0360 At 8 o’clock

0360 At 8 o’clock

The relentless torrential downpour raged furiously outside the ancient castle walls, the never-ending patter of raindrops purring monotonously for an entire day, tormenting the ragged nerves of those within it. Yet, just a few steps away, across the threshold of a door, the entrance hall had lapsed into an eerie, unsettling stillness, a stark contrast to the boisterous torrent outside it.

Neville's current frozen posture bore an uncanny resemblance to that of a seasoned baseball pitcher Harry had once seen on a television screen, his arm suspended in mid-throw, as if unleashing an imaginary water balloon, unmoving, while his face, now considerably slimmer, still bore a dazed expression, as if he hadn't quite grasped what he'd just done.

"Oh, damn, that was awesome!" Ginny exclaimed, her eyes blazing with admiration as she witnessed the entire incident unfold before her.

Hearing this, Harry, standing beside her, couldn't help but furrow his brow in perplexed confusion. Ron's little sister's admiration for him was almost common knowledge, an open secret. But today, she was praising another boy, right before his very eyes. Of course, Harry had to admit, Neville's split-second reaction was indeed impressively smooth and effortless. But still,

This was Neville they were talking about!

Over the past three years, thanks to Snape's relentless propagation of scathing rumors, Neville's clumsiness had become the well-known stuff of legend, even among the other houses. But that smooth, dashing, fluid catching and throwing motion just now – what was that all about? It defied everything Harry had come to expect from the bumbling Neville.

"Neville, you little brat!" Peeves screeched, his shrill voice shattering the tense silence. While others were still stunned by Neville's astonishing performance, the mischievous poltergeist reacted first, interpreting Neville's throw as a deliberate provocation, and flew into an unrestrained rage!

Peeves snatched off his bell-topped hat, the space inside seeming to possess an extraordinary capacity, much like their Physical Education classroom. His crooked hands left trails as he ceaselessly pulled out water balloons from the hat's seemingly bottomless depths, and the entrance hall was instantly filled with the popping sounds of bursting like firecrackers.

"Oh, help!" Neville's reaction was much more normal now as he cried out, his earlier bravado evaporating as panic etched itself across his face. He scurried to dodge Peeves's relentless barrage of water balloons, joining the other young wizards who couldn't escape the entrance hall in time.

"Oh—" Seeing Neville lose his cool so quickly, Ginny sighed, the stars in her eyes flickering and fading as she shrugged her shoulders in resignation. "This is the Neville I know," she muttered, her earlier awe dissipating like mist in the morning sun.

"Harry—" Hermione's voice carried a hushed urgency as she stared intently at Neville from the second-floor railing, her expression serious. "I don't know if you noticed—"

"Of course," Harry affirmed, his gaze following hers, a silent understanding passing between them.

The water-soaked marble floor was as slippery as ice, making it virtually impossible for the others to effectively evade in such treacherous conditions. In fact, they could barely stand, their feet sliding helplessly beneath them. Yet Neville, though stumbling clumsily, his graceful movements now gone, had not fallen even once.

After all, the slipperiness of the water-drenched marble was comparable to that of the foul-smelling secretion left behind by dungbombs during their Physical Education classes. To avoid intimate facial contact with the rotten liquid on the ground, every young wizard tried his best to avoid falling down, a lesson Neville seemed to have learned through harsh experience.

"Seems to be having some effect, isn't it?" a voice from behind made the trio jump, when they were closely observing Neville.

"Oh, Professor Watson, sorry, I didn't notice you!" Hermione said apologetically in a hushed tone, her cheeks flushing slightly.

Meanwhile, Harry tensed up, a look of slight embarrassment flickering across his features. Recently, Harry had been taking out his frustration over his shattered dream of moving out of the Dursleys oppressive household on Professors Dumbledore and Professor Watson. He even harbored a bit of resentment towards Sirius for breaking his promise.

"I came down for dinner—" Professor Watson said with a warm smile, his lips curving in a reassuring arc. "What about you?"

"We—" Hermione gestured towards the rain-streaked entrance with a subtle tilt of her head, her eyes following the motion. "We usually finish our daily run before dinner, but Peeves blocked the entrance."

"Good evening, Luna—" Hermione replied, her gaze unconsciously skimming over the strange necklace, her eyebrows furrowing slightly into a perplexed frown.

Hermione simply couldn't understand why Professor Flitwick allowed Luna to maintain such an outlandish, eccentric appearance. If she were in Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall would certainly have something stern to say.

However, recognizing that true friends should respect each other's personal choices, Hermione made no comment on Luna's unorthodox sense of style, though her eyes showed a hint of confusion,

"Professor Watson asked you to come too, didn't he? Did he tell you why he called us here?"

"He didn't say—" Luna replied her misty silver eyes had a dreamy look but her tone was particularly sincere. "I guess he wants to teach us how to get rid of Wrackspurts."

Hermione and Neville exchanged glances, silently agreeing not to comment.

"But I think he's wasting his time—" Luna made a swatting motion as she pushed open the office door, "There are no tricks to deal with these creatures. We just have to get used to them."

The sudden, harsh downpour had caused a drastic drop in temperature, and a roaring fire crackled merrily in the office's hearth.

Professor Watson sat behind his desk in a high-backed leather chair, his chin resting on interlaced fingers as he stared at the haphazard pile of parchments before him. A pained, furrowed expression creased his brow, etching deep lines across his forehead as he frowned in intense concentration.

Hermione was all too familiar with that particular look – it was the same helpless, almost despairing expression Harry and Ron had whenever they struggled to fulfill the demanding word count requirements for their History of Magic essays. Or when faced with Professor Trelawney's weird demands for detailed predictions about their own fated demises, no matter how unbelievable.

"Have a seat—" Professor Watson gestured vaguely with one hand, tossing his quill into the waiting ink bottle with the other as he glanced up at their arrival.

As Hermione approached, she couldn't resist a quick, sneaky glance at the disorganized files littering the professor's desk like a minefield of paperwork. One large, yellowing parchment appeared to be a meticulously detailed bird's-eye view of the expansive Hogwarts grounds and surrounding lands. While in the top right corner of another stack, a small section bore an uncanny resemblance to a wizarding photograph of Madam Pomfrey.

"You must be wondering why I called you here, so let me get straight to the point—"

With a casual wave of his wand, he conjured three steaming mugs of pumpkin juice before them.

Bryan then massaged his throbbing temples as he said to the young trio, his voice tinged with weariness.

"Due to certain matters, I will have to leave Hogwarts for a period of time. I can't say for sure when I'll be back. But during my absence, I need to ensure that the Physical Education classes can proceed smoothly. So—"

Bryan spread his hands open in a calming gesture, his calloused palms facing upwards as he paused for emphasis.

"I'd like you three to serve as teaching assistants for those classes. What do you think?"

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