0360 At 8 o’clock

The relentless torrential downpour raged furiously outside the ancient castle walls, the never-ending patter of raindrops purring monotonously for an entire day, tormenting the ragged nerves of those within it. Yet, just a few steps away, across the threshold of a door, the entrance hall had lapsed into an eerie, unsettling stillness, a stark contrast to the boisterous torrent outside it.

Neville’s current frozen posture bore an uncanny resemblance to that of a seasoned baseball pitcher Harry had once seen on a television screen, his arm suspended in mid-throw, as if unleashing an imaginary water balloon, unmoving, while his face, now considerably slimmer, still bore a dazed expression, as if he hadn’t quite grasped what he’d just done.

“Oh, damn, that was awesome!” Ginny exclaimed, her eyes blazing with admiration as she witnessed the entire incident unfold before her.

Hearing this, Harry, standing beside her, couldn’t help but furrow his brow in perplexed confusion. Ron’s little sister’s admiration for him was almost common knowledge, an open secret. But today, she was praising another boy, right before his very eyes. Of course, Harry had to admit, Neville’s split-second reaction was indeed impressively smooth and effortless. But still,

This was Neville they were talking about!

Over the past three years, thanks to Snape’s relentless propagation of scathing rumors, Neville’s clumsiness had become the well-known stuff of legend, even among the other houses. But that smooth, dashing, fluid catching and throwing motion just now – what was that all about? It defied everything Harry had come to expect from the bumbling Neville.

“Neville, you little brat!” Peeves screeched, his shrill voice shattering the tense silence. While others were still stunned by Neville’s astonishing performance, the mischievous poltergeist reacted first, interpreting Neville’s throw as a deliberate provocation, and flew into an unrestrained rage!

Peeves snatched off his bell-topped hat, the space inside seeming to possess an extraordinary capacity, much like their Physical Education classroom. His crooked hands left trails as he ceaselessly pulled out water balloons from the hat’s seemingly bottomless depths, and the entrance hall was instantly filled with the popping sounds of bursting like firecrackers.

“Oh, help!” Neville’s reaction was much more normal now as he cried out, his earlier bravado evaporating as panic etched itself across his face. He scurried to dodge Peeves’s relentless barrage of water balloons, joining the other young wizards who couldn’t escape the entrance hall in time.

“Oh—” Seeing Neville lose his cool so quickly, Ginny sighed, the stars in her eyes flickering and fading as she shrugged her shoulders in resignation. “This is the Neville I know,” she muttered, her earlier awe dissipating like mist in the morning sun.

“Harry—” Hermione’s voice carried a hushed urgency as she stared intently at Neville from the second-floor railing, her expression serious. “I don’t know if you noticed—”

“Of course,” Harry affirmed, his gaze following hers, a silent understanding passing between them.

The water-soaked marble floor was as slippery as ice, making it virtually impossible for the others to effectively evade in such treacherous conditions. In fact, they could barely stand, their feet sliding helplessly beneath them. Yet Neville, though stumbling clumsily, his graceful movements now gone, had not fallen even once.

After all, the slipperiness of the water-drenched marble was comparable to that of the foul-smelling secretion left behind by dungbombs during their Physical Education classes. To avoid intimate facial contact with the rotten liquid on the ground, every young wizard tried his best to avoid falling down, a lesson Neville seemed to have learned through harsh experience.

“Seems to be having some effect, isn’t it?” a voice from behind made the trio jump, when they were closely observing Neville.

“Oh, Professor Watson, sorry, I didn’t notice you!” Hermione said apologetically in a hushed tone, her cheeks flushing slightly.

Meanwhile, Harry tensed up, a look of slight embarrassment flickering across his features. Recently, Harry had been taking out his frustration over his shattered dream of moving out of the Dursleys oppressive household on Professors Dumbledore and Professor Watson. He even harbored a bit of resentment towards Sirius for breaking his promise.

“I came down for dinner—” Professor Watson said with a warm smile, his lips curving in a reassuring arc. “What about you?”

“We—” Hermione gestured towards the rain-streaked entrance with a subtle tilt of her head, her eyes following the motion. “We usually finish our daily run before dinner, but Peeves blocked the entrance.”

Professor Watson nodded slightly in understanding, the fabric of his sleeve slipping down as he grasped his wand, which was about to slip from his grasp. With a gentle wave, the water balloons Peeves had just released burst into brilliant golden flames with a resounding bang. The orange bow tie adorning Peeves’s bulbous nose began emitting thick plumes of black smoke from the burning flames.

“Who dares!” Peeves shrieked, his vicious eyes darting around rapidly, wide with outrage at this brazen act of boldness. “Who dares to disturb the great Peeves while punishing these naughty little brats!”

Upon locking eyes with Bryan standing on the second-floor platform, whose arm was still raised, Peeves’s expression morphed in the blink of an eye. The sassy defiance drained from his comical, short and fat body as he straightened to attention, transforming into a facade of utmost courtesy.

“The esteemed Professor Watson!” Peeves exclaimed, his tone now flattering. “How can I be of service?”

Peeves’s sudden shift in demeanor, from a brash bully to a submissive lackey, elicited a chuckle from Harry’s lips.

It was common knowledge that the only entity at Hogwarts capable of instilling fear in the incurable Peeves was the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin ghost. Typically, Peeves was a bully, not even showing much respect for Headmaster Dumbledore. However, ever since Professor Watson had single-handedly eliminated the werewolf pack led by the notorious Greyback, there was one more person whose words carried the weight.

“I don’t need anything, Peeves—” Professor Watson said, his gentle smile never wavering. “Just asking you not to cause trouble, alright?”

“Your wish is my command!” Peeves proclaimed with an absurd, sweeping bow before swiftly vanishing through the ceiling, disappearing from everyone’s sight as quickly as he had arrived.

“There, problem solved,” Professor Watson said cheerfully, the corners of his eyes creasing with satisfaction. “I’m going to enjoy my dinner now; you all carry on—oh, to be honest, I’m quite hungry. Some matters occupied my mind, and I seem to have forgotten lunch today.”

With that, Professor Watson turned and headed down the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the hall. But midway, he suddenly stopped, turned to look at Hermione, and after a brief pause scattered by the patter of rain, gestured with a nod of his chin.

“No classes tonight, Miss Granger. If you have the time, I’d like you to come to my office before eight o’clock.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but before she could ask the reason why he summoned her, she saw Professor Watson talking with Neville in the entrance hall about the same thing.

“And you too, Mr. Longbottom. I hope you can make it by then.”

“It’s not extra training, is it?” Neville, his robes still drenched and clinging to his slight frame, turned pale as he looked uncertainly at Hermione descending the stairs. This very thought seemed to fill him with dread.

“Don’t be silly, Neville,” Ginny said briskly, a hint of her earlier admiration creeping back into her tone as she said to him. “If you need extra training, none of us would be spared.”

The relentless downpour showed no signs of stopping, the surface of the Black Lake already spilling over its banks and flooding the grounds in a steadily encroaching tide. The thunderous roar of the surging waves crashing against the cliffs resounded like muffled thunder, making the young wizards within the castle’s walls feel uneasy.

At seven-fifty, Hermione and Neville arrived on the third floor, where Professor Watson’s office was located, only to encounter another figure – Luna Lovegood.

Luna was a second-year student, a year below them, but thanks to Professor Watson’s Physical Education classes, she had become acquainted with several Gryffindors.

“Good evening—”

The beer bottle cap necklace around Luna’s neck jingled merrily as she was the first to spot Hermione and Neville approaching from the other end of the dimly lit corridor, raising her hand in greeting.

“Good evening, Luna—” Hermione replied, her gaze unconsciously skimming over the strange necklace, her eyebrows furrowing slightly into a perplexed frown.

Hermione simply couldn’t understand why Professor Flitwick allowed Luna to maintain such an outlandish, eccentric appearance. If she were in Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall would certainly have something stern to say.

However, recognizing that true friends should respect each other’s personal choices, Hermione made no comment on Luna’s unorthodox sense of style, though her eyes showed a hint of confusion,

“Professor Watson asked you to come too, didn’t he? Did he tell you why he called us here?”

“He didn’t say—” Luna replied her misty silver eyes had a dreamy look but her tone was particularly sincere. “I guess he wants to teach us how to get rid of Wrackspurts.”

Hermione and Neville exchanged glances, silently agreeing not to comment.

“But I think he’s wasting his time—” Luna made a swatting motion as she pushed open the office door, “There are no tricks to deal with these creatures. We just have to get used to them.”

The sudden, harsh downpour had caused a drastic drop in temperature, and a roaring fire crackled merrily in the office’s hearth.

Professor Watson sat behind his desk in a high-backed leather chair, his chin resting on interlaced fingers as he stared at the haphazard pile of parchments before him. A pained, furrowed expression creased his brow, etching deep lines across his forehead as he frowned in intense concentration.

Hermione was all too familiar with that particular look – it was the same helpless, almost despairing expression Harry and Ron had whenever they struggled to fulfill the demanding word count requirements for their History of Magic essays. Or when faced with Professor Trelawney’s weird demands for detailed predictions about their own fated demises, no matter how unbelievable.

“Have a seat—” Professor Watson gestured vaguely with one hand, tossing his quill into the waiting ink bottle with the other as he glanced up at their arrival.

As Hermione approached, she couldn’t resist a quick, sneaky glance at the disorganized files littering the professor’s desk like a minefield of paperwork. One large, yellowing parchment appeared to be a meticulously detailed bird’s-eye view of the expansive Hogwarts grounds and surrounding lands. While in the top right corner of another stack, a small section bore an uncanny resemblance to a wizarding photograph of Madam Pomfrey.

“You must be wondering why I called you here, so let me get straight to the point—”

With a casual wave of his wand, he conjured three steaming mugs of pumpkin juice before them.

Bryan then massaged his throbbing temples as he said to the young trio, his voice tinged with weariness.

“Due to certain matters, I will have to leave Hogwarts for a period of time. I can’t say for sure when I’ll be back. But during my absence, I need to ensure that the Physical Education classes can proceed smoothly. So—”

Bryan spread his hands open in a calming gesture, his calloused palms facing upwards as he paused for emphasis.

“I’d like you three to serve as teaching assistants for those classes. What do you think?”

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