0534 Review

The tension in the classroom was palpable as the final trio of Slytherin students leaped from their wooden benches with startled cries. Professor Watson, the source of their terror, slowly opened his eyes before them.

George sat stiffly in his seat; hands clasped tightly around his physically unharmed but psychologically traumatized leg. His typically sparkling eyes, were now clouded with a mix of fear and indignation, fixed upon Professor Watson with an unmistakable look of resentment. The famous Weasley twin humor seemed to have been thoroughly extinguished by the evening's brutal demonstrations.

Across the classroom, Neville's shoulders were drooped with the weight of apparent failure, his chin tucked against his chest in absolute dejection. Beside him, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny worked together to give quiet words of consolation, their voices were barely above whispers as they tried to rebuild Neville's shattered confidence.

Meanwhile, Draco was vigorous with excitement as he smugly narrated his fellow Slytherins with an increasingly embellished account of their duel against Professor Watson.

The majority of the young wizards wore expressions of stunned disbelief mixed with deep disappointment. Professor Watson's ruthless demonstration had shattered their comfortable illusions about their own abilities.

The bitter pill of reality was particularly hard to swallow - after months of dedicated training and practice, they had believed themselves to have significantly improved, yet they were still effortlessly defeated by Professor Watson who had been restraining most of his power. This sense of disappointment was indescribable.

Looking at the dejected young wizards, Bryan wasn't particularly disappointed – the result was exactly as he had expected.

"Cheer up," Professor Watson's calm voice cut through the heavy silence. As the students' attention shifted to him, their eyes widening with renewed interest, he raised his wand to his temple. With smooth, practiced movements, he began extracting several gleaming strands of silver threads.

"Now," he continued, his wand moving through the air in intricate patterns that left traces of silvery light in its trail, "let's review our practice session from beginning to end—"

The silver threads expanded and merged into a shimmering surface that resembled a mirror made of flowing water, showing a perspective from Professor Watson's own point of view throughout the duels.

Fred, George, and Lee, who had been the first victims of the evening's demonstrations, leaned forward with particular interest, eager to witness how their classmates had fared after their own swift defeat. Similarly, Hermione's group and the others who followed were equally curious about the subsequent encounters.

The room fell into an attentive silence as students who had been eliminated early finally got to see the full scope of the evening's trials. The fact that Professor Watson could project memories with such clarity no longer sparked amazement among the students - they had grown accustomed to his extraordinary magical capabilities. Each student focused intently on the projected memories, analyzing their own performance with critical eyes.

The remaining class time was transformed into an intensive review session, and in the final minutes before the class's conclusion, they had witnessed the entire evening's duel from its beginning to its conclusion. The memory projection showed every misstep, every moment of hesitation, and every group's failed strategy in clear detail, with their shortcomings.

"You've all fallen into a common misconception that I must address—" Bryan said to the contemplative young wizards. "You treated these duels with the same mindset you have in a standard classroom exercises, rather than treating them with the importance they deserve. This is a potentially fatal error – When this mindset becomes habitual, you may find yourself on a real battlefield one day, suddenly realizing there are no second chances, no opportunities to start over. By then, such a realization will come far too late--"

The evening's duels had revealed numerous issues beyond this fundamental mindset problem. Setting aside the individual magical capabilities of the young wizards, which varied considerably, their attempted teamwork had been, from Bryan's perspective, disastrous.

Even Draco's group, who had shown the most promise in teamwork, had only managed to synchronize their attack timing while they failed to achieve any meaningful synergy between their individual spells. Their attacks, while coordinated in timing, were essentially independent actions rather than truly corresponding magical combinations.

However, Bryan did not voice his criticism as he understood that this had been their first genuine experience with both team combat and real-world dueling conditions. Under such circumstances, their mistakes, while numerous, were not entirely inexcusable given their inexperience. They were natural stepping stones in the learning process rather than insurmountable failures.

"--Regarding the specific reasons behind each group's defeat, I won't spell them out for you. This is something you must analyze and understand for yourselves. Each group will submit an essay examining their failures by next Wednesday, with a minimum length of fifteen inches—"

The assignment announcement drew various reactions from the gathered students. Harry's eye twitched noticeably at the prospect of such a lengthy analysis, but his expression quickly shifted as he realized the task was assigned per group rather than individually.

A sideways glance at Hermione told him what he already suspected - knowing her academic enthusiasm and perfectionist tendencies, she would likely take it upon herself to write the entire essay without asking.

The typically energetic atmosphere that followed Physical Education class was notably absent as students marched out of the classroom. George's continued limping was particularly conspicuous - while his leg had no physical injury, the psychological impact of the evening's events had manifested in a very real physical response, creating a psychological limp he couldn't seem to shake.

"Oh, right--" Harry deliberately ignored Malfoy's continuing smug glances and barely concealed bragging. He understood all too well that the Slytherin's little success owed more to the advantage of going last than any superior ability. Had they faced Professor Watson first, without the benefit of learning from others' mistakes, their fate might well have been worse than George's!

Just as he was about to exit the classroom, Harry muttered something under his breath and abruptly turned back. He jogged quickly to Professor Watson, who was orchestrating an impressive show of magical housekeeping as numerous chairs obediently hopped back to their places against the wall.

Several minutes later, under Professor Watson's knowing and slightly amused gaze, Harry darted out of the classroom clutching a newly signed piece of parchment.

"You went to—" Hermione's voice caught Harry by surprise as she emerged from the shadows of the corridor where she had been waiting patiently outside the classroom door. Her eyes needed only a momentary glance at the parchment in his hand to understand what was going on. "He actually signed it?"

"Professor Watson has always been approachable, hasn't he?" Harry questioned, genuine confusion coloring his tone.

"Yes--" Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line as a visible shudder ran through her body, horror flickering across her facial features as she recalled the evening's events. "But when he casted that spell on Ginny in the Spiritual space just now, oh..." She paused, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "Ginny will definitely have nightmares tonight."

"Ginny won't be the only one having nightmares--" Harry responded with deep empathy as they began their journey back to the common room, their footsteps echoing in the stone corridors.

The unusual atmosphere following this particular Physical Education class did not go unnoticed by their fellow students. Typically, the post-class period buzzed with excitement and lively discussions, especially when Professor Watson hadn't explicitly forbidden them from sharing the class content. But tonight, an unnatural silence hung over the returning students, their passive demeanor raising eyebrows throughout the castle.

"What happened?" Ron's worried voice caught them off guard as they approached the corridor leading to the Fat Lady's portrait. He had been anxiously waiting at the entrance, and upon spotting them, he rushed forward with obvious concern. "Weren't you all in class together? Why does George look like he's been injured, and I've never seen Ginny in such a state before? What exactly happened in there? Why is everyone so quiet?"

Ron's gaze settled on Hermione initially, but upon noting the complex mixture of emotions swirling in her brown eyes, he physically recoiled as if struck by an invisible force. His attention shifted swiftly to Harry instead, seeking answers from him.

"Oh, nothing--" Harry said tiredly, "Nothing unexpected happened, Ron. We just... got taught a lesson by Professor Watson."

He gestured toward the portrait hole, telling they continue this conversation in private. "Let's talk inside. Hermione and I both took a Stunning Spell in Professor Watson's Spiritual space, but it felt so real."

With those words, Harry moved past Ron toward the Fat Lady's portrait, with Hermione following silently in his trail. Ron remained rooted to the spot, watching their retreating backs with growing concern. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no words emerged, his face appeared particularly ghostly in the flickering firelight of the corridor's torches.

*SCENEBREAK*

Outside the castle walls, nature painted its own dramatic scene. The setting sun casted its final rays across the Scottish Highlands, transforming the sky into a canvas of deep crimson and gold.

The Black Lake's surface rippled with these blood-red reflections, its waters moving in gentle ripple beneath the dying light. Perched majestically on its cliff, the black silhouette of Hogwarts castle stood in silent witness to the day's end, its ancient stones seeming to embody a profound sense of tragic heroism in their eternal vigilance.

This particular scene made Fleur uncomfortable, and she deliberately turned away from the melancholic scene. Her attention drifted instead to the nearby Quidditch pitch, where she observed Hermione Granger, the young girl who, like herself was also a champion. She was running laps around the Quidditch pitch, along with about a dozen other students.

'Completely pointless and utterly stupid—' she thought to herself, her facial features arranging themselves into an expression of elegant disdain. This peculiar routine had caught her attention from her very first day at Hogwarts.

Without fail, every evening, this determined group of Hogwarts students would circle their pitch repeatedly, maintaining this bizarre routine with religious devotion. This very concept puzzled her- what possible benefit could wizards hope to gain by exercising their bodies? The behavior struck her as so absurd that she couldn't even muster enough interest to inquire about its purpose.

Within her private room in the Beauxbatons carriage, decorated with elegant sky-blue silk curtains, an enchanting aromatic fragrance permeated the air. Though these were temporary accommodations, every detail of the room's décor had been meticulously chosen and arranged with exquisite taste, creating an atmosphere of refined artistic sensibility.

Fleur lounged casually on her bed with, wearing a flowing nightgown of finest blue silk. One shoulder strap had slipped down, leaving half her upper body exposed, but she made no move to adjust it. Rolling onto her side, she conducted a lazy survey of her room.

Her gaze settled on the radio on her dressing table with a casing made from some magical creature's horn and was playing the Weird Sisters' music—harsh and unpleasant, in Fleur's opinion.

"Crude, completely tasteless English people," she murmured in irritation.

Nothing at Hogwarts had aligned with her expectations. She had anticipated a warm welcome but instead encountered a peculiar indifference. The unexpected developments with the Triwizard Tournament had only added to her growing list of disappointments.

"Sister--" The door to her room opened without knocking, and Gabrielle walked in- the only person allowed to enter Fleur's room without permission.

"Oh, Gabrielle—" Fleur finally adjusted her fallen shoulder strap, shifting to a more proper sitting position. "Please, rid me of that dreadful radio. I simply cannot endure another moment of this awful music—"

"I find it quite interesting—" Gabrielle's response came with a playful giggle, though she still turned off the music. She had originally come to escort her sister to dinner, but couldn't resist teasing her first. "The castle's supervisor just had a conversation with Madame Maxime. He's requested that we take our meals in the Great Hall rather than remaining in the carriage--"

"The castle's supervisor?" Fleur's heart performed an unexpected flutter. "Who was it?"

In the presence of her beloved sister, Gabrielle shed her public personality, becoming the mischievous little girl she truly was. Recognizing the barely concealed interest in her sister's voice, she deliberately withheld the answer, maintaining a knowing smile until Fleur was forced to resort to playful tickling as persuasion. Only then, between fits of giggles and breathless laughter, did she reveal,

"It was Mr. Watson. He explained to Madame Maxime that the Triwizard Tournament's true purpose is to foster interaction between all participating schools. He pointed out that if we and the Durmstrang students remain isolated in our own spaces, the event loses will lose all its meaning. Madame found his argument quite persuasive--"

"Did he mention anything else?" Fleur tried to maintain her air of casual indifference as she tossed her silvery hair, but her eager tone betrayed her.

"No--" Gabrielle responded with apparent honesty. She waited until she observed her sister's excitement fade slightly before adding with a proud expression, "But I took the initiative to tell Mr. Watson that I wanted to visit Britain's only all-wizard village—Hogsmeade, and then Mr. Watson immediately agreed--"

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