Ethan closed the bag and turned back to the class.
"These," he said, "are training dummies."
He stepped down from the platform and approached them.
"They are enchanted constructs used in advanced Auror training," he explained. "Each dummy is inscribed with a complex series of spells and runes."
He tapped one lightly with his wand.
"When activated, they will perform every spell they are programmed with."
A murmur of awe spread through the students.
"They adapt to the exact level of skill they are programmed for," Ethan explained. "They engage any opponent with a wand in front of them: blocking spells, returning fire, and fighting just like a real wizard. These little constructs are forbidden in everyday life or for self-defense—they offer no real advantage there—but as training partners, they are outstandingly effective and safe."
He turned to face the class again.
"There are three difficulty levels," he said. "Easy. Normal. Hard."
A few students exchanged impressed looks.
"From now until the end of the year," Ethan said, his voice carrying clearly across the arena, "every session will include training against these dummies alongside your duels with one another. The dummies allow for quicker, more frequent practice. With ten ready at once, everyone gets meaningful time in the fight and real combat experience. I will watch every move, point out errors on the spot, and help you refine your technique. This is your chance to build true confidence and sharpen your instincts in a controlled setting. When you eventually face each other again, you will carry all of that growth with you."
A ripple of excitement surged through the room.
"You will fight them," Ethan said clearly. "You will be disarmed by them. You will be knocked down by them and even hurt by them."
A ripple of tension passed through several students, their postures stiffening.
"And you will get back up," he continued, voice calm and certain. "Every time. Each fall teaches you something new, builds your confidence, sharpens your instincts."
He let his gaze rest on the students who seemed most uncomfortable with the idea of pain. "Yes, you might get hurt. I will not pretend otherwise. But Madam Pomfrey is wonderful at her job—she will mend you in no time. And if you stay focused and careful, most injuries can be avoided entirely. I have trained with these dummies for four years. I have even fought all ten simultaneously more than once, and that experience has kept me alive in situations where I truly needed it. So trust the process. You are teenagers—some of you already adults. A few bruises should not frighten you anymore. You are beyond the gentle lessons I give the younger years. This is where real growth happens."
A few faces relaxed slightly; others remained tense. Ethan did not press. They would adapt in time.
He gestured toward the arena.
"Let's have the first ten students come down," Ethan continued, scanning the benches. "A good mix of fifth, sixth, and seventh years. Step into the arena and take on these dummies. I want you to feel the fight for yourselves, to grasp the real level of opposition you will face. This is how you build the readiness we need for the lessons ahead."
Chairs scraped as students rose.
Soon, ten students stood before the line of wooden constructs.
Ethan let his eyes travel over the ten students, lingering just long enough to take their measure. He was curious to see what these young chicks 🐥 would reveal about themselves before they met his little dummies in combat.
"Good," he said at last. "This is an upper-year class. I expect better instincts—and fewer excuses."
Leading the Gryffindors was Oliver Wood, a determined fifth-year whose jaw was set and shoulders squared in ready resolve. Next came Gareth Rowley, a tall sixth-year Gryffindor famous for his bold, sometimes reckless spellwork, and Imogen Price, a seventh-year who carried herself with calm assurance, though her quick reflexes were well known among those who had saw her using spells.
From Ravenclaw came Hannah Selvanos, the seventh-year Head Girl, ever composed and unflappable. Even after finishing her last duel, she stepped forward willingly to challenge the training dummies, wand resting lightly but alert in her hand. With her was Marcus Belvoir, a soft-spoken sixth-year whose reputation rested on his thoughtful command of magical theory.
From Hufflepuff stepped Rowan Whitby, broad-shouldered and resolute in his seventh year, alongside Eliza Thorncroft, the fifth-year whose meticulous nature showed in her deliberate stance.
Slytherin advanced in unison: Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey, and Terence Higgs—seventh-years steeped in experience, their gazes locked on the dummies with the intensity of players assessing real competition rather than training aids.
Ten students now confronted ten dummies. Ethan let his eyes travel over the group, excitement stirring beneath his calm exterior as he prepared to watch them rise—or falter—against his training dummies.
He raised his wand.
"All right, this is the Easy level," Ethan announced. "Think of it as the standard for newly qualified Aurors who have just cleared their exams and joined the department. The dummies might feel a touch more challenging than you are used to right now, but that is exactly why we do this. It is outstanding training. Stick with it, and by the end of the year you will handle this level smoothly and naturally."
The runes carved into the dummies' torsos flared a muted gold.
"Begin."
The constructs activated instantly.
Nervousness and tension rippled through the group as the students stared at the dummies they were about to face. Still, they held their wands in steady grips, bodies tense and senses heightened, every one of them on high alert.
Oliver Wood was among the first to react.
"Protego!"
His shield snapped up just as a Stunning Spell flew toward him. The impact rocked him back a step, boots scraping against the stone.
"Solid," Ethan called. "But you're bracing instead of angling. Adjust."
Oliver shifted, redirected the next spell instead of absorbing it, then fired a Disarming Charm in return. The dummy twisted, letting the spell skim past, and answered with a sharp Blasting Hex aimed at the floor.
Oliver dove to the side, rolled smoothly, and sprang back to his feet—only for a solid body-check charm to slam into him, sending him sliding several feet backward.
"Good recovery," Ethan called out. "But you paused after the dodge. In a real fight, there is no time for that. React instantly—strike before the next spell finds you."
Hannah fought differently.
She didn't charge or strike first. She studied the dummy, wand trained on it with calm intent.
The dummy moved forward, casting light probing jinxes to probe her defenses. Hannah answered each with efficient precision: brief shields, clean deflections, and subtle footwork that kept her rooted yet mobile.
"Excellent control," Ethan said. "You're the one dictating the tempo."
She countered with a layered spell—Trip Jinx followed immediately by a Binding Hex.
For half a second, the dummy faltered.
Then it adapted.
It broke the binding with brute force and fired low and fast.
Hannah was a fraction too slow.
She hit the ground hard.
"Good sequencing," Ethan said calmly. "But never assume a construct won't brute-force your spell."
She was already back on her feet.
On the other side Marcus Flint attacked like a battering ram.
Heavy curses. Minimal defense.
He powered forward with brute magical force, driving the dummy back, spells cracking stone in his mind's eye. The dummy, however, stood completely unaffected, looking almost bored as the attacks slid off without impact. It made no move to retaliate.
"Well, Mr. Flint," Ethan said evenly. "You have much work to do before you can really engage this dummy. But I like the spirit of those heavy assaults. It is a strong mindset to keep pushing when you know you cannot win yet. Hone that aggression into something sharper."
The dummy finally absorbed a curse, recalibrated, and sent a spell rocketing straight back along Flint's own casting line.
It struck hard, blasting the air from his lungs and flinging him backward to sprawl on the floor. He lay there making strange, strangled noises, as if death itself had come calling.
"Well, there's our first victim," Ethan said flatly. "Remember that overwhelming feeling. The helplessness of being outmatched. Cling to it. Let it fuel better technique. You have already gained more than enough from this."
Adrian Pucey fought with calculation.
He baited attacks, stepped just out of range, then struck from sharp angles. For a moment, he had his dummy retreating.
"Good," Ethan said, nodding. "You're thinking with your head, not with ahm…"
The word caught in his throat. He froze for a heartbeat, cheeks faintly warming as he recognized how wildly unsuitable it would have been in front of students. He exhaled softly and simply continued, letting the slip fade away unspoken.
Then the dummy mirrored him exactly.
Same feint.
Same timing.
Pucey hesitated in surprise.
Disarmed before he could recover.
"Never forget," Ethan said firmly. "These look like dummies, but they are sophisticated magical artifacts engineered to drill Aurors in high-level combat. Underestimate them, and you pay the price."
Terence Higgs fought efficiently but with excessive caution—far more than Ethan expected from a seventh-year.
The boy was clearly rattled by the pressure. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his breathing came in heavy, ragged gasps as if he had sprinted for miles.
He alternated between offense and defense without fully committing to either. His dummy noticed the hesitation.
It pressed forward relentlessly, overwhelming his shield with unyielding pressure until a clean Stunning Spell dropped him to the floor.
"Decide," Ethan said, his voice cutting through the arena. "Indecision is fatal when the situation turns dangerous."
On the far side, Rowan Whitby absorbed punishment like a wall.
He blocked, redirected, endured—then countered with heavy, deliberate spells.
"Strong endurance," Ethan noted. "But you're letting it set the pace. Don't."
The dummy exploited that patience, slipping past his guard and knocking him down with a sweeping hex.
Eliza Thorncroft was precise—but nervous.
Her spells were correct, well-formed, but hesitant.
"Confidence," Ethan said, his voice steady and clear. "Your magic hears every whisper of doubt, and it can grow into your worst enemy. Believe in yourself and your abilities—do not let doubt take root."
The dummy punished that hesitation immediately, disarming her cleanly.
Gareth Rowley overextended.
He attacked aggressively, chaining spells too quickly, leaving himself open.
"Slow down," Ethan warned.
But it was too late.
The dummy dodged his onslaught and flung him hard to the floor. He lay still, eyes shut, playing at being unconscious. Ethan recognized the pretense immediately. He gave a small shake of his head, letting it pass without comment, and turned to the other students.
Marcus Belvoir's shields were immaculate.
But he never counterattacked.
"Defense alone doesn't win," Ethan said as the dummy overwhelmed him. "You must threaten back."
Minutes later, every student had been knocked flat at least once.
Many more than once.
Heavy breathing filled the air. Robes were dirtied and torn at the edges. Pride had taken a hit.
Ethan lowered his wand.
The dummies stilled at once.
Silence wrapped the arena.
Ethan looked over them, his face calm and unreadable.
"No one here failed," he said. "And no one succeeded quite as I had expected."
The students who had faced the dummies showed their disappointment plainly—eyes downcast, mouths set in frustrated lines.
"That," he said evenly, "was only easy mode."
Groans rose from several students, the reality hitting hard—they had just been thoroughly outmatched by what was supposed to be the easiest level.
"And by the end of the year," he continued, a faint smile touching his lips, "I expect every one of you to beat it."
A low murmur rose from the benches—surprise, a touch of disappointment, the sting of "only easy mode" still fresh.
Ethan spoke over it calmly. "But do not worry. With me guiding you, this will become easy. Most of you would rather fight and cast spells than memorize from books or write assignments. Here, there will be no assignments."
The words changed everything. Excitement flared—students sat up straighter, whispered urgently to one another, eyes bright with anticipation.
Ethan turned to the first group. "Please return to your seats. Next ten, come down."
The energy did not fade as the first students stepped away. It grew sharper. The benches filled with forward-leaning bodies, rapid whispers, and fixed stares at the silent dummies.
Ethan let the excitement build, but he did not allow it to dissolve into disorder.
"Next group," he said calmly.
Ten more students rose.
They came from all four houses. Robes of red, green, blue, and yellow mingled as they stepped onto the stone floor. Some held their wands too tightly. Others rolled their shoulders, trying to look relaxed while clearly failing.
Percy Weasley came down to the arena, face set in serious lines unlike his earlier classroom demeanor. Penelope Clearwater of Ravenclaw joined him, posture impeccable, eyes alert and piercing. A pair of Hufflepuff girls arrived whispering softly to each other. From Slytherin stepped Cassia Malfoy, her presence carrying the same cool assurance as the rest of her house.
Cassia walked with confidence that bordered on arrogance. Her blonde hair was pulled back neatly, her chin raised slightly as she assessed the dummies with open challenge rather than fear.
Ethan noticed everything.
"Positions," he instructed.
The students spread out instinctively, forming a loose line opposite the dummies.
"That," Ethan said, pointing with his wand, "is already a mistake. Have you not been paying attention to how the last ten students handled their dummies?"
Several students froze.
"You are clustering," he continued. "If these were real opponents, one wide spell would incapacitate half of you."
He gestured with two fingers.
"Spread. Force them to choose."
The students shifted quickly, spacing themselves out.
"Better," Ethan said.
He moved closer, pacing behind them.
"Remember," he continued, "these dummies do not hesitate. They do not bluff. They do not feel pressure. They react to what you do."
He stopped behind Percy.
"Mr Weasley."
Percy straightened.
"You rely too much on forward aggression," Ethan said. "You rush in."
Percy opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded.
"That will get you stunned or killed," Ethan added calmly. "Control the space first."
He turned to Penelope.
"Miss Clearwater. You analyze before acting. That is good. But analysis without execution is hesitation."
Penelope inhaled slowly.
"Commit when you decide," Ethan said.
He stepped back and raised his wand.
"Easy level," he said. "Again."
The runes flared.
"Begin."
The dummies moved as one.
The first spell flew from Cassia Malfoy.
"Expelliarmus."
The dummy directly across from her twisted its wrist at the last second, the spell glancing off its wand and striking the floor behind it. In the same motion, it retaliated with a sharp Stunning Spell.
Cassia barely managed to throw herself aside.
"Too predictable," Ethan called out. "You opened with a disarming spell because you wanted dominance. Control first."
Cassia scowled but rolled to her feet, firing a Shield Charm just as another spell came her way.
Percy raised his wand.
"Protego."
The shield formed, but he planted his feet too firmly. A second spell struck, cracking the barrier and sending him staggering backward.
"Move," Ethan ordered. "Shields are not walls."
A RavenClaw student attempted a Binding Spell. The dummy countered immediately, severing the magic and sending a cutting hex that sliced the air inches from her shoulder.
She gasped.
"Do not freeze," Ethan said. "Recover."
Penelope Clearwater stepped in, her wand precise.
"Impedimenta."
The dummy slowed for a fraction of a second.
"That," Ethan said, "is how you create openings."
Cassia took advantage of the moment, chaining a Stunning Spell that landed squarely. The dummy staggered but did not fall. It retaliated with a powerful knockback curse that slammed Cassia into the stone floor.
She hit hard.
Before Ethan could speak, she rolled, grabbed her wand, and threw up a shield.
A faint smile touched Ethan's lips.
"Good recovery," he said. "Pride hurts. Adaptation keeps you alive."
Another student was disarmed and knocked flat.
"Up," Ethan said sharply.
The student scrambled to their feet.
"Again."
The fight continued. Spells collided midair. Wooden wands clashed with magic. Students learned quickly that standing still was getting hurt.
"Stop overcasting," Ethan called to a Ravenclaw boy whose spell fizzled. "Power means nothing without timing."
"Miss Smith ," he said, turning, "your footwork is weak. You are thinking like a healer. Think like a survivor."
The girl adjusted, moving more fluidly, dodging before casting.
Cassia Malfoy changed tactics entirely. Instead of attacking head on, she circled, baiting her dummy into striking first. When it did, she ducked low and sent a spell at its legs.
The dummy faltered.
"Smart," Ethan said. "You forced a reaction."
She followed with a controlled Stunning Spell that nearly dropped it.
Nearly.
The dummy retaliated, striking her wand clean out of her hand.
Cassia froze for half a second.
"Move," Ethan said.
She dove, retrieved her wand, and barely blocked the next spell.
"That hesitation," Ethan added, "will cost you."
Percy tried again, this time casting a charm to disrupt rather than overpower. It worked better. The dummy shifted, off balance, and Percy followed with a precise stun.
The dummy adapted.
It feinted, drawing his shield, then struck from an unexpected angle.
Percy went down.
Ethan did not rush to him.
"Get up," he said. "You are not hurt. You should learn from this failure."
Percy groaned but stood.
Across the arena, Penelope Clearwater was holding her own. She did not overpower her dummy, but she did not panic either. Each spell was deliberate. Each movement measured.
"Excellent control," Ethan said. "Now push."
She did, chaining spells faster, forcing the dummy back until it broke through her rhythm with a sudden counter.
She stumbled.
One by one, the students descended to the arena and met the dummies head-on. Each was overwhelmed in turn—not broken or shamed, but clearly outmatched. As the last spell struck home and the final student staggered back, breathing hard, Ethan lifted his wand.
The dummies froze.
Silence filled the classroom, broken only by heavy breathing.
Ethan surveyed the class.
"No one beat it," he said evenly.
A few students looked disappointed.
"That is correct," he continued. "You are not meant to. Not yet."
He stepped forward.
"But you all learned something."
He looked directly at Cassia Malfoy.
"Competitiveness is good," he said. "Arrogance blinds you. Balance them."
She nodded stiffly.
He turned to Percy.
"Stop assuming your opponent will react the way you want them to."
Percy nodded.
"Miss Clearwater," he said, "you are thinking ahead. Now learn to finish."
She exhaled slowly.
Ethan faced the rest.
"This was easy mode," he said again. "And it exposed your habits, your weaknesses, and your panic."
He smiled faintly.
"That is exactly what it is designed to do."
The students were exhausted. They were bruised. And they were thrilled.
"By the end of the year," Ethan said, letting his gaze move over the exhausted but attentive faces, "you will thank these dummies. When you see the progress you have made—the skill, the confidence, the instinct—you will understand why we started here."
He lowered his wand.
"Class dismissed," Ethan said softly.
It was nearly curfew. The students were exhausted—spells and duels had left them aching and breathless—but a small, happy relief showed on their faces: tomorrow was the weekend, and they could finally sleep late. One by one they offered quiet goodbyes to Ethan and rushed out of the classroom.
Ethan watched them go with a faint smile. When the last student slipped away, the room fell silent. He turned toward his office, the weight of the long session settling over him. He was tired too, and sleep called strongly.