Chapter 142: Deathmatch 4
The Vegetable Garden was in chaos—screams and bursts of laughter echoed through the air, drawing the attention of countless students. Dozens gathered at the fence, pressing their faces against the cracks, peering in with wide-eyed fascination.
In the fourth round, Wade finally unleashed his true skill—no longer restricted by the ban on the Enlargement Charm. With a masterful blend of Disguise Charm and Silent Spell, he launched surprise attacks. Enhanced Perception Charm sharpened his senses. A Swarm of Birds shattered hidden traps. Replication Charm duplicated pumpkins and vines, throwing off those who thought they’d memorized the terrain. Slippery Surface sent Fred tumbling headfirst into a pumpkin. Hovering Charm knocked Neville off his feet. Binding Charm trapped Theo, who’d been hiding in the vines, leaving him helpless. Inversion Charm sent Harry spinning twice and a half before crashing down, disoriented and helpless—quickly immobilized by Petrificus Totalus.
Trip Charm, Stun Spell, Disarming Charm—Wade wielded them all with flawless precision. And through it all, he maintained his Super Shield Charm, deflecting every spell that struck him, sending them ricocheting back.
When the last opponent fell, Wade remained untouched. Only then did they grasp the chasm between them. One man’s mastery of magic surpassed the combined efforts of all the others.
Most of them needed to stand still, aim carefully at the goal, before casting. Once they started running, their success rate dropped below fifty percent—hitting their target became pure luck.
It was in this battle that Wade realized just how invaluable Professor Flitwick’s notes and teachings had been. During casual duels, young wizards seemed evenly matched—Wade’s spells were simply stronger, their light beams thicker. But in real combat, only one in ten of their spells landed with effect. Wade’s? At least seven out of ten worked.
With the terrain to his advantage, his one-on-nine performance felt effortless.
Yet he wasn’t satisfied.
He’d been hit several times himself—once nearly overwhelmed by a group assault, his shield barely holding.
Exhausted, the students collapsed onto the ground, lost in quiet reflection.
Then, from outside the fence, a voice called out:
“Hey, Fred! What are you guys doing? Can I join?”
Fred turned. It was Lee Jordan—his brother’s roommate and close friend.
The others stared in shock. The fence was now packed with students, their faces pressed so tightly against the wood that they looked distorted, eyes gleaming with eager anticipation.
“Yeah, yeah! Let us in too!”
“This looks awesome!”
“Fred, George—on the basis of our shared homework struggles, don’t leave me out!”
They’d never miss a single Quidditch match, no matter how far away. And now, faced with this kind of high-energy, competitive game, resistance was impossible.
Fred was eager to include Lee—but he hesitated, glancing at Wade.
Wade didn’t mind more players. The more, the better—the greater the test of his magical abilities.
He estimated the garden’s size and asked, “Have them line up… Hagrid, can you keep order? Max fifty at a time.”
“Sure thing,” Hagrid said cheerfully. He loved the game—almost wished he could join, if only his size didn’t make it inconvenient.
Wade turned to the others. “So, you’re not going to ban Enlargement Charm again, are you?”
Their faces paled—but then they brightened, imagining the pain would now be shared among more people.
“What’s this game called?” Lee Jordan asked, stepping through the fence, buzzing with excitement.
They exchanged glances, then spoke in unison:
“Deathmatch!”
One against nine.
…
“AAAAAAHHHHHHHH—” The screams pierced the sky.
Filch stormed into Dumbledore’s office, furious, flipping through the school rules in search of a suitable punishment. “This is a serious violation! They should all be locked in detention!”
“Calm down, Mr. Filch,” Dumbledore said, sipping tea with a smile. “Look at these children—so full of life! I wonder… could I join in?”
“Albus!” Professor McGonagall snapped. “They’ll get hurt!”
Dumbledore popped a honeycomb sweet into his mouth and mumbled, “Madam Pomfrey’s already prepared potions and bandages. Besides, the children are more sensible than we think… Care for a candy, Minerva?”
“…Fine. Thank you.” McGonagall took it, reluctantly—thankful it wasn’t a cockroach cluster.
“But I still think you should ban this harmful activity—”
“Minerva,” Dumbledore interrupted gently. “Have you ever seen a young lion?”
“Of course,” she replied.
“Then you know—young animals learn survival skills through play. Hunting, evasion, cooperation.”
“Our students are no different.”
“If they don’t learn to use their wands in games like this, life will teach them the hard way.”
“I only regret one thing,” Dumbledore added softly. “Why didn’t I think of this sooner?”
McGonagall said nothing more. She turned and marched away, heading straight to the Infirmary to confirm whether there were enough supplies.
The white-bearded headmaster narrowed his eyes, casting a spell to see clearly across the distance. He watched the scene unfold.
He saw Harry expertly fend off a Giant Cockroach, rescuing a terrified first-year girl who’d been crying.
He saw Hufflepuff’s Theo leap onto a Mantis’s back, teaming up with Ravenclaw’s Michael to bring it down.
He saw Slytherin’s Zabini and Gryffindor’s Ron fighting side by side against a spider swarm.
He saw Pansy shrieking, clutching Hermione’s hand as she died—again and again—while Hermione, screaming, repelled a Dung Beetle and dragged Pansy toward a pumpkin for cover.
And he saw courage from Ravenclaw, wisdom from Hufflepuff, friendship from Slytherin, and resilience from Gryffindor.
In the face of terrifying insects, the usual rivalries vanished. They helped each other. Some even made deliberate, selfless sacrifices to protect others.
“Such beauty…” Dumbledore whispered, wiping a tear from his spectacles.
Snape stood by the window, scowling, silently recording every Slytherin who failed.
Even in play, he wouldn’t allow his students to look bad.
Meanwhile, Professor Flitwick watched Wade with intense delight.
“Hmm, good use of that spell… Oh! Too late—thank goodness the other didn’t react… Watch out! That one’s hiding under a Longhorn Beetle… Brilliant! He blocked it!”
Flitwick bounced on his toes, clapping. Snape glared, annoyed by the spectacle.
The failed attacker? None other than Slytherin’s Crabbe.
He had courage—hiding beneath the beetle—but his spell was as weak as a few drops of water.
…
Lockhart, watching from afar, felt inspired.
“If I won this game, I’d be adored by everyone! All the students would admire me!”
But after a moment, he changed his mind.
“No… too dangerous. And it would ruin my image.”
“Better idea—start a Dueling Club. Everyone would love it. Safe. Respectable.”
Muttering to himself, he hurried back to his office, determined to draft the perfect plan—complete with flawless pamphlets.
(End of Chapter)
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