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Chapter 233: Strawberry Ice Cream
After Charms class, the group made their way toward the Great Hall. Lunch would be in ten minutes—arriving early meant they could pick their favorite foods without competition.
Turning the corner of the Stone Corridor, the ancient Stairs creaked and groaned as they descended from above, stretching like a long, winding staircase from the upper floors.
A group of older students came down the steps, all looking utterly dejected—like wilted eggplants soaked in frost.
"Hey, Matt!" Michael raised a hand in greeting. "What’s going on with you all?"
Wade recognized them too—fifth-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.
Matt glanced at Michael and the boy standing beside him, then sighed heavily before stepping forward. "We just finished a Defense Against the Dark Arts class."
Michael nodded understandingly. "You got beaten up too? Professor Abigail really goes hard."
"I’d rather get beaten," Matt muttered sourly.
The younger wizards exchanged puzzled looks.
"Wade Gray?" A Gryffindor girl pushed past Matt, her eyes locking onto Wade. "I heard you fought the new professor yesterday?"
The moment she spoke, the usual stream of students flowing down the corridor paused mid-step. Heads turned, eyes flicking toward Wade.
"No," Wade said flatly. "Just got beaten."
"Yeah, really badly," Padma added. "He only just got out of the Infirmary this morning."
Hearing this, several of the fifth-years actually sighed in disappointment.
Matt explained, "We’d been looking forward to Professor Abigail’s class all week. Everyone was excited—this was supposed to be real, no-holds-barred dueling."
"But when it actually happened," he groaned, "it was just another exam. Exam, exam, exam—endless exams!"
The bitterness in his voice was palpable.
Another Ravenclaw girl sighed. "Honestly, what can we do? It’s our OWL year."
OWL exams determined the futures of every young wizard. Unless you were as wealthy as the Malfoys—or completely indifferent to your future—you couldn’t afford to take them lightly. And with no second chances, this was truly a one-shot, make-or-break moment.
For the entire year, they’d been living like Wade’s former high school peers—memorizing books, reviewing, training, writing endless assignments, and taking test after test, grinding their knowledge and skills into shape. The pressure was immense.
Yet, strangely, they were the only ones who still wanted Professor Abigail’s class—even if it meant getting beaten. At least it was more engaging than endless drills. And if you got seriously injured? It might even excuse you from a few lessons—and the homework that came with them.
But today, Professor Abigail hadn’t used her usual teaching style.
A chorus of sighs echoed through the corridor as the students trudged toward the Great Hall, weighed down by exhaustion and dread. Wade and the others quietly put some distance between themselves and the energy-drained group.
"OWL year is terrifying," Michael whispered. "I hope I’m not like them in three years."
Wade pulled out a phrase from his past life—something his high school teachers always said: "As long as you prepare regularly and take your learning seriously, you won’t panic during exams. They’re just too careless. That’s why they’re feeling the pressure now."
Michael rubbed his face, suddenly feeling like he’d been scolded himself.
Padma leaned in, whispering: "Do you think… Professor Abigail’s change in teaching style isn’t just because it’s OWL year? Maybe it’s also because of yesterday’s fight with Madam Pomfrey?"
Michael paused, then nodded. "Possible. I remember Fred and the others have Defense class this afternoon. We’ll know for sure when we talk to them."
Wade listened quietly, then suddenly thought: What if Professor Abigail can’t last a few more weeks? She’ll be overwhelmed by the workload.
The position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts was a heavy one—only one professor, countless back-to-back classes every week. It was at least five or six hours of teaching every single day.
Quirrell had his own agenda and a dual-core nature. Lockhart had never taught anything serious—instead, he turned class into a performance, eager for more time on stage.
But Abigail? Her energetic, high-intensity style? It wouldn’t last long. It was unsustainable.
After lunch, Wade bid farewell to Michael and the others and headed alone to the Headmaster’s Office.
"Strawberry Ice Cream."
The password was spoken, and the stone statue shifted aside, revealing the hidden doorway. Wade stepped onto the spinning staircase, rising slowly into the upper levels.
At the top, he found the oak door slightly ajar.
"Frankly, Dumbledore, Professor Abigail’s teaching method is completely flawed!" Madam Pomfrey’s voice, sharp and furious, rang down from above. "Do you know how many students have been brought to the Infirmary these past two days? I just sent off a dozen, and now another dozen are already showing up! We’re out of beds—I had to put poor Ogden in the corridor!"
Wade hadn’t expected Madam Pomfrey to actually come to complain. The staircase had reached the top, so he stood waiting at the entrance.
"I believe Professor Abigail is simply adjusting to her students’ level," Dumbledore replied gently. "She’s used to fighting in far harsher conditions—dark wizards running wild across the world. She’ll learn their limits and refine her approach in time."
"She’s like a lion just dropped into a new territory, determined to hunt every single animal!" Madam Pomfrey snapped. "But attacking second-years with that kind of ferocity? That’s completely unreasonable!"
She wasn’t swayed by Dumbledore’s calm words. If anything, she grew angrier.
"If she doesn’t learn to rein herself in, I’ll be sitting right there in class—watching every move she makes."
"I don’t think that’ll be necessary," Dumbledore said calmly. "I’ll speak with her."
"Then do it today," Madam Pomfrey insisted firmly. "Not tomorrow. Not next week. Today."
"Of course," Dumbledore agreed. "But Mr. Gray is already waiting outside. Why don’t you first see if Professor Abigail has changed her approach? Then we’ll talk."
Wade stepped aside. Moments later, Madam Pomfrey emerged.
She wore her usual nurse-like robes, faintly smelling of potions.
"Mr. Gray, your injuries are fully healed?" she asked.
"Yes, ma’am," Wade replied with a slight bow. "Thank you for your care. Your potion worked exceptionally well."
(End of Chapter)
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