Chapter 163: A Headache for Professor Dumbledore
Russell still wasn't satisfied.
Just as he was about to cast Sectumsempra for the fourth time—
his body suddenly froze.
Completely immobile.
Only his head could still move.
His heart tightened.
Dumbledore…
He immediately realized what had happened.
After all, he still had the Shield Charm active on himself. Even if it wouldn't hold against professors, there should at least have been some sign of it breaking.
But there hadn't been.
Which meant—
someone had bypassed it entirely.
Someone capable of ignoring a Shield Charm and restraining him effortlessly.
Who else could it be but Albus Dumbledore?
Russell's expression darkened.
His gaze fell on Rosier, writhing on the ground in agony.
Looks like… this ends here.
Still, he scanned his surroundings—
but there was no sign of Dumbledore.
Not showing himself, huh…
Russell understood.
If Dumbledore appeared openly, the situation would escalate beyond control.
"Mr. Fythorne, what on earth do you think you're doing?!"
The professors rushed over.
Leading them, as always, was Minerva McGonagall.
At that moment, Russell felt control return to his body.
Clearly, Dumbledore had lifted the restraint once the professors arrived—each of them already gripping their wands tightly.
Russell didn't answer.
Instead, he rushed straight to Wednesday's side.
He raised his wand over her head.
"Episkey."
A soft green glow, brimming with vitality, enveloped her body before slowly sinking into her.
Russell helped her up.
The Bludger hadn't seriously injured her—
but the fall had twisted her ankle.
Only after confirming she was alright did he finally relax.
Then, still supporting her, he turned to McGonagall and said calmly:
"Clearly, Professor—
I was merely returning the favor."
While McGonagall dealt with Russell—
Severus Snape and Filius Flitwick were already kneeling beside Rosier, examining his injuries.
They tore open his uniform.
The wound beneath was horrifying.
A deep, razor-sharp gash—
as if carved open by an invisible blade.
The edges were clean.
But the depth—
terrifying.
His ribs were faintly visible.
Blood surged outward in bursts, staining his robes.
Flitwick immediately began casting healing spells in rapid succession—
"Vulnera Sanentur…"
"Episkey…"
—but nothing worked.
The wound didn't close.
Not even slightly.
Panic began to show on his face.
Then—
Snape stepped forward.
He raised his wand and held it over the wound, his voice low and steady as he chanted:
"Vulnera Sanentur."
"Vulnera Sanentur."
"Vulnera Sanentur."
Three times.
Five times.
Seven times.
Ten times.
Only after the tenth casting did Rosier's wound finally close completely.
Even so, a vicious scar remained—jagged and ugly, like a mark carved into flesh.
Filius Flitwick stared in astonishment.
"What spell did you use? That effect… it's extraordinary."
Snape didn't answer.
Instead, he turned slightly and said calmly:
"Filius, would you mind taking him to the hospital wing?"
"…Of course."
Flitwick nodded, though his eyes lingered on Russell with concern.
"Severus… about Russell—"
"I know what I'm doing," Snape replied, taking a slow breath.
"…Thank you."
Reassured, Flitwick levitated Rosier and hurried off.
Meanwhile, Minerva McGonagall was clearly not pleased.
"How could you do such a thing, Russell? Rosier's actions were indeed serious—but how could you respond with a curse?"
"—If I may, Minerva."
Snape cut in with a soft cough.
"Rosier is no longer in danger. And… Mr. Fythorne is correct."
"What he used was a dark spell, not a true curse."
Russell shot McGonagall a look that practically said See? I told you so.
—but the moment he noticed Snape's icy expression, he immediately toned it down.
"No matter what," McGonagall said, pressing her temples,
"We must inform Professor Albus Dumbledore. And likely their families as well."
There was no point debating further.
Something this serious required the Headmaster's decision.
Russell crouched beside Wednesday.
She was still sitting on the ground, watching him quietly.
"…Didn't I already heal you? Why aren't you getting up?" he asked softly.
Wednesday said nothing.
She just looked at him.
Russell paused—
then understood.
Without another word, he lifted her into his arms.
"Her injuries are serious," he said with a straight face.
"I need to stay with her at all times."
McGonagall didn't bother exposing the obvious lie.
If anything, bringing Wednesday along made things simpler.
Inside the Headmaster's office—
Russell stood under Dumbledore's gaze, completely unflinching.
"Professor, I was actually helping Rosier."
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened slightly.
"Oh?"
"Think about it," Russell continued calmly.
"He used a despicable and cowardly method to seriously harm Wednesday."
"That's not just misconduct—it's disgraceful."
"What do you think the Addams family would do in response?"
Dumbledore said nothing.
But he understood.
Russell went on:
"Even if you protected Rosier—sent him out of Britain…"
"…unless you sent him to the far East, the Addams would find him."
"And not just him—his entire family."
A brief pause.
"But since I intervened…"
"…and punished him already…"
"There's no longer any reason for them to act."
"After all—he's already paid the price. Isn't that right?"
"So that is your reasoning?"
Dumbledore looked at him seriously.
For the first time—
he felt his understanding of Russell shift.
Most of his previous judgments still held true.
But—
whenever it involved Wednesday—
Russell became… different.
Unpredictable.
Dangerous.
Dumbledore's thoughts drifted—
to Ariana Dumbledore.
If she had lived…
Would he have been the same?
Would he have crossed lines—
just like this?
And then—
another thought struck him.
If Wednesday were to disappear someday…
Would Russell become like… the man he once was with Gellert Grindelwald?
Dumbledore sighed.
His tone softened.
"Even so… your actions today went too far."
"Sectumsempra is no trivial spell—even among dark magic."
"…Though Rosier was at fault first…"
He paused again.
Then:
"Very well."
"Russell, for your actions today…"
"You will serve detention."
"The time and place will be decided later."
He wasn't overly concerned about the Rosier family.
First—
they were clearly in the wrong.
Even by pure-blood standards, their conduct was disgraceful.
Second—
since aligning with Lord Voldemort, most of their family had already been imprisoned in Azkaban.
What remained were hardly a threat.
The only real concern—
was whether other pure-blood families might use this as an excuse to stir trouble.
But even that—
Dumbledore wasn't particularly worried about.
After all—
he was still Headmaster of Hogwarts.
And his relationship with Cornelius Fudge was, for now, in a comfortable "honeymoon" phase.
Anyone thinking of making trouble—
would have to think twice.