Clearly, Draco’s mocking words and dismissive attitude had made Fred lose his cool. Without thinking through where Draco’s confidence ca from, he stord onto the stage, his face twisted with anger.
Seeing Fred refuse to back down, the Gryffindors—who had always seen Slytherins as dark and wicked—erupted in cheers for their new “dragon-slaying hero.”
“Show that arrogant git we’re not to be ssed with!”
“Go Fred, you’ve got this!”
“Don’t worry, just go for it!”
“We’re Gryffindor!”
True to form, the passionate Gryffindors quickly riled up the entire hall with their fiery chants.
Hermione, who had originally wanted to step in and talk so sense into them, ultimately gave up in the face of the overwhelming energy. She could only cast a helpless look at Harry and Ron, who were also caught up in the shouting.
She could understand it from the others—but why couldn’t they see Draco’s true strength?
Aren’t your opponents supposed to be the ones who understand you best?
So why couldn’t she see that recognition in Harry and Ron...
As the atmosphere grew increasingly chaotic, Lockhart hesitated for a mont before awkwardly stepping forward to say sothing.
“Uh... listen, I don’t think Professor Snape would approve of—”
“Isn’t this fun? Besides, with us watching, there’s no way anything could go wrong. Isn’t that right, Lockhart?”
“...”
Lockhart fell silent, frozen under Snape’s cold, shadowed gaze.
“What a sha. I was hoping Mr. Malfoy would help teach a few people a lesson.”
At that point, even if Lockhart had wanted to stop the duel, it would have been nearly impossible. And with Snape’s face practically glowing with malicious delight, it was obvious he had no intention of letting Lockhart interfere.
In fact, from the way Snape spoke, it was clear he very much wanted this to happen.
Of course, if Draco’s opponent had been soone else, it might have been even more satisfying.
For so reason, Harry—who was waving encouragingly at Fred from the audience—suddenly had the unsettling feeling that a venomous snake had just fixed its eyes on him...
...
Since there was no stopping it, Lockhart had no choice but to grit his teeth and step up to host the impromptu duel.
He raised both hands between the two duelists, and for a brief mont, his serious expression made people question whether this was really Lockhart. Even Draco couldn’t help glancing over in mild surprise.
“Wands at the ready!”
The mont his voice fell, all the cheers that had been rising and falling vanished. The hall went completely silent as every student held their breath, eyes fixed on the two figures on the stage, afraid to miss even a second.
Fred didn’t know what everyone else was thinking—he only knew that the pressure was crushing.
He’d felt fine offstage, but now that he was facing Draco directly, his limbs had stiffened and sweat was pouring down his forehead.
Sothing about Draco’s faintly glowing gray eyes brought back a mory—visiting Charlie in Romania and coming face-to-face with a dragon.
He didn’t know why that ca to mind now...
Get a grip. It’s just nerves.
Shaking off the haze, Fred tightened his grip on his wand, took his stance, and began silently preparing his spell, drawing up every bit of magic he could muster.
Across from him, Draco lifted his wand to his chest.
“Draco Malfoy. Ten inches. Hawthorn. Dragon heartstring.”
“...”
The solemnity in Draco’s voice made the once-restless students fall completely silent. Those who knew better—particularly the nobles—straightened up, their curious expressions quickly replaced by respect.
The atmosphere shifted, and Hermione, noticing the change, looked over toward the Slytherin side in confusion.
After Draco’s words, the air around them had changed most drastically. Pansy and the others now looked like they were attending sothing sacred—but this was just a school duel, wasn’t it?
As Draco lowered his wand slightly and turned his gaze to Fred, sothing shifted in his expression. A hint of disappointnt crept in.
The look left Fred confused—and a little angry. He had no idea what Draco ant by it.
“Tch. I almost forgot this is just a ga. Besides... you wouldn’t understand.”
That almost-genuine remark made Fred’s face flush with rage. His trembling wand was proof that he was on the verge of losing control.
Just then, Lockhart, seeing both sides were ready, raised his voice.
“When I count to three, you’ll cast a Disarming Charm. Got it? Just disarm. We don’t want any accidents.”
As he said the word “accidents,” his gaze subtly flicked toward Draco—who, of course, completely ignored him.
“Alright then. One. Two... THREE!”
Compared to Lockhart’s earlier demonstration—where he hadn’t even managed to raise his wand—Fred at least made the motion of casting. But the result wasn’t much different.
“Expelli—”
“Expelliarmus!”
“UGH!”
A cry.
A blur.
Fred was thrown back.
Though it was just a Disarming Charm, both Snape and Draco clearly had ways of making it hit differently. The only real difference this ti? Fred’s wand wasn’t on the ground—it was in Draco’s hand.
“The gap between us is called experience.”
“...”
“...”
Draco casually tossed the wand, letting it fall beside Fred’s head as the older boy struggled to rise.
That single, effortless gesture crushed any last bit of fight Fred had left in him. The Gryffindors fell completely silent, heads bowed.
Victory speaks for itself.
No one dared object to Draco’s disdainful tone.
The older students, anwhile, looked on in heavy silence as Draco Malfoy stepped calmly down from the stage.
That level of magic and control? It was far beyond what a second-year should possess. Even they couldn’t say with confidence that they’d be able to take down soone like Fred Weasley—a fourth-year who could easily be called a prodigy—so effortlessly.
And judging by Draco’s composed deanor, it didn’t even look like he’d used much strength at all...
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