My partner at Hogwarts is Tom

Chapter 90 Magic and Laughter

The excitement in the playground continued to grow, and the screams and laughter of the young wizards almost became the new background noise of Hogwarts, piercing the sky and echoing between the castle towers. Even at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the noise, a mixture of excitement and fear, could be heard.

This constant uproar finally pushed Argus Felch to his breaking point.

With a livid face, he flipped through the entire list of school rules in the appendix of "Hogwarts: A History of the School".

Then he went through his greasy personal notebook, filled with various "supplementary punishment measures," three times from beginning to end.

They couldn't find a single clause that could be accurately applied to "using magic to attack each other and scare giant insects in the forest the professor conjured up."

"Outrageous! Utterly outrageous!" He was so angry that he was panting heavily, and his sparse hair stood on end.

"The headmaster must do something about this! This is a serious violation! Disrupting the castle's order! Creating noise pollution! And a safety hazard—look at those being carried out! How can these people be allowed in Hogwarts!"

He was referring to yet another Gryffindor sophomore who had been thrown off while trying to ride a giant longhorn beetle, landing with a bruised and battered face, now being gently carried out by vines, a silly grin on his face.

Filch strode stiffly and angrily toward the principal's office.

Ignoring the commands, he pounded the dripping spout stone statue with his fist.

The stone statue slowly turned, revealing a spiral staircase, which Filch practically rushed up.

"Headmaster Dumbledore!" He burst into the office, his chest heaving, his voice sharp with excitement.

"This is a serious violation! It must be stopped! That—that so-called playground—is a breeding ground for chaos! Students are fooling around in there, casting spells at each other, and provoking—provoking those disgusting, enlarging insects! They should all be arrested and put in solitary confinement! One month each! No, a whole semester!"

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, with a huge ancient book in front of him, its pages shimmering with starlight.

Hearing Filch's roar, he looked up, his blue eyes behind his half-moon glasses blinking, revealing a hint of pleasure rather than anger.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Filch. Don't get excited, would you like a lemon sorbet?" he said gently, pointing to a spinning silver plate on the table.

"I don't need candy, Headmaster!" Filch waved his arm, nearly hitting a silver instrument that was quietly bubbling nearby.

"I need order! Rules! Punishment! Look outside! Those brats are practically turning the world upside down!"

Dumbledore followed the direction Filch pointed, and it seemed he could actually see the lively scene in the game field.

He leisurely stroked his long, silvery-white beard.

"Ah, yes, very energetic, aren't they? Full of youthful vigor. To be honest, Mr. Filch, looking at them makes me feel a few years younger. I wonder if I could join in and have some fun—"

"Albus!" A serious voice rang out, and Professor McGonagall appeared in the doorway, clearly drawn by Filch's commotion, or perhaps she had originally intended to come and discuss the playground issue.

She strode in, her brow furrowed, her expression not much better than Filch's, but more out of worry than anger.

"Headmaster, we have to talk about the students' safety! This morning, two more Ravenclaws were sent to the school hospital. One was chased by a bat he conjured and crashed into a tree, and the other was accidentally injured by his partner's 'Legs-Off Curse' and rolled off a simulated cliff—though it was just a deformed bush, it was still pretty bad!"

This kind of potentially harmful activity should be strictly limited, even to the point of being harmful.

"Minerva," Dumbledore interrupted her, his voice still calm, but with an undeniable gentle strength.

He picked up a pile of cockroaches, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed it a few times, and spoke in a muffled but clear voice.

"Madam Pomfrey has prepared ample supplies of white stigma, bone-strengthening agents, and tranquilizers; her inventory is plentiful. I just approved an additional payment for these herbs last week. Of course,"

He swallowed the candy, his blue eyes sparkling with intelligence.

"I believe our children are actually more measured than we think. They know when to stop, especially in the face of shared—well, surprises. Want a chilled mouse, Minerva? It's good, very refreshing."

He pointed to the silver candies emitting a chill on the other side of the plate.

Professor McGonagall stared at the plate of candy, then at Dumbledore's relaxed expression, and pressed her lips even tighter.

"————Okay, thank you." She finally reached out and took a piece of iced rat, thank goodness it wasn't a pile of cockroaches.

But the worry on his face did not lessen. "But I still hope you can at least stipulate that spells with obvious harmful effects be prohibited in the game arena, or limit the intensity of the confrontations —"

"Minerva," Dumbledore interrupted her again, this time in a lower voice.

He put down the ancient book in his hand, leaned forward slightly, and his gaze behind his crescent-shaped glasses became deep and distant.

Have you ever seen a lion as a cub? In the wild, or in a zoo?

Professor McGonagall paused, clearly not expecting the topic to shift to this. She hesitated, then said, "Of course I've seen you."

As an Animagus who is a cat wizard, she has a natural understanding and affinity for felines.

"Then you should know," Dumbledore's voice said, as if recounting an ancient parable.

"Young animals always learn the skills they need to survive through play. For example, lion cubs learn hunting techniques and strength control by biting their brothers' and sisters' tails; they learn speed and stealth through chasing and hiding; and they establish hierarchy and connections within the pack through roughhousing. For them, play is not meaningless frolicking, but a rehearsal for future life and death."

He paused, his gaze seemingly piercing through the wall, landing on the noisy yet vibrant miniature forest in the distance.

"Our children are the same, Minerva. In their hands, the wand is not just a tool for doing homework and conjuring flowers. It is an extension of a wizard, a bridge between will and magic."

If they cannot learn how to use it effectively in a relatively safe and controllable game, how to think under pressure, how to collaborate in a crisis, and how to judge when to attack, when to defend, and when to flee —

So, real and cruel life will eventually teach them these lessons in a colder, more painful way.

The office was quiet for a moment, with only the soft hum of silverware.

Filch's lips moved as if he wanted to argue, but looking into Dumbledore's all-knowing eyes, he finally just mumbled something.

Professor McGonagall held the ice mouse in her hand, feeling its icy touch against her fingertips.

She recalled the scene she had glimpsed as she passed the edge of the playground.

Harry Potter didn't hesitate to use a beautiful "body armor" to shield a terrified Hufflepuff first-year from a mischievous spell that was shot from the side.

Students from several different colleges spontaneously formed a circle and worked together to drive away an overly enthusiastic giant dung beetle.

They even spotted Pansy Parkinson. That usually arrogant Slytherin girl was actually clinging tightly to Hermione Granger's sleeve.

Although her face was covered in terrified tears, her other hand trembled as she held up her wand, trying to "freeze the beetle" that Hermione was fighting, even though the spell was way off track.

Those scenes were completely different from the classroom where students diligently recited spells and carefully practiced wand gestures.

There was something primal, vibrant, even shining amidst the chaos.

"I only regret one thing now—" Dumbledore's voice pulled her back from her thoughts.

A childlike, slightly annoyed smile appeared on the old principal's face.

"Why didn't I bring Viktor on as a professor sooner, or even think of this kind of game? Think back to our school days, besides sneaking around dueling in abandoned classrooms, what could be more fun and exciting—"

A space for educational activities?

Professor McGonagall's lips twitched, as if she wanted to laugh, but she forced herself to hold it back.

She finally sighed, turning that unspoken sigh into a word of compromise.

"I'll double-check with Mrs. Pomfrey to see if the school clinic has enough medicine and bandages to handle the potential increase in visitors."

She uttered the word "passenger flow" with a hint of gritted teeth, then turned around, her black robe billowing as she strode quickly away from the principal's office, the sound of her high heels clicking on the ground seeming a little lighter than when she arrived.

Filch watched Professor McGonagall's departing figure, then glanced at Dumbledore, who had picked up the ancient book again as if nothing had happened. He opened his mouth, but in the end, he just let out a heavy "humph," dragged his feet, and left dejectedly.

He needs to find out if there is any school rule that can be used to prohibit "making continuous noise in non-teaching areas".

The great Hogwarts shouldn't be this noisy.

The white-bearded principal squinted slightly, not immediately returning to his book.

He gently waved the Elder Wand, and the wall on one side of the office became transparent, clearly showing a real-time view of the game stadium in the distance.

He saw Harry Potter, like a nimble antelope, weaving through the trees, cleverly using "obstacles" and "fragments" to trap a small "hunting party" that was trying to ambush them, and then quickly leading a few younger students to safety.

He saw Theodore Nott of Hufflepuff display astonishing courage, taking advantage of a praying mantis being entangled to pounce on its broad, chitinous back and cling to it tightly.

At the same time, he shouted instructions to Michael Corner of Ravenclaw next to him to use the "Freeze Charm" to attack the mantis's joints.

Although their teamwork was clumsy, their courage was commendable, and they actually managed to slow down the mantis's movements.

He saw Blaise Zabini of Slytherin and Ron Weasley of Gryffindor, the two guys who usually glared at each other when they met in the corridor.

Back to back, they brandished their wands with ferocious force, fighting together against three creatures that surrounded them from different directions.

A magnified image of a tarantula.

Ron was responsible for disrupting the spiders' vision and senses with "Sandstorm," while Zabini precisely attacked their relatively vulnerable leg joints with "Cut-Off Charms." Although the spells were of limited power, their coordination was surprisingly well-organized.

He saw Terry Boots of Ravenclaw use the Illusion Charm to create several phantoms of himself, successfully distracting a patrol of giant ants and rescuing Padma Petil, who was being chased and was panting heavily.

He saw Pansy Parkinson, yes, it was her again, screaming at a deafening volume that could shatter glass, while clinging to Hermione Granger's wrist like a drowning person grasping at a piece of driftwood.

Hermione stumbled as she was pulled along, but she held her wand firmly in her other hand, chanting an incantation. A powerful "Repel Charm" sent a dung beetle that was rolling towards her flying away crashing into a tree trunk, leaving it dizzy and disoriented.

Then Hermione grabbed Pansy's arm and practically dragged her behind a thick, ancient tree, urgently shouting, "Crouch down! Close your eyes! The mist is thick!"

As they work together to fight those terrifying insect "surprises" and face the crisis of being ambushed by "random opponents," the barriers between the academies and the petty grudges accumulated over time seem to be truly dissipating.

They screamed, they laughed, they were in a sorry state, but they also helped each other, actively drawing fire to cover their teammates, and even "dying" and being eliminated to protect other college students they didn't know at all.

"How wonderful—" Dumbledore murmured to himself, his azure eyes reflecting the vibrant, collaborative, and occasionally courageous scenes.

He gently wiped the corner of his eye, which seemed a little wet.

"True magic lies not only in the spell itself, but also in the way it connects people —"

Even if it's through being chased by a giant bug together.

Meanwhile, at the window on the other side of the castle.

Severus Snape stood there expressionless, his black robes like a frozen shadow.

He stared coldly in the direction of the playground.

His lips were pressed into a harsh line, and he held a quill pen and a piece of parchment in his hand, scribbling down a few names every now and then.

"Foolish," he muttered, watching a Slytherin fourth-year student, driven by greed and recklessness, venture alone into the "enemy's territory," only to be ganged up on and "sent" out by three Gryffindors.

"Without any strategy, Glenston loses five points for his recklessness and for bringing shame to the academy."

"Pathetic aim." He noted another Slytherin student's Stunning Charm, which missed its target by a full three feet, hitting an innocent fly instead and enraging the student. "Cassius, two extra hours of aiming practice after class."

Even in a game, he wouldn't allow his students to perform poorly. Slytherin's honor could not be tarnished, not even during play.

Professor Flitwick, standing next to him, presented a completely different picture.

He stood on a specially brought-over high stool, gesturing excitedly, his high-pitched voice occasionally ringing out.

"Oh! Look at that Ravenclaw! Petrify them all!" Perfect timing! It froze the scorpion that was trying to ambush them! —Oops, watch out behind you! —Great, he noticed! A beautiful turn, armor protects him! —Coordinate! Pay attention to coordination! Hufflepuff over there, quickly use the Levitate Charm to move that piece of wood aside, create an opportunity for your teammates! —Yes, yes, yes! That's it! —Fantastic! They've taken care of that sentinel!"

He jumped around excitedly, his small body swaying on the high stool, making one worry he might fall.

He focused most of his attention on the top students in his own college, such as Plenton and others, but he was also generous in praising the outstanding performances of students from other colleges.

"Look at the Gryffindors' drive! Slytherin's teamwork was excellent! Hufflepuff is getting better and better at utilizing their environment!"

He clapped and cheered, completely ignoring the almost tangible oppressive atmosphere and the look of disgust emanating from Snape beside him.

The Slytherin student whom Professor Flitwick described as having "spells as weak as a few drops of water" and whose sneak attack failed was none other than Crabbe.

He was somewhat clever, knowing to hide in the shadows beneath the belly of a slow-moving giant longhorn beetle, but unfortunately his combat experience and magic control were appalling. The moment he was exposed, his opponent easily countered him.

"Lack of basic training." Snape scribbled an angry stroke after Crabbe's name on the parchment, already thinking about how many buckets of slimy toad entrails he should have to process to "make up" for this deficiency.

The magic of the playground has not diminished over time; on the contrary, it has flourished even more due to the students' independent development.

Under the organization and inspiration of the Weasley twins, who have become unofficial "playground advisors," the young wizards are no longer satisfied with simple individual or small-team "survival battles."

They developed even more ways to play.

The most popular one is an adversarial mode that involves randomly grouping opponents.

All students who wish to participate put their names into a hat that has been enchanted with an anti-interference spell. George or another selected student then randomly draws names to form the "white team" and the "black team".

In this way, whether it's just two or three people wanting to have a small-scale skirmish or thirty or forty people wanting to have a "legion showdown," they can be organized quickly.

Teammates and opponents are randomly generated. Today's Gryffindor might be your ally, but tomorrow's Slytherin could be launching a "Tarantella" at you, greatly increasing the fun and unpredictability.

Upon learning of this new way to play, Dumbledore, perhaps indulging in childlike wonder or even "disrespecting his elders," personally added a small magic spell to the game field.

After the groups are formed, the participating students' robes will automatically change color, with one side being a pure bright white and the other side being a deep inky black, until the end of this round of the game.

The visual effects are extremely vivid, and it avoids the embarrassment of "accidentally hitting friendly forces." Of course, if it's intentional, that's another story.

He even expressed his eagerness to personally participate and lead a team in the game.

The proposal was met with an unprecedented unanimous rejection from the students.

"Principal, your wisdom should be used to guide us, not—uh, to personally participate in this shallow game."

Hermione Granger spoke as a student representative, although she herself was not very willing to take on the role and even wanted to see Dumbledore cast spells.

"Yes, Headmaster, if you come, we won't have any chance to play!" George Weasley said with a grin.

"If you can turn the entire forest into a candy paradise with just one spell, then we don't need to fight anymore, let's just have a tea party."

"And it's not fair to you either," Fred added, with an expression of genuine concern that said, "We're doing this for your own good." "The rules restricting the use of advanced magic are too restrictive for you."

Dumbledore looked at the children's eyes, which were filled with a mixture of awe, nervousness, and "please don't come," and sighed regretfully. However, he still yielded to public opinion and gave up the idea of ​​going on stage, only promising to be "the most impartial audience."

Despite the professors, especially Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape, repeatedly emphasizing that the use of any dark magic or curses was strictly prohibited in the game, as was the intentional attack on an opponent that was insulting or could cause permanent damage.

But there are always a few students who get carried away or take a chance and try to break the rules in the chaos.

For example, a Slytherin student attempted to cast a "Permanent Glue Charm" on his opponent's shoelaces; a Gryffindor, driven to desperation during a battle, nearly used the Guts Charm; and someone even tried to use a Confusion Charm to make the opponent mistake their teammate for a "surprise" insect to attack—

The punishments for these violations were swift and severe, and unlike any previous ones.

Deductions and confinement are the basics. But confinement is no longer simply about copying chapters from "The History of Magic" or dealing with slugs.

Those who violate the rules will face the work they hate and least want to do.

—Clean the most secluded and smelliest washroom in the castle, and do not use "clean up" products; you can only use a brush and a rag by hand.

Filch would supervise from the sidelines with an almost ecstatic sternness.

Go to the greenhouse to assist Professor Sprout in preparing special manure, and again, you are forbidden from using your wand for any stirring.

All operations, including moving, were completed by hand.

The smell and feel of it were enough to make even the most unruly student lose their appetite for days.

The most severe punishment is a ban from entering the playground, which can last from three days to a semester.

This punishment was personally approved by Dumbledore and announced publicly during a meal in the Great Hall.

Some students may not be afraid of getting dirty or tired, and would rather clean toilets than copy books.

But almost no one can withstand the "torture" of being shut out of the school's most popular and exciting activities.

Watching others excitedly discuss tactics and form teams to enter that fun and challenging forest, while you can only watch from afar and listen to the laughter and exclamations coming from inside—this kind of mental "isolation" is more effective than any physical labor.

In several typical cases, such as the Slytherin who attempted to use the Permanent Bond Charm, he was banned for two weeks; and the Gryffindor who almost used a curse, he was banned for a month.

After being severely punished, the atmosphere in the game area became noticeably more "civilized".

People began to truly understand what "sparring" and "discretion" meant, knew where the red line was, and realized that the price they would pay for breaking the rules was something they absolutely did not want to bear.

Even so, Mrs. Pomfrey's workload in the school infirmary did not decrease at all.

Almost every day, several students with bruises, arms, or legs are brought in.

Most of them were minor injuries: scratches on the cheeks from branches while running in the woods.

He slipped on the unstable "rock" he conjured up and scraped his knee; he twisted his ankle jumping down from a tree to avoid a spell.

Or, more commonly, falling from various heights, whether real tree branches or deformed platforms, resulting in broken arms or legs.

In the wizarding world, unless the damage is caused by dark magic or a cursed attack like the Basilisk Gaze, ordinary fractures and cuts are really no more troublesome than treating a bad cold, thanks to the skillful medical skills of White Essence, Bone Spirit, and Madam Pomfrey.

Drink some medicine, take a nap, or let your bones heal on their own, and you'll be jumping around again the next day.

However, the number of students brought in in one day was indeed more than the total number of students in the week before the playground opened.

Mrs. Pomfrey was so busy that she was always on her feet, and the corner of her white coat always smelled of medicine.

She would petition the principal’s office at least three times a day, either by note, owl, or by going there in person, using the sternest language, to “immediately and permanently close that dangerous playground.”

Dumbledore always greeted her with a smile, patiently listened to her complaints and worries, and poured her a cup of calming herbal tea.

Then—skillfully and firmly change the subject, or deflect it with soft words like "the children need training" or "Mrs. Pomfrey, your medical skills are one of the strongest guarantees of Hogwarts."

On one occasion, Mrs. Pomfrey even threatened to write to the school board.

Dumbledore simply blinked his blue eyes and said gently.

"Oh, I think the school board members can understand that appropriate extracurricular activities are crucial for the well-rounded development of young wizards. Besides,"

He pointed out the window, where a huge sound, a mixture of cheers and the crashing of a “giant”, was coming from.

"Listen, how much fun they're having. And I've noticed that because of the playground, students are secretly practicing defensive and healing spells much more often after class—doesn't that lighten your long-term workload?"

Mrs. Pomfrey looked at the headmaster's "I understand everything but I just don't want to change" smile and knew that further arguing would be futile.

She could only sigh heavily, scratch her always meticulously combed hair, turn around and go back to take care of her "clients," muttering to herself.

"At least—at least don't let them try to ride those insects again! Especially the longhorn beetles! Those aren't mounts!"

The game area was still bustling with activity.

Screams and laughter still pierce the Hogwarts sky every day.

In that miniature forest maintained by magic, amidst the "surprises" of magnified insects and the battles between randomly grouped black and white teams, the young wizards were indeed growing in an unprecedented way.

They learn the practical application of spells, teamwork, staying calm under pressure, assessing situations, protecting themselves and their companions, and accepting failure and learning from it.

Dumbledore stood by the window of his office, watching the sunset gild the vibrant forest, listening to the sounds carried on the wind—still noisy, yet seemingly brimming with vitality—a deep and satisfied smile playing on his lips.

He knew that the shadow still lurked deep within the castle, the threat of the Basilisk was not yet gone, the production of protective goggles was proceeding intensively, and the investigation into Voldemort's "backup plan" was also being carried out in secret.

But amidst all this gloom, the vibrant scene before us, these children who have quietly become stronger, more resourceful, and more united through "playing," is like a ray of light piercing through the dark clouds.

"A warrior in a game is always better than a lamb in a greenhouse," he murmured to himself, popping another lemon-flavored shabu-shabu into his mouth, the sweet and sour taste melting in his mouth.

"Besides, who can say that these laughs aren't themselves a powerful form of magic?"

He turned, his long, silvery-white hair and beard fluttering slightly in the evening breeze, and walked to his desk, where heavy documents concerning the secret chamber, the basilisk, and distant threats still needed to be processed.

But at this moment, his steps seemed a little lighter than usual.