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Chapter 552: Spell Study Society – Shield Charm
No one spoke in the room, not even the older students.
The Weasley Twins were notorious pranksters—famously loud enough to interrupt Dumbledore’s speeches with protests or cheers. But now, when Wade glanced their way, they simply smiled and gave him a thumbs-up.
Wade returned the gesture with a soft chuckle. “Good. I’m glad you all recognized my thoughts. That gives us a solid foundation for the learning ahead.”
“Today, our first spell to study is the Shield Charm.”
Wade turned and waved his wand. In the box, the chalk leapt into the air, darting across the blackboard with astonishing speed, writing out the incantation and key points of the Shield Charm—complete with a neatly drawn signal diagram.
A hushed gasp rippled through the classroom.
The effortless flick of a wand, commanding chalk to write on its own—such a simple motion, yet it was magic no one else could replicate. And not just any magic: a silent spell, one of the most difficult in the Seventh Year curriculum.
“Why the Shield Charm?” Wade lowered his wand, eyeing the students. “Because before you can defeat an enemy, you must first protect yourself. In real battle, only those who survive get to speak of victory.”
“The Shield Charm is a mandatory spell for Aurors. It can block most Dark Curses and spells—including Stunning Spells, Disarming Charms, and much of Dark Magic. Of course, its strength ultimately depends on the wizard casting it.”
“By the way,” he added with a wry smile, “most adult wizards—many even in the Ministry of Magic—can’t cast a proper Shield Charm. That’s one reason why protective vests from Aslan Magical Workshop are so popular.”
Fred and George exchanged a grin. The protective vests were partially their own invention, and the twins were now arguably the wealthiest members of the Weasley family.
Of course, even with piles of Galleons, they still couldn’t resist stealing a few Knuts from their classmates’ pockets when the chance arose.
“So,” Wade continued, “learning this spell means you’re already ahead of many of your parents. But it also shows just how difficult mastery truly is.”
“I need a volunteer to cast a spell at me—so I can demonstrate the Shield Charm in action.”
Immediately, several hands shot up. Wade raised an eyebrow, surprised to see no one rushing forward. Instead, they were all waiting—patiently—for him to call on them.
“Angelina Johnson.”
A tall, dark-haired Gryffindor girl blinked in surprise, then grinned. She pulled out her wand and stepped up to the front.
“Any spell?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Of course.” Wade paused, then looked around. “Just one thing—don’t use the Shield Charm to block a Killing Curse.”
“Good,” she said, relieved. “Then I’m safe.”
With a swift motion, she raised her wand. “Stupefy!”
“Shield Charm!”
Almost simultaneously, Wade spoke the incantation. A shimmering silver barrier erupted into existence. The Stunning Spell struck it with a sharp crack, sending ripples across the shield’s surface—then rebounded, blasting through the air. Several students scrambled aside, and one Gryffindor at the back, caught off guard, was hit square in the chest and collapsed unconscious.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Johnson. You may return to your seat.”
She smiled, jumped down, and rejoined her friends.
Wade turned to the rest. With a quiet spell, he revived the fallen student, then said: “That’s the Shield Charm. Among all magic, it’s one of the most life-saving.”
He picked up his wand, using it like a pointer, and began walking through the notes on the blackboard—explaining the pronunciation, the wand movement, the common mistakes, and how to strengthen a weak shield.
Wade had an instinctive understanding: Hogwarts professors often lacked proper teaching training. Even someone as skilled and experienced as Professor Flitwick relied on the same outdated method—demonstrate once or twice, have students repeat the incantation a few times, then endless, mechanical practice.
Students would fail over and over, stumble through countless attempts, and only rarely succeed by accident. Then, they’d have to catch that fleeting moment of clarity and repeat it until it became second nature.
But if the spell was broken down properly—analyzed like a master carpenter disassembling a complex piece of furniture—each component revealed, understood, and then rebuilt, learning could be far more efficient.
Of course, this method had its drawbacks. It was like tearing apart a perfectly baked loaf and forcing it into a student’s mouth one piece at a time. It didn’t provide the same deep, intuitive understanding as building the bread from scratch.
But for many—like Harry and others—what mattered wasn’t how the spell was made. They just needed to know how to use it. To eat it. To survive.
After explaining the key points, Wade split the class into pairs: one to attack, the other to defend, practicing the Shield Charm.
To prevent real harm, attackers were restricted to minor jinxes—like Rictusempra or Tarantallegra. Of course, if anyone had already mastered the Disarming Charm, they were free to use it.
Soon, the classroom echoed with laughter and the frantic, wild dancing of students caught in the spell.
Harry and the others—already having learned the Shield Charm—had been entrusted by Wade to reverse the jinxes on those who failed to block the attack, so they could stop dancing.
Meanwhile, Wade moved among the students like a professor, offering corrections and guidance.
“Not like that—your wand motion is like cutting a cake. We need a smooth, flowing curve.”
“Relax your wrist. Let the magic flow like breath. Can’t feel it natural? Then shake your arms a few times—loosen up the stiffness first.”
“Emphasize the second syllable—pro-te-go. Try that.”
“You’re not committed enough. Hmm… what do you love most? A cat? Good. Picture your cat trembling in a corner, a tiger lunging at it. What would you do?”
“Um…” Lynne, a Hufflepuff, stammered. “…Run?”
Wade sighed. “Wouldn’t you protect it?”
“Well…” she blushed, whispering, “it’s usually the other way around. It protects me.”
Wade stared. “…Right.”
She glanced up at him shyly, then added, “I’m sorry… I’m just… really slow. And weak. This spell is too hard for me.”
Wade took a breath, patience in his voice. “Centuries ago, a cruel nobleman forced a Muggle boy to fight him. Just as the boy was about to die, a witch named Hannah stepped between them and cast a Shield Charm.”
“The nobleman was thrown back by the spell’s force, suffering severe brain damage. From then on, he believed he was a donkey named Cyril.”
“We don’t know exactly when the Shield Charm was first created. But we know one thing—it began from a belief—to protect someone, or something. No matter how weak your magic, if your belief is strong enough, you can cast a spell beyond your level.”
He looked down at her fluffy-haired head, sighed, and said, “Keep practicing. You’ve got the key points right. With more effort, you’ll succeed.”
Lynne didn’t speak. She just nodded.
As Wade turned to the next student, she suddenly looked up again.
“W-Wade?”
“Hmm? What is it?” he asked, turning back. “Still confused?”
Or perhaps… wanting to quit?
He wasn’t overly concerned, but the thought of someone giving up so early still carried a faint awkwardness.
“Nothing,” she whispered. “I just… wanted to say… thank you. Really.”
After a pause, she raised her wand again. “I’ll keep trying!”
(End of Chapter)
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