When Justin stepped forward, he shrugged off his outer robe and handed it to a nearby classmate. Wand in his right hand, he limbered up—rolling his shoulders, stretching his legs—then dropped into a runner's crouch and glanced at Douglas for the signal.
Douglas gave him an appraising look before tossing the mouse onto the course.
Justin shot forward in pursuit.
A young witch murmured under her breath, "Isn't that…?"
She caught herself, clapped a hand over her mouth, and snuck a glance at Douglas, who was watching Justin with a faint, knowing smile.
Clearly, Justin had spent his summer brushing up on some Muggle athletic skills. That starting stance, the way he vaulted over rocks, even the sliding tackle—none of it was standard wizarding fare.
Thanks to his smooth, practiced movements, Justin dodged trap after magical trap with ease.
In no time, he'd covered more than two hundred feet. The other students had to jog alongside the course just to keep up and watch.
Suddenly, Justin came to a halt.
The mouse, which had been keeping a steady two or three meters ahead, had vanished without a trace. All that lay before him was a stretch of suspiciously flawless lawn.
He glanced around. His classmates had caught up, and they too noticed the mouse was gone.
"Justin, be careful! That patch of grass is definitely up to something," someone called.
"The more ordinary it looks, the more likely it's a trap…"
Justin nodded, scanning the area. He spotted the moving stone statue about fifty feet away.
Raising his wand, he shouted, "Confringo!" and, without hesitation, dove behind the nearest rock.
Some of the wizard-born students looked puzzled, but the Muggle-borns and those with Muggle experience instantly understood—dropping flat to the ground as well.
Douglas wasted no time, conjuring a shimmering Shield Charm in front of himself.
A series of sharp explosions ripped through the air—bang! crack! pop!—as the lawn was blasted apart. Clods of earth and tufts of grass flew everywhere.
Those who'd been standing too close got a mouthful of dirt for their trouble, sputtering and spitting in all directions. Meanwhile, the students who'd hit the deck emerged coated in a layer of soil, but grinning triumphantly at their less fortunate peers.
Justin scrambled to his feet, barely bothering to brush himself off, and stared at the ruined lawn.
Everywhere he looked, there were deep craters—some nearly four feet down. No way his Blasting Curse alone had done that much damage.
It reminded him of last year's obstacle course, with its hidden puddles and obvious traps. This time, though, the hazards were buried under a blanket of innocent-looking grass. Devious… and brilliant.
With the stone statue closing in behind him, Justin was forced to pick his way across the narrow strips of ground between the pits, searching for any sign of the mouse.
Douglas was clearly pleased with the outcome. While Justin's Blasting Curse wasn't as powerful as those cast by the older students, it had done the job.
Some of the dirt-splattered students grumbled under their breath, especially the girls whose robes were now streaked with mud and grass.
Douglas strode over and barked, "Have you all forgotten you're wizards?"
The students shrank back, mumbling, "No… no, Professor!"
He fixed them with a stern look. "Then what are you waiting for?"
A few were still confused, but several sharp-witted witches quickly whipped out their wands and cast Scourgify, cleaning their robes and hair.
The rest caught on and hurried to follow suit.
Whether it was nerves or a lack of practice, not everyone's spellwork was perfect—one unlucky student managed to Scourgify his own hair clean off.
He only realized what he'd done when the others burst out laughing. With a resigned sigh, Douglas flicked his wand and cast a Growth Charm, restoring the student's hair in a heartbeat.
Meanwhile, Justin had spotted the mouse in a pit deeper than he was tall, scrambling up the side.
By the end of class, everyone except the handful of failing students had taken a turn.
A few even tried to copy Justin's Muggle-inspired techniques, but without proper training, their attempts were more comical than effective—a parade of slips, trips, and awkward tumbles.
One student got distracted chasing Bouncing Bulbs, then tried to pick a pod from a Gnarled Vine, only to be thoroughly thrashed by its whip-like tendrils.
Gnarled Vine looked like a knobby tree stump and produced pods as big as grapefruits. Whenever someone tried to harvest a pod, the plant would lash out with tentacle-like vines—a hazard only covered in sixth-year Herbology.
As the lesson drew to a close, Douglas gathered everyone and assigned a minimum ten-inch essay—even the students who'd failed weren't spared.
He added, "For this practical class, I expect you to complete the assignment on your own… no shortcuts."
After the Hufflepuffs departed, Douglas restored the course to its original state, ready for the third-year Slytherins.
When Crabbe, trailing behind Draco, caught sight of the course, a smug grin spread across his face. Holmes always set up challenges that seemed tailor-made for him.
Magic traps? Magical plants? Out of my way—I, Vincent Crabbe, will charge straight through!
Running? Please. I'm not afraid of anyone.
He pictured the scene: all eyes on him as he won first place for Slytherin from Professor Holmes himself. The thought made him smirk even wider.
Draco and Goyle exchanged glances.
"Crabbe looks awfully confident," Draco muttered.
"I bet he's in for a nasty surprise," said Goyle.
Draco frowned. "Those obstacles are dangerous. Didn't you notice the looks on the Hufflepuffs' faces?"
Goyle shook his head.
"Nothing Professor Holmes designs is ever simple," Draco went on. "I spotted a Fanged Geranium out there."
Draco turned to Goyle, surprised. "You actually recognized something?"
Goyle scratched his head, replying sheepishly, "I saw it in the greenhouse last time. Got bitten, remember? Professor Sprout said it was a Fanged Geranium—poisonous, too…"
Draco blinked. He vaguely recalled Goyle getting hurt in Herbology, but Professor Sprout had healed him so quickly he'd never noticed the plant's name.
Crabbe coughed, leaning in to whisper, "Did either of you bring the antidote?"
Douglas's sharp voice cut through their huddle.
"I'm giving instructions up here, and you're chatting down there. Clearly, I don't need to say much more… So, what happens if there's an accident, Class Rep Malfoy?"
Draco forced a smile and stepped forward. "Professor, if anyone gets hurt, it's because they didn't listen to your rules. It's not your fault at all…"
Douglas snorted coldly. "I don't want to see any more incidents like that, Class Rep Malfoy."
Draco nodded, guilt written all over his face. "Yes, Professor, I understand."
He spun around and shot Goyle and Crabbe a glare.
Both looked wounded. After all, they'd only been talking to him!
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