A Certain Magical Hogwarts

Tywin was undoubtedly lucky.

Judy Crouch's Severing Charm had hit the base of his thigh, missing a much more delicate area by less than a centimeter. 

Had her hand trembled just a bit, Tywin would no longer be able to laugh. There might not be a bone there, but who's to say whether certain critical tissues wouldn't vanish too?

After all, no wizard had ever tried it before.

Madam Pomfrey was not pleased.

"You should never be teaching such dangerous magic to young students!" she fumed. "You can't even protect yourselves. How do you expect to protect them?"

Madam Pomfrey once again thanked William, praising him and suggesting that one day, he might come back to Hogwarts as a professor. The school could use someone as talented as him!

Both Snape and Tywin, who were lying in beds nearby, felt a wave of awkwardness wash over them.

Madam Pomfrey handed Tywin a set of pajamas, looking somber. "Professor, you'll need to stay here overnight. And It might be a bit uncomfortable."

She also retrieved a large bottle from her trolley, labeled Skele-Gro.

"But at least you'll have Professor Snape for company. That should help," she added, pouring out a steaming cup of the potion and handing it to Tywin.

"The taste is quite strange, but it works."

Tywin looked down at the cup of thick, yellow liquid with a grimace, forcing himself to down it in one gulp. The Skele-Gro burned as it went down his throat, making him cough violently, yellow droplets spraying from his mouth.

The taste was bad enough, but the visual was far worse.

Madam Pomfrey finally left the room, muttering to herself about how dangerous Defense Against the Dark Arts was and how incompetent the professors were. If she were in charge of Hogwarts, the only subject allowed would probably be Healing Magic.

Snape's bed was not far from Tywin's. He was dressed in black pajamas adorned with cartoon figures—not green snakes, but two silver does nibbling on grass. Snape's face wore an unreadable expression, his greasy smile unmistakable.

"Oh, let's see… who's this? Looks like you've had quite a serious injury, Tywin?" Snape said with a tone dripping in sarcasm.

"Not too bad," Tywin replied with a grin. "I've learned from the best."

Snape's burn wounds had mostly healed, though his neck was still wrapped in bandages, giving him the look of a mummy. 

He, too, wanted to leave, but no one in the hospital wing could defy Madam Pomfrey—not even Dumbledore.

William couldn't help but notice the few get-well cards and a small French cream cake on Snape's bedside table. 

The items were pathetically sparse. Apart from what William had rallied Cedric and the Ravenclaws to send, only a few cards from the staff were there.

Practically no students had sent anything, not even from Slytherin.

William strongly suspected that even the cards from the faculty were Dumbledore's subtle way of nudging them to "remind" them of Snape's existence. It was clear that Snape wasn't exactly popular.

Wait a minute…

William's green eyes widened in shock.

By Merlin's beard!

In the trash bin next to Snape's bed, he spotted a bouquet of roses.

Roses—symbolizing love in just about every culture, including the wizarding world. Could it be? Even the "greasy bat" had a secret admirer?

Tywin followed William's gaze and noticed the flowers as well. He discreetly summoned his wand from the bedside and cast Accio, causing the bouquet to fly into his hand. There was a small pink card attached, with an overly flirtatious witch on it, blowing kisses non-stop.

On Maerlin's beard! Right in Hogwarts' hospital wing, in front of Snape's bed, was one of those cards you'd expect to find in some sketchy hotel.

Could it be that Snape had fallen victim to some kind of wizarding "honey trap"?

William's imagination ran wild, but of course, there was no such "high-level" scam in the wizarding world. It was merely a simple and straightforward love letter.

Clearing his throat theatrically, Tywin began to read aloud, with exaggerated emotion, like a poet:

"Oh,

Your eyes,

As dark as a dung beetle rolling its latest prize,

Your hair,

Shining with the greasy luster of alleyway oil,

You are filled with stories,

As ancient and worn as the dungeon's damp walls,

I hope you are mine,

For you are truly dashing,

A valiant conqueror of potions!"

Before Tywin could finish, Snape's face turned an alarming shade of green, and he snarled, "Diffindo!"

The card exploded into pieces before Tywin's amused expression, and Snape glared at him, his face ashen.

There was murder in Snape's eyes.

Tywin, not backing down, raised his wand in return. "Come on, Severus. I've been itching for a duel with you for years."

The fake smile dropped from Tywin's face, replaced by a snarl. "You traitorous scum."

"I didn't—" Snape's pupils contracted in pain, a flicker of regret crossing his features.

"Didn't? Then explain how James and the Dark Lord are both dead! How are you still living peacefully at Hogwarts after all these years?" Tywin's voice was cold as ice. "It should be you rotting in Azkaban, not Sirius."

William stood frozen, completely lost.

Apart from the mention of the Dark Lord, William didn't recognize the names Tywin was throwing around. But one thing was clear—Snape and Tywin knew each other from the past, perhaps as schoolmates, though not in the same house.

Madam Pomfrey rushed back in, her shrill voice breaking the tense atmosphere. Both men lowered their wands immediately.

And soon, William was shooed out of the hospital wing as well.

By the end of the first class period, the news of Tywin being hospitalized had spread throughout Hogwarts. In just two days, two professors had been knocked out of commission, and William had earned the notorious nickname, "Professor Slayer."

Teachers began to actively avoid him.

However, within Ravenclaw, William's reputation soared. His performance in the classroom had been witnessed by all, and his fellow students knew the truth.

Of course, most of the Hogwarts students hoped that William would continue the trend and send a third, or perhaps even a fourth professor to the hospital.

But much to their disappointment, Professor Flitwick was far too clever for that.

For the first few weeks of Charms class, they wouldn't be learning any spells. Instead, Flitwick focused on teaching the basic hand movements needed to cast spells, of which there were seven primary gestures.

These basic movements, though simple, could branch out into over 230 variations.

For more complex spells, particularly those involving Ancient Runes, the gestures became even more intricate and varied.

Flitwick wouldn't be teaching them all. He only covered the essential gestures necessary for their coursework and everyday use.

The rest would either be taught in advanced classes or left for students who were particularly ambitious to research on their own.

But for now, to prevent any accidents, Flitwick forbade students from using their wands in class, instead giving them wooden sticks to practice with. He wasn't taking any chances—especially after hearing about Tywin's hospital visit.

Flitwick was determined not to become the next professor in a hospital bed.

William's movements were flawless, and Flitwick awarded him an extra point before quickly asking him to stop practicing—just in case.

William felt a bit wronged. After all, the accidents had all been caused by others, and he had merely been cleaning up the mess. How was any of it his fault?

That said, "cleaning up" had certainly come with its rewards. In just two days, William had already earned Ravenclaw a total of 120 points.

A full 100 of those points had come from the accidents in Snape and Tywin's classes.

As a result, Ravenclaw was now far ahead of the other houses. The number of blue sapphires in their hourglass had grown so much, they could probably encircle the entire Hogwarts castle. 

For two consecutive days, Ravenclaw was proudly in the lead, holding first place in the house standings!

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