Dolores Umbridge sat frozen in her chair, a toad-like statue in pepto-bismol pink. Her face was a ghastly white, her small mouth opening and closing soundlessly. She wanted to scream, to find a flaw, to accuse him of cheating—but the evidence was irrefutable, playing out before the entire school and a senior Auror.
Five students. One week. Wandless, non-verbal casting. It was an achievement that should have taken years, if it was even possible by conventional standards.
"Miss Umbridge?" Zhang Ming's voice was calm, cutting through her spiraling thoughts. "Do you have any further comments?"
"It… it must be a fluke!" she finally spluttered, her voice shrill. "Those five! They're… gifted! Prodigies! This proves nothing about your… your methods!"
"Gifted?" Zhang Ming smiled, a cool, knowing smile. "A valid hypothesis. Let's test it, then. We need a control subject."
He turned to the packed room. "A volunteer, please! Anyone who has never attended my classes. Any house, any year."
A nervous shuffling. Then, a small hand went up from the Hufflepuff section. A first-year girl with timid eyes stood.
"I… I can try?" she whispered.
"Excellent! Come forward," Zhang Ming encouraged. "Your name?"
"Susan… Susan Bones. First year, Hufflepuff."
"Susan. Wonderful. Tell me, have you ever attempted wandless magic?"
"N-no, sir."
"Have you attended any of my previous lectures?"
"No, sir. I… wanted to, but I didn't know how to sign up…"
"Perfect." Zhang Ming's smile widened. He looked at Umbridge. "A true novice. If I can teach her the basics of wandless casting in ten minutes, would that satisfy you that it's methodology, not innate talent?"
Umbridge's jaw tightened. She was trapped. A public refusal would make her look worse. "Very well," she hissed. "Proceed."
"Susan, close your eyes. Breathe. Magic isn't a mystery. It's a part of you. Feel your heartbeat. Feel the blood in your veins. Now… search for a warmth, a current beneath that. That is your magic."
Zhang Ming's voice was hypnotic. He subtly activated the room's Resonance Array at its lowest setting, not to cast for her, but to gently amplify her own nascent awareness—like turning up the volume on a faint radio signal.
Susan's face shifted from concentration to wonder. "I… I feel it! A warmth… in my chest!"
"Good. Now, guide that warmth. Like water. Guide it to your right hand."
She focused. A moment later, a faint glow emanated from her palm. Gasps rippled through the audience.
"Don't break focus," Zhang Ming coached. "Now, the final step. Don't say the word. Thinkit. Command the energy in your hand: 'Become light'."
Susan squeezed her eyes shut. The glow in her palm intensified, flickering, then stabilizing into a soft, but unmistakable, ball of light.
Ten minutes. That was all it took.
The Great Hall—for the Room of Requirement had swelled to accommodate the crowd—erupted. Cheers, stomping, cries of disbelief. Susan Bones stared at the light in her hand, tears of joy streaming down her face.
Umbridge looked like she'd been hit with a full-body bind. Her worldview, built on bureaucracy, blood purity, and rigid tradition, was shattering.
"Now, Miss Umbridge?" Zhang Ming's voice was a quiet blade. "Any other objections?"
"It's a trick!" she shrieked, desperation clawing at her. "You used some… some hidden enchantment on her!"
"The Resonance Array merely lowers the barrier to perception," Zhang Ming stated flatly. "It's a training tool. Like floaties for a child learning to swim. The swimming is still done by the child." He scanned the crowd. "To prove it, I'll do it again. Without any array. Another volunteer? A Slytherin, perhaps?"
A nervous second-year Slytherin boy was pushed forward by his peers. For the next fifteen minutes, under Zhang Ming's patient, purely verbal guidance, the boy struggled, focused, and finally, produced a wisp of light from his own palm.
The result was undeniable.
Umbridge collapsed back into her seat, utterly broken. "No… no… impossible…"
"It's over, Dolores," Dumbledore said, his voice firm yet carrying a hint of pity. "Accept it."
"NO!" she screamed, a final, pathetic burst of defiance. "It doesn't matter! His methods are unapproved! The Ministry's authority is absolute! I hereby order—"
"That's enough, Dolores."
A new, authoritative voice cut through the chaos. Everyone turned. In the doorway stood Kingsley Shacklebolt, tall, imposing, his face a mask of grim disappointment.
"Shacklebolt?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"Minister Fudge sent me," Kingsley said, his deep voice resonating through the silent hall. "He heard the Educational Decree was being invoked and was… concerned. I've been listening at the door for the past half hour." His gaze settled on Umbridge. "You have disgraced your office, Dolores."
"I was upholding the Ministry's standards!" she wailed.
"By attempting to crush a generational talent?" Kingsley's voice was like ice. "What I witnessed here wasn't heresy. It was a pedagogical revolution. A means to elevate magical Britain beyond anything we've dreamed of. And you sought to destroy it out of sheer ignorance and pride."
He turned to Zhang Ming and executed a formal, respectful bow. "Mr. Zhang. On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, I offer our deepest apologies. You have done nothing wrong. You have, in fact, performed a great service. I will report this to the Minister immediately. I expect you and your Society will receive the Ministry's full and formal endorsement."
The announcement was met with stunned silence, then explosive cheers.
Zhang Ming nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Shacklebolt. I have one condition for that endorsement."
"Name it."
"The Ministry must cease its suppression of educational innovation. Encourage new ideas, don't stifle them. Progress requires an open mind."
Kingsley nodded gravely. "A wise condition. It will be my personal recommendation. And as for the Education Decree…" He glanced at the shattered Umbridge. "A thorough review is clearly in order."
The threat was clear. Umbridge's career was over.
"Now," Kingsley said, a spark of genuine curiosity in his eyes. "Would you continue your demonstration? I am… intensely interested."
"Of course," Zhang Ming said. "In fact, I have a final demonstration. One relating to potions."
He moved to a prepared workstation laden with ingredients. "I have just shown you innovation in Charms. Now, I will show you innovation in Potions."
He picked up a cauldron.
"In the next thirty minutes, I will brew a perfect dose of Felix Felicis."
The statement landed like a bombshell.
"FELIX FELICIS?!" Seamus Finnigan yelled. "But that takes six months!"
"Thirty minutes? Is he mad?"
Even Snape looked utterly stunned. "Zhang Ming… the brewing process is impossibly complex… the simmering alone requires—"
"—traditional methods, yes," Zhang Ming interrupted. "Which are inefficient. The essence of potion-making is a chemical reaction catalyzed by magic. Traditional methods are slow because they rely on ambient heat and passive diffusion."
He ignited a sphere of spiritual fire beneath the cauldron. "But with precise thermal control…" The flame glowed with impossible steadiness. "...and direct oversight of the molecular interactions…" His eyes took on a distant focus, his spiritual sense penetrating the cauldron. "...the process can be dramatically accelerated."
What followed was a blur of breathtaking precision. His ingredient preparation was surgical. His heating control was flawless to a fraction of a degree. He deviated from the standard recipe, adding ingredients in a new, optimized sequence that made Snape's eyes widen in dawning comprehension.
"He's not following steps… he's guiding the reaction pathways directly…" Snape muttered, awe-struck.
In ten minutes, the potion was a pale gold. A color that should have taken months.
In twenty, it was a rich, sunny yellow, emitting a faint, pleasant aroma.
At twenty-nine minutes, the surface shimmered with an oily, pearlescent sheen.
At the thirty-minute mark, Zhang Ming extinguished the flame and poured the contents into a crystal phial. The liquid was a perfect, radiant gold, swirling with a life of its own.
Snape rushed forward, snatching the phial. He performed every test he knew. His hands trembled.
"It's not just Felix Felicis…" he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "It's… perfect. Purity is… unprecedented. Efficacy is doubled. Duration extended by half. Side effects… negligible. This is… alchemy of the highest order."
The silence in the room was absolute.
Zhang Ming had not just brewed a potion. He had rewritten the book on potion-making.
Kingsley Shacklebolt took a deep, steadying breath. "Mr. Zhang," he said, his voice filled with newfound respect. "I see now. This is not mere innovation. This is a paradigm shift. The Ministry would be fools to stand in your way."
He made a decision on the spot. "I will recommend to the Minister that you be considered for the Order of Merlin, First Class. And I will personally advocate for Ministry funding and support for the Science and Cultivation Research Club. Your methods… they must be shared."
The hall erupted in a deafening, sustained roar of approval. Students cheered, professors wept with joy. The future had arrived, and it was being forged by a teenager from the East.
As for Dolores Umbridge, she was forgotten, a deflated pink balloon of bitterness and failure.
[Major Achievement Unlocked: Ministry Reformation]
[Reward: Order of Merlin, First Class (Pending)]
[Reward: Full Ministry Support]
[Influence Multiplier: 500%]
[World Rule Analysis: 12.38%]
Zhang Ming watched the celebrating crowd, a quiet satisfaction settling over him.
This,he thought, is just the beginning.