Picking up where we left off, Dumbledore asked Harry if he recognized the Chinese wizard. Harry mulled over the word "China." He didn't know the word, yet it felt familiar.
You see, the root of the word "China" is the Sanskrit "Cīna." Though the languages are different, the pronunciation is similar. Harry had studied some Buddhism with his "Brother Zhishen," read a few sutras, and recognized some Sanskrit, which is why he could place it.
He thought to himself: This "China" the Professor speaks of... could it be the territory of the Great Song Dynasty?
Dumbledore, seeing him lost in thought, flicked his wand in a circle, isolating them from the sounds outside.
"Harry, I am merely curious. I once saw a Chinese wizard use this exact method."
"If I recall correctly, it is called... Fulu (符箓), is it not?"
When he spoke the word "Fulu," he used perfect Chinese.
Harry was astonished. The Professor actually knows it! That wizard who used the same technique as me... could he be a disciple of Master Gongsun?
His heart began to pound, and he asked urgently, "This Chinese wizard you speak of, Professor—what was his name? His origin? Where did he live?"
"Ah... I only know his name was Liu Tao." Dumbledore looked distant. "He was the Chinese Minister for Magic—at least, he was in 1932."
Listen, readers: Dumbledore met this Liu Tao because the man was running for the position of Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. At that time, Grindelwald was gathering his forces and had manipulated a zombified Qilin to falsely judge the worthy, scheming to steal the position for himself. When Newt and his party shattered the conspiracy, Grindelwald fled, and it was Liu Tao who pursued him.
"Even after sixty years, I remember it clearly. He used his wand to draw a talisman in mid-air, one that looked almost identical to the one on your hand."
"However, his talisman was far more powerful. He collapsed an entire building with it."
Harry, hearing this, cheered. "What a splendid fellow! Professor, I wonder if you could introduce me?"
"I'm sorry, Harry, I haven't heard from him in decades." Dumbledore sighed. "The last time I sent him a letter was in 1937."
"He had taken his wizards to join the Muggles' Second World War."
"Vicência Santos never understood that. She believed wizards should not meddle in Muggle affairs..."
Elsewhere, Draco had been trembling for some time. Seeing Harry engrossed in conversation with Dumbledore, completely forgetting him, he was suddenly struck by the thought of escape.
He had, after all, previously humiliated Harry's sworn brother and just moments ago provoked him relentlessly. If this scarred ruffian got his hands on him, he would surely use that "blood magic" to summon lightning.
Just then, the end-of-class bell rang, shaking the room. Draco's heart leaped. Using the bell as cover, he moved as if his feet were greased, slipping toward the classroom door.
Just as his hand touched the doorknob, Ron, despite his injured lungs, sucked in a sharp breath and yelled, "Malfoy—He's running!"
Harry heard him. His eyes flew open, and he let out a roar like a crack of thunder, "Halt! Where do you think you're going!"
With that, he flicked his wand. A curse shot through the air and, without deviation, struck Draco squarely on the left buttock.
Draco let out a piteous cry. Blood splattered everywhere. He collapsed, tears and snot streaming down his face, wailing in agony.
"Ah! My arse!"
Seeing this pathetic display, the class, after a few seconds of stunned silence, erupted in laughter.
Even his fellow Slytherins hid their faces in their sleeves, unable to look.
Snape's face twitched, a vein throbbing at his temple. He despaired at how useless Draco was. He had already gone out of his way to protect him on the dueling stage, only for him to get cursed off the stage!
In the arse!
This idiot deserves Azkaban!
His face was grim. "Gryffindor loses twenty points!"
"Potter! This is not a dueling platform! You dare attack another student!"
The point loss, though severe, didn't bother the Gryffindors. Harry sneered, "Heh! If he wasn't guilty, why was he running?"
"He has the conscience of a thief!"
Seeing Harry about to clash with Snape again, Dumbledore felt a sharp headache.
Why does he argue with everyone? And I hadn't even finished my questions... Or perhaps, is he deliberately avoiding the topic?
That's... interesting...
Dumbledore was lost in thought. Snape, seeing this, felt his rage ignite his oily hair, threatening to scorch the ceiling.
"Dumbledore! This is a blatant violation of school rules! As Headmaster, don't you have anything to say?!"
The old Headmaster returned to his senses. He leaned down, and a house-elf immediately appeared, explaining the whole situation.
After listening, he shook his head. "Harry, Draco. Your behavior has been equally appalling."
"In addition to the loss of house points, I must assign you both one week of detention."
Hearing this, Draco's face went ashen. He couldn't even feel the pain in his arse anymore.
Detention with Potter? For a whole week? I'll be lucky to survive the first night!
While Draco's heart hammered, Harry's face bloomed into a smile. He bowed to Dumbledore. "The Professor's words are just. This student humbly accepts."
Dumbledore nodded distractedly. "Ah, but first, let's get these two injured young wizards to the hospital wing."
"Gilderoy, could you do me this favor?"
"O-of course." Lockhart pushed himself up, nervously adjusting his hair and forcing a smile. "Leave it to me."
Dumbledore gave the students a few more instructions and then left the school.
"Liu Tao... Liu Tao... Ah, old friend. I truly hope you are still alive."
Back in the classroom, the students dispersed. Lockhart supported Draco, panting every three steps and resting every five, wishing Draco would just bleed to death.
Harry and Hermione, both robust, waved off their housemates. Each took one of Ron's arms, and they walked briskly.
"That damned white-haired kid. He got away again," Ron spat, a bit of blood with it. "Twice on the train, once in flying class—oh, and at Flourish and Blotts."
"Does he eat Felix Felicis every day? How is his luck so good?"
Harry said, "Brother, don't worry. During detention, this one will settle the score for you."
"Heh. If only we could get Colin to take a moving picture of it."
The two were joking, but Hermione was silent.
Harry noticed. "Sister, is something on your mind?"
"Oh, I was just thinking about that formation you drew on your hand," Hermione's eyes shone. "That... thing we used for running, that we tied to our legs... is it the same principle?"
PS: Vicência Santos, the new Supreme Mugwump of the ICW in 1932.
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