Ancient Wizards Return to Hogwarts...

Chapter 50 The Squib Malfoy

Malfoy was startled when the ball of light floated into his chest. But after regaining his senses, he found that nothing had happened, and when he touched his body, he didn't notice anything unusual.

Malfoy instantly realized that Rice was bluffing.

"What is this? Just because he has a little talent for potions, he actually thinks he's something?" He glanced towards Rice's bed and cursed under his breath. At the same time, he comforted himself: no one can take away his right to be a wizard except for being expelled.

After calming down, Malfoy lay back down on the bed and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Malfoy woke up feeling refreshed after a good night's sleep. Looking around his dormitory, he noticed that Rice was nowhere to be seen, which made him even happier.

Rice is like a rock in a toilet—stinky and stubborn. After targeting him several times, I've only made myself look bad. I might as well just ignore him and not bother him anymore.

As if he had heard Malfoy's thoughts, Rice had been leaving early and returning late these past two days, so that Malfoy could not see him for most of the day.

Malfoy had a wonderful weekend. However, this happiness came to an abrupt end during Tuesday's Transfiguration class.

"Before we begin today's lesson, I need to review your learning from last week."

Ignoring the disdainful looks from Harry and Ron, Malfoy calmly placed his wand on the table and waited for Professor McGonagall to arrive.

The pop quiz was very simple: turn a matchstick into a needle. Professor McGonagall even relaxed the requirements, saying that as long as the appearance of the matchstick changed noticeably, it was fine, because that was a qualitative change from nothing to something, and the rest just required practice.

When he reached Malfoy, Malfoy picked up his wand and looked around at his classmates with great pride.

Watch closely, I'll only demonstrate this once!

He mastered this transformation technique last week, which allows him to perfectly turn a match into a needle shape. He just observed that no one in the class can do it yet, so this is the perfect opportunity for him to show off.

He pointed his wand at the match, and after a moment, the match was still the same match.

Malfoy: ?

What? The spell failed?

Unconvinced, Malfoy tried again and again, but the matches on the desk remained exactly as they were, without even a trace of metallic sheen.

Cold sweat beaded on Malfoy's forehead, and he said in a trembling voice, "Professor, it's not like that... I, I..."

Malfoy, usually so glib, was speechless. How could he explain to Professor McGonagall that he used to be able to transform but now couldn't do anything at all?

"Mr. Malfoy, you should put more effort into Transfiguration. There's another Transfiguration class this Thursday, and if your Transfiguration spells haven't improved by then, I'll have to take further action." Professor McGonagall didn't have time to waste on Malfoy. If she lectured each student for a minute, she wouldn't be able to do anything else in the class.

After Professor McGonagall left, Malfoy was pale, large beads of sweat appearing on his forehead and dripping onto the table. Rice's voice suddenly echoed in his mind.

You are not fit to be a student of Hogwarts.

He looked up abruptly and saw Rice perfectly transform the matches on the table into needles. After the transformation was successful, Rice even yawned, seemingly uninterested in what had just happened.

Malfoy's breathing suddenly became heavy. He then forced himself to calm down, repeatedly telling himself: Rhys is just bluffing. How could he possibly deprive me of my ability to cast spells? How could such magic exist!

To Malfoy's utter dismay, he was unable to alter the props in front of him in the slightest during the entire Transfiguration class that followed.

"Mr. Malfoy, I think you should learn from those students who have made rapid progress, such as Miss Greengrass and Mr. Lint. They both did a perfect job with today's Transfiguration lesson." Professor McGonagall noticed Malfoy's poor performance in class, so she went over to him after class to give him some advice.

Malfoy opened his mouth, but didn't know how to respond.

Draco Malfoy's nightmare wasn't over, because Charms class followed immediately after Transfiguration. In Charms class, he discovered to his despair that he couldn't cast any spells; no matter how hard he tried, his wand could only produce a few sparks at most.

Fear gripped Malfoy, who confronted Rice after class as he was explaining the Cutting Charm to Neville Longbottom.

"What's the matter?" Rice asked with a smile, his friendly attitude making Malfoy think that what happened last Friday night was just a dream.

"You know, I've run into a little problem here..." With Longbottom present, Malfoy was unwilling to expose his embarrassing moment, so he could only give vague hints.

Rice chuckled to himself and told Malfoy that he should go to his appointment.

"Maybe after we keep the appointment, the magic will 'whoosh' back?"

Upon hearing Rice's words, Malfoy's face turned as red as a pig's liver, and he angrily left the Charms classroom.

A duel? In his current state, he can't participate in a wizard duel. He can't even produce a spark. If he were to duel Harry, wouldn't he just get beaten up one-sidedly?

Malfoy went straight to the school hospital, believing that the school doctor, Mrs. Pomfrey, could cure his "illness".

"So you're saying you suddenly can't cast spells anymore? Have you encountered any unforeseen events recently?" Madam Pomfrey looked at Malfoy with suspicion.

A wizard's spellcasting ability is innate, and this is the first time Madam Pomfrey has ever heard of someone losing their magical ability midway through a spell and becoming a Squib.

Malfoy opened his mouth, wanting to recount what Rice had done to him that night, but to his horror he discovered that his tongue seemed glued to his mouth, and he couldn't make a sound.

"It's unprecedented for a wizard to suddenly become a Squib—"

"I'm not a Squib!" Upon hearing the word "Squib," Malfoy protested angrily as if he had been whipped.

"Fine, fine, you're not a Squib." Mrs. Pomfrey, whose patience had finally run out after being interrupted, thought of Malfoy as a little wizard who was either playing a prank or trying to get a fake sick note.

This wasn't the first time she'd seen something like this. Compared to the symptoms of other magical illnesses, feigning complete loss of magic was obviously much simpler and required no cost.

"You can go now. Focus on your studies and stop thinking about all that nonsense." Madam Pomfrey began to urge Malfoy out.

"I'm really sick!" Malfoy shouted anxiously.

"Alright, I'll prescribe some medicine for you." Madam Pomfrey took a bottle of medicine to aid digestion and restore energy from the cabinet, handed it to him, and then pushed him out of the infirmary.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

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(End of this chapter)