heart thudded any harder, it might leap out of his throat and escape his troublesome body.

Oh, if only he could go back and undo it all...

Seeing Catherine at the door, the other students also tightened up. One by one, they sat straight, not daring to show even a hint of unnecessary expression for fear of drawing Catherine’s attention.

They’d rather face detention with Snape than risk offending Catherine—after all, the experience of being hung upside down by her was not something they ever wanted to repeat. The sensation of blood rushing to the head... ugh, unforgettable.

But to everyone’s surprise, after class, Catherine didn’t go after Draco.

Why would she? Draco had actually said something she had always wanted to say!

That foolish ferret could be pretty sharp sometimes, and Catherine mentally gave him a thumbs-up.

If only those three little red-haired squirrels were as considerate. Despite how much the little deer invested in them, the thought of Harry and his trio made Catherine grit her teeth.

And then there was that beaver—the one with the fluffy hair. She needed to keep a strict eye on her. No way was she going to let that beaver steal her little deer’s heart.

Little did Catherine know, Luke had absolutely no romantic thoughts about Hermione. He wasn’t a wolf or a bear, so how could he possibly be interested in a beaver?

After class, Luke was unceremoniously dragged away by Catherine in front of everyone.

"But I haven’t assigned homework yet," Luke protested half-heartedly.

However, Catherine had already pulled him to the great hall. Assigning homework would have to wait.

“What do you want?” Luke asked, puzzled at her urgency. “Couldn’t this wait until we’re back in the common room?”

Catherine stared at him for a long moment before asking, “This afternoon is the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class for the third years. Have you thought about how to teach it?”

As soon as she said it, she realized it sounded wrong. How could she say such things to this scoundrel? What if he misunderstood and thought she cared about him? His ego would skyrocket!

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Catherine quickly added, her tone a bit guilty. “I’m not worried about you—I’m just concerned that your teaching might mislead the students.”

Luke, the little scoundrel, instantly deciphered her true meaning. In his mind, he translated her words perfectly:

- Don’t get the wrong idea = You must understand.  

- I’m not worried about you = I’m absolutely worried about you.  

- I’m just concerned about your teaching = You’re the only one I care about.  

It was as precise as a phrasebook translation.

Dealing with a tsundere was easy—just go with the flow. But was Luke the type to follow the script? Of course not.

“Oh, so I’m that useless in your eyes, Cathy?” Luke switched instantly to a hurt expression, his face falling. “I can’t believe it... Even you don’t believe in me. No matter how much I prepare, even my grandfather—”

At this point, Luke pinched himself hard where Catherine couldn’t see, causing his eyes to redden with pain.

Grandfather: Don’t drag me into this. I practically let you raise yourself!  

Whether this trick worked on others was irrelevant—it certainly triggered Catherine’s maternal instincts.

Guilt surged in Catherine’s heart as she looked at Luke with his teary eyes. She reached out and held his hand.

“I’m sorry, Luke—” She didn’t even call him “little deer” this time. Catherine was clearly heartbroken. “I… Of course, I believe in you. You’ll always be the… the best in my eyes.”

She forced herself to say such embarrassing words just to ease Luke’s sadness.

“Really?” Luke blinked his watery eyes like a puppy. “You really think so?”

“Of course.” Catherine nodded firmly.

“Then… do you like me?” Luke began setting his trap.

“Of course, I—” Catherine stopped mid-sentence, realizing something was off. She glanced at Luke’s barely concealed grin and immediately understood.

Furious, she stomped on his foot. “I can’t believe I misjudged you! You shameless little scoundrel!”

She stormed out of the great hall, leaving Luke sitting there, regretful.

Just as Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached cautiously, Luke sighed. “So close…” he muttered, speaking in words the trio couldn’t understand.

As he brooded, a cold voice interrupted him.

“Looks like Mr. Montbatten is quite pleased with himself.”

Turning around, Luke found Snape glaring at him, his hooked nose making him appear even more menacing.

Watching from the side, Harry couldn’t help but remember Quirrell’s words:

“If Snape hadn’t been muttering a counter-curse, trying to save your life, you’d have fallen off your broom and died. Why do you think he refereed the next match? To make sure I didn’t finish you off.”

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 69: I've Wanted to Do This for So Long!*

"If you're going to punish me..." Luke swallowed nervously, "just say it outright. Don't leave me hanging like this—it's really terrifying, you know?"

"Heh heh heh..." Snape's sinister smile remained as unnerving as ever. He stepped aside, revealing the stern figure of Professor McGonagall.

Snape smirked, his expression as smug as a crooked-mouthed dragon king. "I've been quite busy lately, so I asked Professor McGonagall to handle the punishment for your disrespect toward a professor. I hope you have a pleasant time—goodbye."

With that, he whipped his robes dramatically and disappeared.

Luke looked at Professor McGonagall, his heart pounding. "Professor, you—"

But before he could finish, McGonagall glanced over her shoulder at Snape’s retreating figure. Then, in a flash, she spun back around, her stern face lighting up with an expression of excitement. Her arms swung forward and back with joy, and she practically beamed like a young girl. "Well done, Mr. Mountbatten! I've wanted to do that for so long!"

(Excited McGonagall moment.)

Luke, Harry, Hermione, and Ron stared at her, completely petrified. Was this really McGonagall, or had someone taken Polyjuice Potion to impersonate her?

As the four of them exchanged confused looks, McGonagall cheerfully left their sight, practically skipping away.

"Was... that McGonagall?" Ron asked uncertainly. "Bloody hell, was that really her?"

"Um, I've heard of a potion called Polyjuice Potion that lets you temporarily take on someone else's appearance," Hermione said hesitantly. "Do you think... it might be someone pretending to be McGonagall?"

"I actually have a question," Luke interjected. "We all know McGonagall is an Animagus. So, here's the thing—if someone wanted to impersonate her but used her cat fur from her Animagus form, what would they turn into?"

Well, it seemed Snape had his own way of handling things.

Such strange, offbeat questions.

Hermione, deep in thought, decided she would ask Professor Snape about it the next day.

Asking questions when in doubt was a hallmark of Miss Know-It-All's excellent character, even if the person she had to ask was Snape, the old bat.

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, students who had just attended Luke's Defense Against the Dark Arts class were enthusiastically chatting about it. Their faces lit up as they discussed how interesting Professor Mountbatten was.

The girls, however, formed a circle. In this moment, something that countless Hogwarts headmasters, professors, and even the Founders themselves had never achieved was realized by Draco and Harry.

They were united—completely setting aside house rivalries—to passionately debate how well Draco and Harry matched as a pair.

And so, the afternoon arrived.

This time, Luke's outfit was more conventional—a neatly tailored suit that looked both sharp and a bit out of place on someone so young.

Still, no matter how polished his demeanor, it couldn't entirely make up for his height disadvantage.

He was growing, though! He made sure to eat plenty of meat, eggs, and milk every day. Who cared about the Amazon Rainforest?

The third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts class was a joint session for Slytherin and Gryffindor students.

This combined group included many familiar faces.

From Gryffindor, there were the Weasley twins, and from Slytherin, there was Catherine—familiar faces all around.

The upperclassmen, already aware of Mountbatten's unique teaching methods, watched Luke with wide, expectant eyes—everyone except Catherine.

Catherine's gaze was a mixture, like a pie chart: one-third embarrassment, one-third worry, one-third longing, and a final fraction of indulgence.

People are complicated, and their feelings toward others are ever-evolving, spiraling upward in complexity.

Standing at the podium, Luke showed no hint of nervousness. Turning to face the class, he confidently said, "All right, let's begin."

"Good afternoon, Professor—" the students drawled in unison, stretching out the greeting like in a British English class.

It was Professor, not teacher.

After all, even a teaching assistant could be considered a professor, just as you wouldn’t call a deputy director "director."

This was etiquette, not something to nitpick.

"I imagine you've heard from other students about some of the adjustments I've made to the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum," Luke began, clapping his hands as Tom and Jerry brought in the Mirror of Erised.

"Indeed, this is a cursed subject. I've consulted with other professors about your learning progress, and frankly, I’m not particularly impressed."

"Headmaster Dumbledore is far from competent, and I beg your pardon for saying so," Luke boldly declared, aiming direct criticism at the headmaster. "The wizarding world is dangerous. Don't think I'm being alarmist. Look around you—Dark Wizards are everywhere, Death Eaters are stirring, and Voldemort might return. Do you really think you're safe?"

"Do you really think the revolving door of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors can teach you anything truly useful?"

"No, absolutely not. They don't even fully understand your individual progress before something goes wrong. Tell me, how can you possibly master—excuse my bluntness—this life-saving art under such conditions?"

Luke clenched his fists, his tone impassioned. "Classmates, more than anyone else, I wish there were no need to study this subject. As a student myself, do you think I want to study?"

A wave of good-natured laughter rippled through the room.

"Let me tell you—no, I don't want to. But why do I work so hard at it? Because the world is dangerous, and I want to live. It's as simple as that."

He patted his chest, his gaze sweeping across the students.

"I hope none of you ever need to learn this cursed subject. I hope the wizarding world is no longer filled with betrayal, killing, pain, and torment. I hope for a world with true order, where Dark Wizards are fully deterred from harming kind and law-abiding wizards!"

"I know some of you may say, 'Mr. Mountbatten, you're dreaming!' Yes, you're right. Right now, I am dreaming."

He laughed, and the students joined in. After a moment, his expression turned deadly serious.

"But—what if we take action?"

"Some might say, 'We're too young. Dark Wizards won’t even look at us twice.' But in my mother’s homeland, a great philosopher once said, 'A single spark can ignite a prairie fire.' We may be young, but we are that spark. One day, we can burn away all the poisonous weeds of Dark Wizards from this field we call the wizarding world!"

(To be continued)  

Chapter 70: Just Spoil Him

Thunderous applause erupted from the crowd and lingered for a long time.

The young wizards had never heard a speech before, let alone one as impassioned as the one Luke just delivered. They clapped with all their might, their hands red and stinging, yet unwilling to stop.

Luke raised his hands slightly to signal for the applause to cease. "Some of you may say, 'I don't have any grand ambitions to change the wizarding world or establish a new order.' I understand that; everyone has their own way of life. But let me tell you, your reasons for studying Defense Against the Dark Arts go far beyond that."

Luke knew that speaking about distant ideals wasn’t enough; he needed them to understand the fragility of their current existence, like leaves adrift in the wind.

"Think about this: when your parents, your siblings, your family fall victim to a dark wizard's curse because you didn’t study enough—will you regret not putting more effort into your Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons?"

The students below wore expressions of deep thought. A few clenched their fists.

Even those who weren’t swayed by Luke's "grand vision" were stirred. After all, who didn’t have family or friends? Orphans were relatively rare in the wizarding world.

Of course, no offense to the scar-headed one...

Luke knew it was time to strike while the iron was hot. He clenched his fists and shouted, "For the sake of our family and friends, we must study diligently!"

"Study! Study! Study!" The students echoed him enthusiastically, fully engaged now.

Outside the door, Dumbledore didn’t seem the least bit offended. Even as Luke used him as a straw man, Dumbledore wore his usual cheerful smile, munching on a lemon sherbet.

Truth be told, Luke had misjudged him.

The situation at Hogwarts was tangled and complex, involving the Ministry of Magic, former Death Eaters, the Order of the Phoenix, and neutral factions all intertwined.

Some might wonder, "Dumbledore is so powerful; why doesn’t he just rule by strength and have the final say?"

But that would be completely out of character for Dumbledore.

Leaving that aside, Luke had just begun teaching the class when the twins chimed in, taking turns teasing him.

"Professor Mountbatten."

"Can you defeat Miss Vorey?"

"I bet you can’t."

Uh... Luke glanced at Catherine. He really wasn’t confident he could beat her.

Even with the added power from his rune-word equipment, a victory was far from guaranteed.

"Why don’t you two duel?"

"Let us see the new professor’s skills!"

The Weasley twins were like cornstarch—thickening any situation they got into.

With their talent for stirring things up, it was a shame they weren’t in diplomacy.

Luke saw the anticipation in the students' eyes and had no choice but to reluctantly turn to Catherine. "What do you think, Miss Vorey?"

Catherine stood gracefully, smiling slightly. "It would be my honor, Professor."

The students quickly formed two rows by house, leaving a wide path down the middle.

No one wanted to be collateral damage in a duel between two heavyweights. The possibility of getting hit by a stray AOE spell was not appealing.

Only the Slytherins knew Luke’s true strength, but everyone had witnessed Catherine’s powerful spells.

No one wanted to win themselves a three-day stay in the hospital wing.

The two walked to the center, raising their wands to their chests in the traditional wizard’s duel salute before turning and stepping apart to create distance.

After bowing to each other, Luke made an elegant and polite gesture of invitation.

"Ladies first, Miss Vorey."

A true English gentleman.

Catherine didn’t hold back, flicking her wand to unleash a series of rapid spells.

It was clear she wasn’t going easy on him.

Even third-years had never seen such an intense wizard’s duel. Their understanding of dueling was limited to spells like Expelliarmus and Incendio—essentially flashy light shows.

Even the Weasley twins, among the most skilled of the third-years, only knew small jinxes like making someone's teeth grow uncontrollably.

This duel, however, was a visual feast. Both opponents were as skilled as adult wizards, trading spells back and forth with thrilling precision.

Occasionally, a spell would ricochet off a Protego charm, creating craters in the ground and eliciting screams from the young onlookers.

As for the damaged floor? That would be Dumbledore's responsibility. Consider it a school-funded renovation.

Dumbledore (sucking on a lollipop): "Not my problem. I’m broke. Don’t bother me."

After four or five minutes, Luke seized an opening. A flash of red light hit Catherine's wrist, disarming her.

Her wand spun through the air and landed in Luke’s hand.

The entire room collectively gasped, their faces frozen in disbelief.

No one could imagine a first-year defeating Slytherin’s queen and third-year terror—Catherine Vorey.

No one dared cheer, either. No one wanted to draw attention, unsure whether Luke’s temper would spare them or if Catherine would retaliate in anger.

So they stood there like a flock of stunned geese.

"I concede, Professor," Catherine said, puffing her cheeks in a cute yet defiant expression.

Just spoil him, won’t you?

"It was just luck, Miss Vorey," Luke replied, handing her wand back with a polite smile.

He discreetly wiped sweat from his brow, glancing at the students.

Thankfully, no one had realized the duel was staged. He had fully prepared to be humiliated, yet Catherine had gone out of her way to let him save face.

"Now then, are you two satisfied, Mr. and Mr. Weasley?" Luke returned to the lectern. "I sincerely hope you don’t end up multiplying yourselves into a dozen Weasleys today."

The third-year curriculum still focused on curses like Reducto and creatures like Inferi. Their knowledge of defensive spells wasn’t much more advanced than the first-years’.

In Luke’s plan, the only real difference was that the third-years could progress slightly faster.

Later that evening, in the Room of Requirement, Luke found himself dangling upside down five times, courtesy of Catherine.

"Alright, alright, Cathy, thank you for today—"

Before he could finish, she suspended him in the air again.

Her cold gaze met his.

"Fine, no thanks then," Luke sighed. "I get it... we’re close, so saying thank you feels distant."

Her expression softened slightly.

"Now that you’ve vented, can you let me down?" Luke raised his hands in surrender.

Finally, Catherine lowered him.

She remembered her mother’s advice: Always give your man face in public.

Judging by his relieved look, it seemed to have worked.

Catherine was someone with a strong competitive streak.

"Stupid little Luke," she said softly, her gaze as clear as a mountain spring, washing over him.

---

(End of Chapter)