The Prisoners of Hogwarts

Chapter 52 A Letter Arrives Late at Night

Now all the young wizards understood why the timetable specifically noted "Please wear appropriate sportswear"—it was no accident.

Their little faces instantly fell, and they reluctantly dragged themselves down from the stands.

A silent sorrow permeated the air, especially among the pure-blooded Slytherin students, where the emotion almost solidified.

For them, this kind of deliberate, purposeful "running" training was simply unheard of.

Wizards will certainly run and jump, chase and play with their friends, or hide from Peeves' pranks in the corridors, but these are all instinctive reactions in play or in a moment of emergency.

Like in a Muggle school physical education class, where students line up and run in circles on the field?

This is an insult to the identity of a wizard!

In contrast, the young wizards from Muggle families, though also looking distressed, at least didn't seem as helpless.

They had all been exposed to similar long-distance running training to some extent in their former Muggle schools, and knew how to take steps and adjust their breathing.

However, this familiarity brought not relief, but a deeper sense of despair.

Because they know better than pure-blooded wizards just how painful it is to run to the end, to breathe with a metallic taste in your throat, to feel like your lungs are burning, and to feel like your legs are made of lead.

Not to mention, they had already been told in advance that they could only stop when they reached their own limits.

At this moment, their eyes as they looked at the scene were filled with helplessness and fear of the torture that was about to be inflicted.

Everyone barely managed to stand at the edge of the field, the team was sparse and morale was low.

Professor Lynch didn't offer any further encouragement; he simply raised his hand calmly and snapped his fingers with a crisp "snap."

Several tiny fireworks, shimmering with golden-red light, shot out from his fingertips like miniature meteors, soaring lightly into the air before exploding with a "pop".

Hearing this sudden sound, like a whip lashing through the air.

Amidst complaints and sighs, the young wizards, like a flock of sheep being herded, began to run in a chaotic frenzy.

The initial chaos lasted for less than a lap.

After a few laps, the teams began to clearly separate.

The differences in physical fitness and experience were readily apparent.

At first, most of the young wizards from wizarding families ran ahead with great enthusiasm, but after that initial burst of energy dissipated, they clearly became exhausted, their steps heavy, their breathing rapid, and they quickly fell behind, forming a sluggish "tail".

Meanwhile, the students from Muggle families, with their familiarity with the running rhythm and relatively strong physiques, gradually moved to the front of the group and widened the gap.

Harry ran at a steady pace in the group. Although he was rather small, he had long been used to running at school so as not to be bullied by Dudley.

At this moment, in order to accommodate Ron's speed, he deliberately slowed down and stayed behind in the group.

Ron was running so hard his face was flushed, and his red hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, making him look like a lobster that had just been pulled ashore.

Since he still had some energy left, Harry began to survey his classmates. His emerald green eyes swept across the road ahead and he saw Malfoy running not far ahead of him.

Malfoy's signature pale blond hair had lost its usual shine and was now damp with sweat, with a few strands clinging awkwardly to his pale forehead.

It was clear that he had run very hard; his platinum eyebrows were tightly furrowed, and his lips were pursed into a harsh line.

Harry could clearly hear him panting heavily as he muttered through gritted teeth to Crabbe, who was also panting and running like a clumsy calf, "My...my dad...will...find...this! That...madman...Lynch...dared...make Malfoy...do...this...despicable...Muggle...sports!" Every word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth, filled with resentment.

At the edge of the field, Professor Lynch had already leisurely walked to the highest point of the stands, sat down with an air of composure, and picked up a book to read, as if he were an detached spectator.

The crow perched on his shoulder, its sharp, dark eyes silently scanning every figure running below, not missing a single trick of its eye to slack off or try to cheat.

On the field, Mrs. Pomfrey stood with a serious expression and piercing eyes, closely monitoring the condition of each student. Once her extensive experience told her that a student who was pale, unsteady on his feet, and had a vacant look in his eyes was truly approaching his physical limits, she would immediately issue clear and concise instructions to Tots beside her.

Totz's forehead was still covered with fine beads of sweat, but his expression was unusually focused, and the tension in his eyes had been replaced by his passion and concentration on his work.

The moment he receives the order, his small body bursts forth with astonishing power, accompanied by a slight but precise snap of his fingers—"click!"

The target wizard's body was immediately enveloped by an invisible force, gently but firmly, his feet leaving the ground as if lifted by an invisible hand, and steadily "flew" away from the runway, instantly transferring to the soft cushion prepared in front of Madam Pomfrey.

Madam Pomfrey immediately took over, tapping her wand lightly, and a gentle healing magic light shone, quickly relieving the student's exhaustion, cramps, and pain from overexertion.

Meanwhile, Totz quickly handed over energy drinks and warm water, his small figure busy and efficient.

This process is becoming increasingly smooth.

During this time, Madam Pomfrey ruthlessly exposed several Slytherin students who ran up to her, pretending to be exhausted in order to avoid running.

Under Mrs. Pomfrey's stern gaze, they could only slink back onto the track to continue the unfinished "torture."

As the golden glow of the setting sun bathed the spire of Hogwarts Castle in a final, warm hue, signaling the end of this unique "Magic Studies" class, the entire venue resembled the aftermath of a small-scale battle.

The young wizards lay sprawled across the field, almost none of them able to stand up on their own immediately.

At dinner time, the Great Hall of Hogwarts was no longer as noisy as usual.

Instead, there were faint, feeble groans and cries.

At Lynch's request, Mrs. Pomfrey only healed their physical injuries, but their fatigue would take some time to recover.

The usual clatter of knives and forks and lively discussions were gone. The young wizards—especially the younger ones—almost all dragged their weak legs into the Great Hall in an extremely slow, cautious, and even somewhat comical manner, before "unloading" themselves onto the benches.

Everyone should avoid sitting down and standing up as much as possible.

The usually most popular roasted chicken legs and French fries seemed to have lost their appeal at this moment; everyone just wanted to drink some hot soup or simply lie down on the table.

"My legs... feel like they've been stepped on by a troll..." Ron buried his face in a tall glass filled with pumpkin juice, his voice muffled and filled with exhaustion.

"I can't feel my legs anymore..." Simo slumped in the chair, his eyes vacant.

Neville stared blankly, sipping his soup in small sips, too exhausted to even speak.

Every young wizard who went through the long-distance run deeply felt the power of this extreme long-distance running, and they all looked dejected.

A tense atmosphere hung over the Slytherin table. Malfoy, pale-faced, viciously stabbed the peas in his plate with his fork, as if they were Professor Lynch himself, his eyes brimming with venom.

That night, all the common rooms and dormitories at Hogwarts were unusually quiet.

Almost all students who had taken magic studies courses, regardless of their academy, would drag their leaden legs to their beds and, the moment their heads touched their pillows, quickly drift into a sweet dream.

An unprecedented deep sleep swept over them, and even the most energetic twins were unusually still.

The castle returned to tranquility in the night, with only the moonlight silently flowing through the windows.

In this moment of utter silence, the lights were still on in the stone house in the Forbidden Forest.

Professor Lynch sat at his desk.

On the table, several letters that he had just read, some arrogant, some angry, and some full of warnings, were casually piled to one side, clearly failing to arouse any emotional ripples in him.

Just then, a few soft "tap-tap" sounds came from the window.

A dusty, slightly ruffled barn owl perched there, its head tilted, a pale yellow envelope dangling from its beak.

Lynch held out his finger, and the owl obediently placed the letter in his palm.

On the sealing wax seal on the letter cover, a clear letter "R" comes into view.

He opened the letter and pulled out a piece of paper.