Harry's Dilemma

Things had changed. Professor Fawley had changed. That was the prevailing thought among the students in third grade and below. The professor maintained his gentle and elegant demeanor, but beneath that handsome face lurked a wicked heart!

Since returning from Christmas break, Tver had successfully introduced an advanced version of the light ball game in three grades, receiving unanimous "high praise" from the students.

Of course, the difficulty varied by grade.

In third grade, only two squares were correct, in second grade there were four, and in first grade, six.

These correct squares, while glowing, also emitted magic fluctuations of varying intensities, helping students to sense and identify the right and wrong squares without constantly looking down.

The one constant was the invisible clamp that appeared instantly if you guessed wrong!

One clamp was bearable—lasting only a second, similar to a pinch—but it was hard to endure it multiple times!

After about five or six clamps, the students' ankles would start to hurt, swelling inevitably after more than ten.

Especially as the pain increased, mistakes became more frequent, and the number of times they were clamped also increased, trapping them in a vicious cycle.

Crucially, the professor's chocolates remained so effective; eating one would heal their ankles completely before the next class even began!

Of course, their complaints seemed like boasting to the upper-grade students, who had grown even fonder of Professor Fawley after the pre-Christmas lessons.

During the Christmas reunion, students from wizarding families took the opportunity to ask their parents and relatives about the professor's magic, and they all praised the snowball game and spoke highly of the professor.

Most adult wizards couldn't manage to momentarily suspend magic, let alone integrate it. This realization made the students appreciate the true value of the class, likely the most valuable lesson they could receive at school unless the professor could teach them another class!

It was rumored that Harry and Ron were now disliked by the entire school, mainly because they had attempted to break into Professor Fawley's office. And they hadn't even succeeded!

However, their ordeal became known, and several fearless students tried to break the professor's magic to discover the secrets of his office. As expected, they ended up suspended for a night, and the house points from all four houses mysteriously aligned at the same level.

This brought mixed feelings of amusement and relief among the originally upset Gryffindors, reducing some of the resentment towards Harry and Ron. Yet the trio wasn't much happier, even after they discovered information about the Philosopher's Stone.

With the introduction of dodging tactics, Hermione's slightly weaker practical abilities became apparent. Despite still ranking at the top, she was overtaken by naturally talented classmates like Malfoy.

Now, she was constantly anxious about how to enhance her abilities, surrounding herself with a stack of borrowed books.

Ron had made some progress; a month of private lessons with Tver wasn't without effect, but his wand continued to hold him back, resulting in average performance.

Harry was the most exhausted of the trio. Not only did he have to attend classes, but he also had to juggle Quidditch practice.

"Why don't you just say your ankle hurts and ask Wood for a break?" Ron suggested.

Harry had just returned from training, drenched and exhausted, collapsing into a chair without the energy to even pour himself a drink.

Hermione put down her hefty book and considerately poured him a glass of pumpkin juice.

Ever since they found out the professor enjoyed pumpkin juice, they always kept it stocked.

"Thanks." Harry took a big gulp before he could recover.

"The problem is, George and the others have already used that excuse, but Wood said that once you're on a broom, you don't need your feet—we have to train unless our backsides split!"

"I'd rather your backside actually did split; it might be better," George suddenly chimed in as he and Fred walked over, also soaking wet.

Their serious expressions were more striking than their wet clothes.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, setting aside his pumpkin juice, puzzled.

"It's Snape. He's going to be the referee for our match against Hufflepuff!"

The twins despairingly poured themselves some pumpkin juice; now, only this could soothe their spirits.

"But does Snape even know the rules of Quidditch?!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes wide, his quill pen dropping in shock.

Hearing this, Harry said resignedly, "He doesn't need to know the rules. He just needs to keep penalizing us."

After a sigh of resignation from everyone, and once the twins finished their pumpkin juice and went to shower, Hermione suddenly looked at Harry with concern, more worried about his safety than the score.

"Snape tried to kill you last time; isn't it easier for him to do something now that he's the referee?"

"How about we say Harry's backside has split, and he can't play?" Ron came up with a bad idea.

"Or you might as well actually crack Harry's backside!" Hermione retorted, annoyed.

Ron's eyes lit up, "That might not be such a bad idea!"

Harry shook his head firmly. This was his second game; he couldn't back down over something that hadn't happened.

"Stop thinking about it. Snape might not be able to hurt me, but if I don't play, we'll definitely lose the match!"

Hermione fell silent, lost in thought for a moment, then suddenly came up with an idea.

"Professor Fawley!" she exclaimed.

"What about the professor?" Ron asked.

"We could ask him to counteract Snape's magic, couldn't we? He surely wouldn't want anything to happen to Harry."

"No!" Harry frowned in disapproval. "We shouldn't drag the professor into this, especially not with things concerning Snape and even the Philosopher's Stone. We have to pretend we know nothing, or else the professor could end up getting hurt by Snape!"

Hermione and Ron also considered this possibility—wasn't it worse to get the professor involved than Harry getting hurt?

The trio exchanged glances, guessing each other's thoughts, and couldn't help but laugh.

"Ha, ha," Ron laughed, hiccuping, his hand patting Harry's shoulder, "I don't hate you, mate. We definitely can't involve the professor, can we?"

"Harry might not even be in any trouble!" Hermione countered with a smile. "And we could just cast a spell on Snape secretly, like last time!"

She grew more excited as she spoke, pulling out the heavy book she had been reading and began reciting spells that might come in handy—

"Ticking Charm, Leg-Locker Curse, Dancing Feet Spell..."

However, her recitation was cut short by Neville, who approached them.

"Harry, Ron, Professor McGonagall asked me to give these to you." He handed each of them a note.

Harry read his aloud.

"Your detention starts tonight at eleven o'clock. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall. —Professor McGonagall."

"I almost forgot about that," Ron grumbled discontentedly, "I'd rather be hung from the ceiling by Professor Fawley than spend detention with Filch."

Hermione closed her book resignedly and offered them a comforting word.

"At least after tonight, you won't have to worry about detention anymore."