They had clearly underestimated the snow beast.
At first, everyone thought it could only dodge. But after three students were struck by the knight's snow cannon and left frozen in place for a full minute—and after the wild boar rampaged through the crowd—students quickly shifted from offense to desperate evasion.
If not for their masterful use of the Serpentine Gliding Charm, many would have been flattened or left immobilized, easy targets for the beast's charge.
Soon, someone noticed a crucial weakness: on patches where the snow had been cleared, the snow beast slowed down, its attacks weakened.
"Clear the snow—clear it all!" someone shouted.
A flurry of cleaning spells swept across the grounds in front of the castle, rapidly exposing a huge swath of bare earth.
On the steps of the Great Hall, Douglas intercepted an irate Mr. Filch. "Let them have their fun while clearing the snow for you, Mr. Filch. Isn't that a load off your plate?"
Filch eyed the spotless ground, calculating how many hours it would have taken him to do the same. He couldn't help but feel a pang of envy—and a touch of bitterness. After all those months of Kwikspell correspondence courses, he still hadn't shown a single spark of magic. If he hadn't seen a handful of so-called "Squibs" actually manage a spell or two, he'd have given up on that hopeless dream long ago.
(Kwikspell is a mail-order course produced by the Kwikspell Company, supposedly for magical beginners. In truth, it's useless for true Squibs, who simply lack magical ability. The rare "successes" are just wizards so clumsy they appear to be Squibs.)
Back on the field, the students tried everything—Fire-Making Charms and a barrage of offensive spells—but nothing could halt the snow beast's charge. Even their flames were instantly snuffed out by the creature's swirling snow.
Since the snow beast relentlessly sought out snowy ground, the only solution was to clear every patch of snow in its path. Before long, the road from the castle to the main gates was completely bare.
Seeing this, Douglas quietly slipped his wand back into his pocket.
George and Fred, ever observant, noticed the snow beast hesitate for a moment. Seizing their chance, they cast a Swamp Curse together, hoping to trap it. But their combined magic was still too weak—the beast's hind hooves only sank about eight inches into the conjured mire.
Without Douglas's control, the snow beast ran purely on instinct. It leapt free of the swamp and, without a second's pause, charged straight for the twins.
The knight's snow cannon fired relentlessly. Every student struck was frozen in place, then promptly bowled over by the beast. The impact wasn't too strong, but with the thick snow now gone, the field was a quagmire—every victim ended up a walking mud doll.
Just then, a student in Ravenclaw robes shouted, "Water—try water spells!"
He cast Aguamenti, sending a stream of water crashing into the snow beast. This time, neither snowballs nor snow walls could do more than momentarily resist before being blasted apart by the torrent.
That clever Ravenclaw had noticed the beast's hind legs, after sinking into the swamp, were visibly thinner than the rest—a hint that water might be its undoing.
Seeing the effect, students everywhere raised their wands, hurling every water-related charm they could muster. Even first-years who couldn't cast the spells simply scooped up mud and lobbed it at the beast.
A snowball fight had become an all-out mud war.
This, it seemed, was not part of Douglas's plan. He shot a glance at Filch, whose face had gone from iron-grey to nearly black, then quietly retreated into the castle.
Not long after, the snow beast collapsed with a thunderous crash. The two rune plaques at its core shot through the air, landing at the feet of a mud-splattered Hufflepuff first-year and a third-year Ravenclaw.
Watching the Hufflepuff pick up the plaque with muddy hands, nearby students winced in sympathy. Good magical items, wasted on a first-year! But what could they do? Not only had Douglas forbidden fighting over the prizes, but the winner was from Hufflepuff—and, as some time-conscious students calculated, the plaques probably had less than ten minutes of use left anyway. That realization brought a bit of balance to their hearts.
Just as everyone was gearing up for another round, they realized all the snow nearby had been cleared away. Unless they ventured into the Forbidden Forest or beyond the castle grounds, there was nothing left to fight over. The students who'd worked so hard only to have their prizes snatched away could only sigh in frustration.
Little did they know, the real trouble was just beginning.
Mr. Filch stood at the Great Hall doors, face dark as thunder, and bellowed, "You lot! Mud everywhere, filthy from head to toe—I won't allow you back into the castle. Don't think you can sneak in elsewhere, either. I've been watching the whole time—I know every one of you. And Professor Holmes saw it all too! Today, unless you clean yourselves up and dry the grounds, nobody gets back inside. Or I'll go straight to the Professors…"
A collective groan rose from the students.
But Filch's next words made them wonder if he'd been replaced by a Polyjuice imposter.
"Today, I'm making a special exception: you can use magic however you like. As long as you clean the castle paths with magic, just like usual, and use magic to clean yourselves up…"
The students exchanged glances, scrutinizing Filch as if seeing him for the first time. But with permission to use magic, who cared? If they protested, the Professors would make them write lines instead of waving wands.
George piped up, "Mr. Filch, do we need to dry the Black Lake, too?"
Fred chimed in, "Yeah, the Black Lake's part of the castle grounds, isn't it?"
Laughter erupted around them.
Filch's face turned from iron-grey to pitch-black. "You little brats, I'll ask the Headmaster to make you empty the Black Lake next…"
George and Fred quickly waved their hands. "Just kidding, just kidding! We'll get right to work…"
As the crowd dispersed, Filch's lips curled in a sly smile. He remembered Douglas mentioning that young witches and wizards had limited magical reserves. They rarely noticed, since they didn't cast spells constantly—but if they pushed past their limits, exhaustion would hit hard, and repeated overuse might even make them resent magic itself.
He muttered under his breath, "You lot love using magic so much? Go on, use it to your heart's content."
With that wicked grin, students gave him a wide berth.
What Filch didn't know was that Douglas had left out a key detail: magical energy is also tied to emotion. When emotions run high, new magic is generated quickly. And even young wizards have a surprisingly high capacity; with the charms they were using, it'd be nearly impossible to run dry. Douglas had tested this himself.
That evening, during detention, George and Fred bounced in, full of energy. Once they'd dodged the other students, they sidled up to Douglas and whispered, "If we join your research group, will we get to play with magical items like that?"
Douglas only smiled and replied, "Meet the grade requirements, and we'll talk."
After dismissing the students at nine, Douglas lingered for a while, then pulled out a crate of Muggle cola, tucked it into his bag, and set off for the Astronomy Tower.
With Dumbledore's reply in hand, he wasn't the least bit worried about tonight's feast running short on ingredients.
On the way, he ran into Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout.
Professor Sprout grumbled, "Honestly, if Aurora—Professor Sinistra—hadn't told me it was hot pot, I'd never have bothered climbing these ridiculous stairs at night!"
The Astronomy Tower was the highest in Hogwarts, and the spiral staircase was notoriously steep.
Professor McGonagall just shrugged. "I'm not here for the hot pot. It's just been far too long since we all gathered together."
What could Douglas say? He could only agree: the ladies were absolutely right.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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