Chapter 56: Chapter 56: Old Enemies, New Strength

Arthur froze mid-step as his newly enhanced senses detected movement in the shadows near the castle doors. Someone was watching, waiting. His muscles tensed as he weighed his options. Confront the observer? Take a different entrance?

The presence vanished before he could decide, slipping away into the castle. Arthur frowned, his enhanced hearing catching the faint sound of hurried footsteps receding down a corridor. Someone had been monitoring his return, but why?

He shook off his concern and entered the castle. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the high windows as students made their way to the Great Hall for dinner. While Arthur should have joined them, he wanted to drop by his dormitory first.

Taking a shortcut through a seldom-used courtyard, he passed beneath a crumbling stone archway covered in dormant ivy. The sound reached him first—hushed voices just around the corner, their tone unmistakably conspiratorial.

“…definitely can’t use magic. Pomfrey took him to St. Mungo’s.”

“Are you certain? Hayes is slippery.”

“My cousin works there. Said his magical core is damaged beyond repair.”

“Perfect chance then. Everyone’s here?”

“All twenty. Everyone was waiting for this.”

Arthur slowed his pace, considering his options. He could easily go back and avoid the confrontation entirely. But then again, he really wanted to test his enhanced strength. This would provide an opportunity to assess his new capabilities while sending a clear message that magic or not, he remained dangerous.

The voices fell silent as he rounded the corner.

They waited in a loose semicircle that nearly spanned the width of the courtyard—twenty students, a mix of houses and schools, from fifth to seventh years. Arthur recognized most of them. Enemies he’d made over the years.

Most were faces he’d taught a lesson to on the day of the Triwizard champion selection. Rowle and his Slytherin cronies, several Ravenclaws, and a handful of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students.

Old enemies, gathered together with fresh purpose.

“Hayes,” Rowle stepped forward with a predatory smile. “Just the mudblood we were hoping to see.”

Arthur didn’t bother responding. His gaze swept the group, cataloging their positions, noting which hands were already gripping wands.

“We heard the most interesting rumor,” Rowle continued, twirling his wand between his fingers. “Something about you losing your magic. Quite the handicap before the final task, wouldn’t you say?”

The Ravenclaw seventh year, Belby, laughed. “Hayes the Hexer, unable to cast a single spell. How tragic.”

“Nothing to say?” one of the Durmstrang boys taunted. “No clever curse this time?”

Arthur assessed the situation with cold precision. Twenty opponents. All armed with wands. All positioned to block his exit. All clearly intent on humiliation at minimum, injury at worst.

Talking would accomplish nothing. Escape was impractical. That left one option.

He moved.

The first strike caught Rowle completely off-guard—a palm heel to the sternum that sent him staggering backward, wheezing for breath. Before the others could react, Arthur had already pivoted, sweeping the legs from beneath the nearest Durmstrang student.

“Diffindo!” Belby shouted, his wand slashing through the air.

Arthur’s enhanced reflexes saved him as he ducked, the cutting charm sizzling over his head and slicing a deep gash into the stone wall behind him. These weren’t schoolyard hexes—they were going for serious harm.

“Confringo!”

“Ossis Effringo!”

“Lacero!”

Spells erupted from multiple directions. Arthur yanked Belby in front of him as a human shield. The bone-breaking curse hit the Ravenclaw directly in the chest. Arthur heard ribs crack as he shoved the gasping student into the path of another’s Blasting Curse. The explosion sent three attackers tumbling backward, their robes smoking and torn.

“Take him down!” someone shouted, panic edging into their voice.

The courtyard erupted into chaos. Jets of sickly purple and orange light crisscrossed the space, chipping stone and scorching walls. Arthur dove behind a column, feeling it shudder as a curse impacted the other side, sending stone fragments spraying across the floor.

“Spread out! Surround him!” shouted a seventh-year Slytherin.

Arthur seized a jagged piece of broken stone, hefting it in his palm. As a Durmstrang student edged around the column, Arthur hurled the improvised weapon with precision. It struck the boy’s shoulder with a crack, sending his wand flying from suddenly nerveless fingers. The Durmstrang student collapsed, clutching his dislocated shoulder.

“Alexei’s down!”

“Use fire! Flush him out!”

“Ignis Vorago!” The incantation echoed across the courtyard.

Intense magical flames erupted, not quite Fiendfyre but still dangerously aggressive. Arthur’s eyes narrowed. These students were escalating beyond simple revenge.

He sprinted toward the fountain, leaping over the decorative rim as the magical fire pursued him. Landing in the shallow water, he grabbed the central stone statue—a mermaid holding a trident—and with his enhanced strength, wrenched it free from its moorings.

Water gushed upward where pipes had broken, dousing the nearest flames. Arthur swung the stone trident like a staff, catching a Beauxbatons student across the chest. The boy flew backward, the air knocked from his lungs, colliding with two others.

“Avada—” began a Slytherin seventh-year.

Arthur hurled the statue’s severed head before the Killing Curse could be completed. It struck the student’s shoulder, disrupting his aim. The curse discharged into the ceiling, bringing down chunks of stone that forced several attackers to scatter.

“He nearly killed Saul!” someone shouted.

“Form a circle! Shields up!”

Ten remaining attackers formed a defensive ring, wands pointed outward. Their faces showed naked fear now, shield charms shimmering around them.

Arthur stalked the perimeter, looking for weakness. His breath remained steady, his movements fluid and precise. Blood—none of it his—spattered his robes.

“Crucio!” Two students cast simultaneously, their curses converging where Arthur had stood a heartbeat before.

He had already moved, anticipating their attack. The combined Unforgivable struck a third student who had shifted position at exactly the wrong moment. The boy’s body contorted, his scream piercing the air before he collapsed, twitching.

“You idiots!” Rowle bellowed. “Coordinate your—”

Arthur struck like lightning. He had circled behind them, using the fountain’s spray as cover. His fist connected with Rowle’s kidney with enough force to drop him instantly. Arthur grabbed him by the collar, using him as a battering ram to disrupt the defensive circle.

Bodies collided. Shield charms faltered. Arthur seized a fallen wand and snapped it, the magical backlash creating a flash that temporarily blinded several students.

“My eyes! I can’t see!”

A Durmstrang student cast wildly in his panic. “Flagrante!”

The burning curse meant for Arthur struck his friend instead. The victim’s robes ignited with painful flames. His yells pierced the air as he ran blindly, crashing into others, causing further confusion.

Arthur grabbed a length of decorative chain from a nearby wall sconce and swung it in a wide arc. The heavy metal caught three students across their backs and legs, sending them sprawling to the ground with pained cries.

The survivors’ formation had completely collapsed. They were stumbling over each other, firing curses randomly, some hitting their own allies.

One Ravenclaw cast a flame-freezing charm on his burning friend, only to be hit from behind by a Jelly-Legs Jinx intended for Arthur. He collapsed in an undignified heap, unable to stand.

“Retreat!” someone called. “Get out—”

Arthur silenced him with a precisely aimed stone that struck his wand hand. The boy dropped his wand, clutching his bruised fingers.

Three opponents remained—Rowle and two Durmstrang students, all sporting various injuries, backing toward the exit.

“What are you?” one of them whispered, voice trembling.

Arthur approached steadily, his movements predatory, unhurried. His clothes were splattered with water and dust, but he himself remained untouched. Not a single spell had landed.

“Last chance to walk away,” he offered, his voice unnervingly calm.

“Avada Kedavra!” Rowle screamed, desperation in his eyes.

Arthur was on him before the green light could fully form, fingers crushing the boy’s wrist with enough force to make him drop his wand with a howl of pain. The half-formed killing curse fizzled harmlessly into the ground. The remaining two attackers fell seconds later, their heads knocked together with enough force to render them instantly unconscious.

Around him lay the aftermath of the battle. Twenty students sprawled across the courtyard in various states of injury—bruises, minor burns, sprains, and a few broken bones. Blood smeared the flagstones from split lips and noses, mixing with water from the destroyed fountain.

Arthur stood in their midst, breathing evenly. Not a scratch on him.

Rowle struggled to stand, cradling his wrist. “You… you’ll pay for this, Hayes.”

“I doubt that.” Arthur straightened his robes calmly. “But please, feel free to bring more friends next time. This was hardly challenging. Though remember, next time, I won’t be so restrained.”

The courtyard fell silent except for the pained groans of his would-be attackers. Arthur stepped carefully around their defeated forms, continuing toward the dormitory as if he’d merely taken a stroll through the gardens.

Inside the castle, he paused in an empty corridor, examining himself. His breathing had already returned to normal. The brief exertion from the fight hadn’t taxed his enhanced body in the slightest. A splash of water on his sleeve, a smudge of dust on his shoulder—these were the only signs he’d been in combat at all.

This new body was efficient beyond anything he could have expected. Combined with his years of self-trained martial arts, it made him dangerous even without magic. Not enough to face elite wizards or agents like Fury, certainly, but more than adequate for handling schoolyard bullies.

A small victory, but one that provided valuable data. He now had empirical proof of his enhanced capabilities in combat situations. The reaction times, the strength, the durability—all significantly improved.

As Arthur walked toward the Slytherin dormitories, he knew word of this encounter would spread quickly. By dinner, everyone would know that Hayes the Hexer had defeated twenty opponents without casting a single spell.

They’d called him dangerous before, when they thought he was just extraordinarily skilled with curses and dabbled in Muggle fighting techniques. How would they label him now?

Arthur turned the final corner toward the dungeon entrance and stopped short. Professor Snape stood before the stone wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Mr. Hayes,” Snape said softly. “I’ve just received some rather… interesting reports about an altercation in the East Courtyard. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Behind his carefully neutral expression, Arthur sighed internally. It seemed his demonstration had attracted attention faster than anticipated.

“Self-defense, Professor,” he replied evenly. “Nothing more.”

Snape’s dark eyes studied him with uncomfortable intensity. “Twenty students requiring medical attention, and not a mark on you. Rather unusual odds for ’self-defense,’ wouldn’t you say?”

“They ambushed me. I responded appropriately. Nothing new, Professor.”

“Without magic, it is new.” Snape’s voice dropped even lower. “How very… resourceful of you.”

“Is there a problem, Professor?” Arthur kept his tone respectful but firm.

“I hope for your well-being you know how to hide after Hogwarts,” Snape said, his words barely above a whisper. “You will be hunted down in huge numbers, and with your current condition, you won’t stand a chance. Your opponents will be nothing like school bullies.”

“Well, let them come.” Arthur met Snape’s gaze steadily. “I have a few weapons I’m waiting to test out. Lethal ones which cannot be used on students.” He paused, then added quietly, “I hope you don’t join the party, Professor. I truly hope you can find your freedom and get away from everything. The wizarding world badly needs innovative people like you.”

Snape’s expression flickered with something unreadable before he turned and swept away without another word. Something Arthur had said had struck a nerve.

As Arthur watched Snape’s retreating form, he realized the Potions Master had not given any punishment. A curious detail to file away for later consideration.

For now, he had other concerns. The Third Task was approaching rapidly, and his display today, while satisfying, had revealed both strengths and limitations. His enhanced physical abilities were impressive but would they be enough against the magical creatures and obstacles Hagrid had undoubtedly prepared for the maze especially when he could not carry any weapons with him?

Arthur entered the Slytherin common room, ignoring the sudden silence and stares that greeted him. News traveled fast in Hogwarts. Even faster when it involved violence.

Let them stare. Let them whisper. Fear had its uses, after all.

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