Recap of the Conflict in the Corridor

Chapter 366 Recap of the Conflict in the Corridor (4K) (1/2)

Lynch's gaze first fell on Cedric, who was struggling to sit up.

His voice held a hint of admiration: "Cedric."

Cedric endured the pain, struggled to sit up straight, and looked up at the professor.

"Your strategy was clear, and your spells were used effectively. In the face of limited information and sudden multi-target attacks, you were able to quickly establish a response layer and maintain the situation." Lynch spoke slowly, and the admiration in his tone became increasingly obvious. "Until the third unconventional attacker appeared, your handling of the situation could be described as excellent."

He paused slightly, his gaze seemingly piercing through Cedric's forced composure.

"But you lack one crucial thing: a quick means of movement or disengagement that allows you to instantly break free, regain breathing room, and observe the situation when the situation deteriorates completely or you suffer a completely unexpected blow. You're trying to tough it out with your strongest armor spell, which is a last resort and one of the worst options. When the defense is bound to break, your body becomes the cushion after the spell shatters."

Cedric's cheeks flushed slightly, not from the praise, but from the last blunt and brutal analysis.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he just pursed his lips and slowly nodded. The professor was right. When the stone beast charged, he didn't have time to cast any of his control spells. All that was left in his mind was the thought of "blocking it," and then he was defeated without any suspense.

Lynch's gaze then shifted to Harry, who was still lying on the ground, pale-faced.

"Harry".

Harry struggled to lift his head.

"Your problem is much more serious." Lynch's voice didn't become any harsher, but the content of his words made Harry's heart sink.

"In a crisis, you surrender your ability to think completely to your instincts. Fear dictates your actions, and the most prominent instinct is only one thing—the one that makes you use the most suitable spell."

Harry felt a burning sensation on his face, more painful than the injuries on his body.

"Except for your weapon, a fine spell, but only a tool, not a crutch," Lynch continued. "When you treat it as the only, subconscious solution, it can backfire and put you in greater danger, just like what happened now." Worse still, he took a small step forward, the sound of his boots striking the slate echoing clearly in the empty classroom.

"—Since the start of this academic year, in my classes you spent considerable time building a personal, albeit rudimentary, coping system around the activation intervals, subsequent control, and positioning of the 'Expelliarmus' spell. I completely missed it in the battle just now. Panic overwhelmed it; you regressed to the most primitive and simplistic reaction pattern. Facing the first statue, you didn't even try to observe its movement patterns, didn't consider the environment, and didn't think about the actual effect of the 'Expelliarmus' spell on the statue. You saw the threat and immediately jumped to what you thought was the most reliable 'answer.'"

Harry lowered his head, his fingers unconsciously digging into the cracks in the cold floor. In addition to the dull pain in his chest, he felt a deep sense of shame and self-doubt.

Every word Uncle Lynch said felt like a hammer blow to his heart.

He knew this was true; at the moment the stone axe came down, his mind was indeed blank, with nothing but the thought of "getting rid of the weapon."

"Battles, especially life-or-death battles, aren't something you can overcome with just a straw and a surge of courage." Lynch's gaze swept over the two dejected young men, finally settling on Cedric. "What Cedric lacks is a spell that allows him to retreat or save himself in a crucial moment. As for Harry..."

His voice lowered.

"6

You need to first learn how to keep your brain from shutting down under pressure. Then, transform what you've learned from "knowledge" back into true "instinct," the instinct of a fighter.

"Now, let's continue."

Cedric and Harry looked up at Lynch almost simultaneously, their faces still pale from the pain and slightly bewildered.

However, Lynch simply looked back at them calmly and said clearly, "Stand up. Round two, starting in thirty seconds."

Both of them were stunned, wondering if they had misheard.

Harry glanced instinctively at the crater left by the stone axe, then touched his still-aching chest. Cedric, on the other hand, felt his bones protesting, his hand gripping the wand he had just retrieved trembling slightly.

Harry couldn't help but speak, his voice a little hoarse: "We—we had just—" He wanted to say "had already lost" or "it was over," but he couldn't finish under Lynch's gaze.

Cedric struggled to his feet, his posture somewhat stiff, but he quickly grasped Lynch's intention, though his eyes remained filled with astonishment. Wasn't that intense battle and stern critique supposed to be part of a lesson?

Professor Lynch's gaze swept over their astonished faces. He offered no explanation, simply stating a cold, hard fact in his flat, emotionless voice: "In a real battle, or more precisely, in a life-or-death encounter, the enemy won't stop attacking just because you've fallen, are injured, or think it's over. A chance to catch your breath is a luxury you must fight for, even create, by any means necessary. Thirty seconds," he raised his voice slightly, "take your breath, steady yourself, and grip your wands tightly. This time, I won't signal 'begin.'"

His words extinguished any remaining hope in either of their hearts like ice water.

It's not punishment, but a more brutal curriculum that simulates the despairing continuity of a real battlefield.

Cedric gritted his teeth, forcing himself to ignore the pain, took a quick, deep breath, raised his wand again, his eyes sharp and focused, and quickly scanned the surrounding stone statues and niches that had once again become silent and suspicious.

Harry scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding from tension and lingering pain, but he gripped his holly wand tightly, trying to concentrate like Cedric, even as Lynch's criticism echoed in his mind.

Twenty-nine seconds — Twenty-eight seconds —

The crow on Lynch's shoulder seemed to sense the tense atmosphere and folded its feathers.

Just before some invisible pressure reached its peak—

The thick gray fog surged forth again without warning from the ground, the walls, and even the shadows of the ceiling, faster and denser than before, instantly engulfing the firelight, the images of each other, and the outline of the entire classroom.

Before the thick fog completely enveloped them, plunging them back into a silent, helpless isolation, they heard sounds coming from all directions...

Beyond the layers of fog came more diverse, denser, and more unsettling sounds:

Heavy, dragging footsteps scraped across the stone pavement.

A sharp, claw-like scraping sound, sometimes near, sometimes far—

A deep, rumbling sound, like boulders pressing against each other —

There was even a faint, indistinct hissing sound of wind—

After an endless series of "second rounds" and countless subsequent battles in the fog, when the thick fog finally dissipated and the underground classroom returned to silence, Harry and Cedric were so exhausted they barely had the strength to stand.

The two men had many new bruises and abrasions, their robes were torn in several places, and their faces were etched with both physical and mental exhaustion. They practically supported each other as they barely managed to leave the impressive stone classroom, dragging their heavy steps through the quiet corridors of the castle in the dead of night, all the way to the warm school infirmary. The gasp of surprise that Madame Pomfrey made when she saw them, followed by her slightly reproachful care, is another story altogether.

Meanwhile, the news that Hogwarts was secretly giving its own heroes special training was kept secret, but there are no absolute secrets in the castle.

The delegations of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang quickly caught this information from various sources and the whispers among Hogwarts students.

The competitive spirit was immediately ignited.

Karkarov and Mrs. Maxim would never stand idly by while their students fell behind in preparation.

Almost the day after receiving the news, the two headmasters made separate requests to Dumbledore to "make reasonable use of the space for acclimatization training".

Soon, two relatively independent areas, quite far apart from each other, were marked out at the edge of the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts. Warning signs bearing the insignia of the two schools were hung on each area, and clear magical warning lines were laid out.

The area around Beauxbatons was said to be shrouded in a subtle visual interference spell and gentle protective magic, with occasional glimpses of silver and blue light filtering through the woods; while the area marked by Durmstrang was shrouded in a more somber atmosphere, often emitting low rumbles or brief tremors, and the surrounding trees seemed to shrink back even more.

Both schools have issued a clear warning: during training, no unauthorized personnel are allowed to approach, and violators may trigger a warning spell or face severe punishment from the school.

This exclusive and mysterious training method, while ensuring that the warriors would not be disturbed, undoubtedly aroused considerable curiosity and dissatisfaction among Hogwarts students.

Many students, especially those who were passionate about the Triwizard Tournament and eager to witness the warriors' training, were disappointed and somewhat resentful at being forbidden from approaching these two "foreign territories." They privately complained about the unfairness or lack of enjoyment in watching the games, and the speculation and rumors within the castle about the harsh or strange training the other two warriors were undergoing became even more chaotic as a result.

The official explanation for Harry becoming the second champion at Hogwarts has always been shrouded in vague rhetoric such as "the ancient magical will of the Goblet of Fire."

For the vast majority of students, unaware of the inside story and the potential mastermind behind it all, this explanation is utterly unconvincing. A fourth-year student, crossing the age limit personally set by Dumbledore, defeating numerous more qualified applicants, including outstanding students from their own house? To many students outside Gryffindor, especially those who already harbored complex feelings towards Potter, the only plausible explanation was that Harry Potter cheated through some underhanded means.

This perception spread like germs throughout the castle.

Harry found himself constantly being whispered and whispered behind his back, wherever he went.

"Cheater," "show-off," and "wanting more attention" have become labels that are hard to shake off.

Despite Hermione standing firmly by his side, repeatedly trying to explain the binding force of the Goblet of Fire contract and Harry's innocence to those willing to listen, it had little effect.

The most painful blow to Harry came from within.

Ron Weasley, one of his best friends, was initially shocked and bewildered, but was eventually overwhelmed by a surge of jealousy and hurt. He believed that Harry had secretly enrolled without his knowledge, excluding him and reaping all the glory and attention for himself.

No matter how Harry tried to explain that he hadn't voted, Ron, blinded by emotion, refused to believe him, dismissing it as a clumsy lie. A heated argument erupted between the two, followed by a cold, tense standoff.

In the Great Hall, Ron preferred to squeeze in with others rather than sit at the same table as Harry; in the common room, the air between them seemed to freeze. Harry's explanations were met with silence or sarcastic snorts from Ron, and this misunderstanding and estrangement from his closest friend made him feel more lonely and aggrieved than any external accusations.

The Slytherins, on the other hand, saw this as excellent material for their offensive strategies.

They were already resentful of the "boy who survived" fame, and now they are seizing on the "cheating" aspect to exaggerate it further.

A badge that read "Potter is a stinky turd" became popular, and malicious imitations, exaggerated satire, and venomous boos targeted Harry throughout the corridors. In Potions class, when Harry once again made a mistake due to his distraction, several Slytherin students laughed loudly and said, "He became a champion by being a madman, but he can't even brew a proper swelling potion."

The conflict escalated during a chance encounter in a corridor.

A Slytherin girl named Pansy Parkinson, accompanied by a few followers, deliberately spoke at a volume loud enough for Harry to hear, mocking him, "You probably even have your evening training sessions as cheating sessions specially arranged by Headmaster Dumbledore."

Hermione finally lost her temper and stepped forward to retort sharply, accusing them of spreading rumors. The verbal exchange quickly escalated, with Pansy's vicious insults about Hermione's "Mudblood" origins and meddling becoming the trigger.

Hermione angrily drew her wand.

She struck first, her spell precisely striking down her first opponent, eliciting gasps from the crowd. But the Slytherins outnumbered her, and spells began to rain down on her from different directions. Hermione was valiant, dodging desperately in the confined space, even managing to knock down another, but she was ultimately overwhelmed by the simultaneous barrage of spells.

"Grin and shout!" a boy uttered a spell from the side.

"Front teeth like big clubs!" Almost at the same moment, Pansy Parkinson's sinister curse shot from another angle.