Although Crabbe was practically bouncing with anticipation, Douglas selected Draco to go first.
"Mr. Malfoy, you need to set a good example for everyone. Understood?"
Draco shot a smug look at Theodore Nott before stepping confidently to the starting line.
As Douglas released the mouse, Draco swiftly cast a Serpent Glide spell on his shoes and launched himself forward, gliding after the mouse with impressive speed.
The mouse, however, seemed ready for this. With a quick roll to the side, it dodged Draco's outstretched hand.
Clearly, Draco had practiced Serpent Glide more than once—he shifted his weight, and the magical serpent beneath his feet twisted nimbly with him.
Douglas had briefly considered letting the mouse dart up Draco's trouser leg and nip his calf, but thought better of it—no need for that kind of chaos. Catching the mouse would be challenging enough.
Despite Draco's speed, the mouse was craftier. He chased its tail in endless circles, always just out of reach.
At first, the mouse led him around a single stone. Then, almost imperceptibly, it began drawing Draco toward other rocks scattered across the course.
So focused on the chase, Draco never noticed the mouse's subtle shift in direction.
Finally, the mouse darted beneath a patch of Devil's Snare cleverly disguised as a crab cactus and came to an abrupt halt.
Seeing his chance, Draco canceled the Serpent Glide, dove forward, and grabbed for the mouse with both hands.
The instant his fingers closed around it—whoosh!—the mouse vanished.
Before Draco could even curse, vines whipped up and lashed around him. The Devil's Snare squeezed tight, and Draco yelped in panic.
"What in Merlin's name—Devil's Snare? Why is there Devil's Snare here?!"
He knew how to deal with it—relax, use fire—but there was a problem. In his eagerness, he'd stuffed his wand into his robe pocket for easier chasing.
Now, with his arms and legs pinned, there was no way to reach his wand.
The vines tightened mercilessly. Each breath came harder than the last.
"Help! Help me—Professor! Professor, save me! Let go! Let go! I give up, I give up!"
No sooner had he surrendered than a small fireball appeared out of thin air. The Devil's Snare recoiled at once, releasing him.
Douglas strode over, eyeing Draco's bedraggled state with clear disapproval.
"I told you to practice escaping, not to run around brainlessly. Your wand is your lifeline—so why'd you put it away? What, were you hoping it'd breed baby wands in your pocket?"
Draco gasped for breath, his face flaming red. He stammered, "Professor, I—I can explain…"
At that moment, he wished he could vanish into the ground. This was already the second time this term he'd made a fool of himself in front of everyone.
But then he remembered: he wasn't the only one running this course. Maybe someone else would do even worse. Why worry?
His biggest fear now was that Professor Holmes would declare the course too dangerous and cancel the whole thing.
So he blurted out, "Professor, class time's limited. I'll write a self-critique later. Can we let the next student go now?"
Douglas blinked in surprise. He swore he'd never meant for students to write self-criticisms for mistakes in class—at most, he'd ask for a reflection in their homework.
Still, seeing Draco so eager to move on, Douglas simply nodded and called Theodore Nott forward.
When the Slytherin third-years finished, it was a girl named Millicent Bulstrode who managed to catch the mouse.
No sooner had the Slytherins left than Hermione arrived, leading the third-year Gryffindors onto the field.
Douglas had scheduled all the lower-year practical lessons together today, saving himself from running back and forth between the castle and the course.
After explaining the rules, Douglas produced the mouse. Ron eyed it suspiciously and muttered, "Why does that mouse look so much like my Scabbers? If Scabbers hadn't been sleeping in his box lately, I'd have thought Professor Holmes nabbed him…"
Harry leaned in for a closer look and exclaimed, "You're right—even the missing toe is in the same spot!"
Hermione shot them both a withering look. "What's so surprising? Maybe the professor modeled this mouse after your Scabbers."
Ron snorted, puffing out his chest. "Doesn't matter. I'll win this for sure. I'm brilliant at catching mice."
Harry nodded solemnly, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "I totally believe you."
He gave Ron a gentle shove forward, sharing a secret grin with Hermione.
Douglas saw Ron being volunteered and smiled. "Since Mr. Weasley has so bravely stepped up, let's have him start. Any objections, Mr. Weasley?"
Ron, caught mid-boast and only just realizing what was happening, quickly nodded. "No problem, Professor! I'm great at catching mice…"
Douglas smiled and set the mouse at the starting line.
Ron whipped out his wand, pointed it at the scurrying mouse, and shouted, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The mouse instantly accelerated, dodging the spell with uncanny agility.
The Levitation Charm struck the ground, sending several small stones floating skyward.
Seeing his spell fail, Ron scoffed, "Didn't expect this alchemical mouse to be so quick. Guess I'll have to get serious…"
He charged after it—only for a beam of light to shoot from the spot he'd just hit.
By the time Ron noticed, the spell was already upon him. Before he could react, it struck him squarely.
His legs, poised for a sprint, suddenly flailed helplessly in the air as if he were running on nothing. Arms windmilled wildly.
Fortunately, the spell's power was weak. After hovering less than a foot off the ground, he crashed down with a resounding "thud!"—face-first into the grass.
Harry and Hermione rushed to help him up.
Hermione marched over to Douglas and asked, "Professor, was that Ron's own spell reflected back at him?"
Douglas nodded, grinning. "Exactly. Like I said, there are all sorts of magical traps on this course!"
Hermione studied the field carefully. She'd thought this year's practical lesson only differed from last year's in that they were chasing a mouse instead of being chased by monsters, and that it was outdoors instead of in. As for the magical traps—perhaps, just like last year, they were all relatively harmless... or so she hoped.
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