Chapter 138. Professor Wesson, do you have any leads?
Lunchtime was almost upon them. Wesson and Harry and the others politely turned down Hagrid's invitation to lunch and headed back towards the castle.
Along the way, Hermione kept asking Wesson about the spell he had just used.
"That was an enhanced Finite Incantatem—Omnia Finita!," Wesson explained. "Do you know Finite Incantatem?"
Hermione nodded. "I've seen it in my Charms textbook. I've already learnt it."
For Hermione, that spell wasn't difficult.
"Omnia Finita! is much harder than Finite Incantatem," Wesson went on. "It requires several witches and wizards casting together. It's a range-type spell."
"But you were on your own," Ron cut in, rubbing his neck.
From beneath Wesson's robes, the Devil's Snare stretched out and gave Ron's head a playful pat.
"Ah, yes," Wesson replied. "But I had help."
Devil's Snare could do the work of three people; unleashing a small-scale Omnia Finita! was no problem at all.
When they reached the castle doors, a voice called Wesson to a halt.
"Professor Wesson, bring the students beside you over here, if you please."
Wesson looked over. It was Professor McGonagall.
She was standing at the doors, looking very severe.
Seeing this, the three of them—Harry, Hermione, and Ron—instinctively slowed their steps.
In the past, whenever Professor McGonagall wore that expression, it meant someone was in for it.
This time was no exception.
Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze swept over the three of them, her lips pressed into a taut line. "I think you should explain what happened on the Quidditch pitch this morning. The hospital wing is now crammed with students vomiting slugs."
"Professor, it was Malfoy—" Harry had just opened his mouth.
"Malfoy used that word," Hermione suddenly cut in. "He called me 'Mudblood'."
Professor McGonagall's expression froze at once.
"Come to my office, you three," she said, her voice unnaturally calm. "Explain to me everything that happened."
Then she looked to Wesson. "Professor Wesson, Professor Dumbledore would like you to go to the Headmaster's office."
"All right," Wesson said with a nod.
Professor McGonagall quickly led the three away. Wesson sighed.
Students brawling in groups was a serious matter and had to be handled strictly.
Even if the Slytherins had started with insults, the first to strike had, after all, been Ron.
So, in all likelihood, all the students involved would receive some measure of punishment.
But… why was Dumbledore calling for him? Wesson was slightly puzzled.
Ten minutes later, inside the Headmaster's office.
"Is something the matter, Professor Dumbledore?" Wesson asked, looking at Dumbledore, who was leisurely drinking tea.
Dumbledore set down his teacup, laced his fingers on the desk, and gave Wesson a slight smile. "About an hour ago, to the south-east of the castle, I sensed an unusual surge of magical power affecting the magic within Hogwarts. Do you know anything about it, Professor Wesson?"
"What sort of magical surge?" Wesson was taken aback, then seemed to recall something. "Wait—could it have been that spell?"
Dumbledore leaned forward a little, curious. "Oh? Which spell?"
Wesson nodded. "Omnia Finita!. I used it to lift the Slug-Vomiting Charm from Mr Weasley."
"Omnia Finita!…" Dumbledore stroked his beard, thoughtful. "I do not recommend you use that spell within Hogwarts. The castle's defensive magic may injure you."
"Injure me?"
"Yes," Dumbledore continued. "Hogwarts will automatically counter-attack any spell it deems threatening. And Omnia Finita! is a range-type spell. That is to say, when you use it, Hogwarts will register it."
Wesson was pensive. No wonder he had felt a faint irregularity when he cast the spell earlier.
Perhaps because he had used it on a very small area, Hogwarts had not retaliated this time.
But Dumbledore, as Headmaster, could still be informed.
Hogwarts' magic was not to be taken lightly.
"I understand," Wesson said. "I'll use that spell with caution."
After that, Wesson glanced at his wristwatch; the hour hand already pointed to half past twelve.
Just as he rose to take his leave, Dumbledore raised a hand to stay him. "One more matter, Professor Wesson."
Hearing this, Wesson sat back down.
"As to the other day," Dumbledore took out a sheet of paper and glanced over it, "the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was damaged.
Professor Wesson, do you have any leads?"
Wesson paused slightly.
"The entrance was damaged?" He lifted his brows. "When did that happen?"
"Likely on the first day of term," Dumbledore said, watching Wesson with the faintest hint of a smile. "When we inspected the entrance, a backtracking spell revealed magic identical to what you used this morning by Hagrid. Upon my confirmation, it was an Omnia Finita! that disabled the entrance."
Wesson adjusted his posture. Only then did he remember that at the start of term, to counter Dobby's magic, he had cast an Omnia Finita! on that station entrance.
Now, he'd been caught out.
"It was me," Wesson admitted at last. "Someone had sealed the entrance at the time. I had no way to—"
"I'm not blaming you," Dumbledore said with a twinkling smile. "That wasn't your fault. But… you'd best have it repaired before Christmas, lest the students can't get home over the Christmas holidays. That shouldn't be a problem for you, should it?"
"I will."
Wesson had no choice but to nod and accept the task.
"Excellent," Dumbledore said with satisfaction. "It's getting late, Professor Wesson—you can probably still make it to lunch.
Oh, and regarding that entrance—this afternoon I'll give you the old construction drawings."
After Wesson left the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore hummed under his breath.
One troublesome matter had just become less so.
Originally, he would have had to repair the entrance himself—and that would have been a chore.
Having Wesson do it was just right.
That child was wonderfully worry-free.
Compared to Lockhart…
Thinking of Lockhart, Dumbledore felt another headache coming on.
Though he had known Lockhart was a poor teacher, he hadn't expected him to be even worse than Quirrell, who could only read from the textbook.
Of course, he hadn't truly expected Lockhart to teach anything of worth.
The one use in making Lockhart a professor was to let the students know—what must not be done, and what sort of person must not be emulated.
He wondered when Lockhart would finally give himself away…
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