Chapter 143: Luna

Once, Young Wizards had avoided Hagrid’s Vegetable Garden like the plague. Now, it had become the most popular spot on campus—renamed by students as the "Game Field." Hagrid’s greatest joy had transformed into refereeing the Escape and Kill Game, where he’d sit atop a stool, chuckling heartily at every chaotic scene unfolding before him.

Professors often dropped by too—not just to watch the spectacle, but to ensure no student suffered serious harm. When Wade wasn’t around, they’d step in to cast Enlargement Charm and Confusion Charm, turning insects into giant, chasing monsters for the students to flee from.

But some students simply couldn’t stomach insects. So a new mode emerged: randomly divided into black and white teams, students of any number—from two to forty—could now battle each other in organized skirmishes. Dumbledore even added a little magic of his own: once grouped, student robes automatically shifted to white or black.

He’d even wanted to join a team himself—only to be politely, unanimously turned down.

Though professors repeatedly warned that Dark Curses were strictly forbidden during the games, some students still sneaked them in. The punishment? A full package: deduction of points, detention, and an extra dose of humiliation. Unlike the usual chores—copying books or grinding potion ingredients—these penalties were the ones students dreaded most.

Like sweeping out the restrooms.

Like being banned from using WandPreparationCompost.

And worst of all—being barred from the Game Field entirely, for anywhere from three days to an entire term.

Some students weren’t afraid of dirty work—but none wanted to be shut out of the school’s most beloved activity.

After a few stern examples, the message sank in. Still, nearly every day brought a few students to the Infirmary—mostly from head bumps or broken arms after tumbling off pumpkins.

For wizards, such injuries were easily healed—faster than a common cold. But despite this, Madam Pomfrey was busier than ever, rushing from one case to the next. She even filed three requests a day to shut down the Game Field.

Dumbledore always smiled and refused.

Wade hadn’t dared show his face around Madam Pomfrey for weeks.

But after some time, he returned—and was stunned by the transformation.

Half of the giant pumpkins remained in the Vegetable Garden, hollowed out and big enough to seat two or three students inside—like tiny houses. The other half had been harvested and stacked behind Hagrid’s hut.

"These are for Halloween," Hagrid explained. "If the kids destroy them too badly, we won’t have time to carve proper shapes."

As he spoke, he used a giant knife to carve away the damaged parts, scooping out the pulp until the hollowed pumpkins looked like enormous lanterns.

To fill the gaps left behind, Professor McGonagall had moved statues and armor from the castle into the Game Field. They wandered about at random, occasionally stretching out a leg to trip passing students.

Michael was one such victim—face-first into the dirt. He spat out mouthfuls of soil. After a long pause, he turned to Wade and asked, "Wade... do you think they’re doing this on their own? Or did McGonagall tell them to?"

"Impossible," Hermione snapped. "Professor McGonagall wouldn’t do something like that!"

"Maybe not," Wade said. "But think—what’s her Animagus form?"

Harry blinked. "A cat?"

Liam nodded slowly. "I’ve got a cat at home. It always knocks things off the table."

The group exchanged glances. Then, in silent agreement, they buried their thoughts deep—lest the head of Gryffindor hear them.

The next day, during Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall suddenly fixed her gaze on Harry, who was still grinning like an idiot.

"Mr. Potter," she said coldly, "do you have a question about today’s lesson?"

Harry jumped up, flustered. "C-cat... n-no, Professor!"

She stared at him—her eyes sharp, like a large feline predator locking onto prey.

"I... I was just wondering..." Harry stammered, scrambling for words. "How... how does one practice Animagus magic?"

"Such thoughts are far too advanced for you, Mr. Potter," she said, unimpressed.

Hermione raised her hand. "But we all want to know, Professor... it must be incredibly difficult, right? Only seven people in the 20th century managed it—and you’re one of them."

The class watched in awe. Even the boys, who usually rolled their eyes at anything “girl stuff,” were genuinely impressed.

The witch cleared her throat. "Well... since you’re all curious, I’ll explain it simply..."

Harry exhaled in relief. He sat down, casting a grateful glance at Hermione.

"An Animagus transformation allows a wizard to turn into an animal—but not just any animal. Not magical creatures either. The chosen form usually reflects the wizard’s personality and weight. If practiced incorrectly, one might never return to human form. It’s an extremely dangerous form of Transfiguration."

—So it really is tied to personality, the students thought in unison. Suddenly, they understood their head of house in a whole new light.

After McGonagall, Professor Sprout also added her own touches to the Game Field. There were pea pods that shot beans, a towering Whomping Willow half the height of a man, juvenile Devil’s Snare vines, and glowing hallucinogenic mushrooms that looked harmless—almost pretty.

Though their danger was tightly controlled, they still managed to give students a few painful surprises.

Meanwhile, house-elves, under the Headmaster’s orders, had brought in old tables, stools, shelves, and cracked stone carvings—turning the field into a sprawling maze. The area had more than doubled in size.

Not long after, a notice appeared on the Great Hall bulletin board:

> Duelling Club?

> Michael said eagerly, "Is it Flitwick teaching? He was the dueling champion in his youth!"

If they could learn even a fraction of his skill, maybe they could finally beat Wade.

"I hope so," Wade said. "But I haven’t heard anything from Professor Flitwick."

He’d checked his office yesterday. If Flitwick had any plans, he’d have given some hint—surely.

In the original timeline, the club had been run by Lockhart.

But would Flitwick, inspired by the Game Field, decide to pass on his own dueling experience?

The answer, it turned out, was no.

After dinner, the Great Hall was transformed. The Long Table was gone. In its place stood a stage nearly as tall as a man.

Gilderoy Lockhart stepped onto it, arms wide. "Welcome, my dear children! I’m thrilled to see nearly the entire student body here! Your academic enthusiasm warms my heart!"

Michael groaned. "If you’re so moved, could you please return Professor Flitwick to us?"

Over the past month, even the most devoted fan girls had seen through Lockhart’s charm. He wasn’t a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—more like a drama teacher.

Each class was a performance: students acted out scenes from his books, and he spent at least thirty minutes telling exaggerated tales of his own heroics. But when real magic was asked for, he’d stumble, mumble, and change the subject.

Michael had been forced to perform a scene with a werewolf and a snow monster—something he still considered a lifelong shame.

"I just realized," Michael said to Wade, "you’ve never had to act in one of his plays. How’d you manage that?"

"Disregard Charm," Wade whispered. "Want me to teach you? Next time."

"Better yet—let’s skip this nonsense. Let’s go to the Umbrella Room. We’re not learning anything here."

"Wait," Wade said, tilting his chin slightly. He nodded toward the shadows. "Snape’s here. He doesn’t show up for no reason."

At that moment, Lockhart pointed to the cloaked figure beside him. "Professor Snape is my assistant! He’s generously agreed to help me demonstrate a small spell before class—don’t worry, I’ll return your Potions professor unharmed!"

He smirked. Snape stared at his back, expressionless—like a bat frozen mid-flight.

The students erupted in excitement.

"Woah!" Michael spun back, grinning with schadenfreude. "I’m starting to admire this professor. He’s got real courage, doesn’t he?"

Neville gasped, clutching his mouth. "How dare he!"

"He probably thinks Snape’s just a weak technician," Wade guessed.

Snape, with his long robes and ghostly gait, looked like a black bat in flight. But in reality, he was slender—almost fragile. Yet magic wasn’t about muscle.

The two professors began their demonstration: facing each other, bowing (Snape merely dipped his head), wands raised.

"Watch my protocol, children!" Lockhart chirped. "In real duels, elegance and speed matter. No more roughhouse like in your Escape and Kill Game."

"We’ll count to three. On three, your Potions professor will lose his wand in an instant."

"One... two... three..."

Boom.

Lockhart flew off the stage, crashing into the wall before sliding down. His wand flew into the crowd.

Slytherin students cheered. Wade and Michael clapped along.

"Let’s go," Wade said, glancing at Harry, who stood nearby. "Nothing left to see."

Now, there was no "Slytherin Heir" terrorizing students. Even if Harry accidentally slipped into Parseltongue, he wasn’t branded a monster. After all, he’d trained too long—now, when faced with a serpent, he wouldn’t just talk to it. He’d act.

Wade and Michael pushed through the crowd, meeting Theo and Liam along the way.

"None of Lockhart’s nonsense," Wade said. "In real combat, no one’s going to bow like a gentleman. If you can sneak a hit, do it. If not, dodge. Protect yourself first."

"Only when the gap is huge do you have time to care about elegance or style," Theo added.

He remembered Wade’s fight against the werewolf and the dark wizard—the moment they fell, Wade had never even shown his intent. Not in the Game Field either. He never stood there, facing his opponent, and cast spells like a show-off.

He always won.

Theo thought deeply.

At the end of the night, Umbrella Room activities concluded right at curfew. Michael and the others headed back to their Common Rooms. Wade, however, went to the Room of Requirement.

First, he checked the storage room. It was noticeably emptier—the tables and cabinets from the Game Field had clearly come from here.

Then he switched to the potion-making chamber. Several cauldrons bubbled quietly, each filled with potions simmering in their own rhythm.

In class, they learned to brew basic potions in a single session—some in just minutes. But advanced potions took time.

Veritaserum? About a month.

Polyjuice Potion? Also a month.

Amortentia? Six months.

The good news? The cauldrons didn’t need constant supervision. Magic kept the flames steady and even.

After checking his own potions, Wade glanced at the clock. It was late.

He summoned his broom with Accio, climbed through a corridor window, and landed softly on the Ravenclaw Tower rooftop.

The eagle-shaped knocker murmured, "What’s too much for two, but just right for one?"

"Secret," Wade replied.

The Common Room door opened.

Inside, someone was already there.

A girl, wrapped in pajamas, curled up on the sofa by the fireplace, fast asleep.

She’d been covered by a blanket, but it had slipped halfway down, exposing her bare legs and the pale soles of her feet.

Wade waved his wand. The blanket floated up and settled gently over her.

The motion was silent. But she stirred.

Her golden-brown head shifted in the covers, then lifted slowly. Her pale skin, faint eyebrows, and striking silver eyes—wide with surprise.

Wade paused mid-step.

Together.

One.

Not two.

Not many.

Just one.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end