Wizard's Duel?
At Gemma Farley's words, the gathered students erupted into an uproar.
A fifth-year student publicly challenging a first-year newcor to a duel in front of everyone?
Was this a distortion of humanity or a collapse of morality?
Harry raised his head, eting Gemma's sea-blue eyes.
"Miss Farley, are you challenging to a wizard's duel?"
"Yes, Mr. Potter." Gemma's expression was serious, though she didn’t draw her wand. "You may choose the ti and place. No assistants. A one-on-one duel."
As a Slytherin prefect, she knew such a challenge was hardly reasonable. Yet, she felt compelled to step forward. Otherwise, how could she maintain order and uphold her leadership in the house?
"Why?" Harry asked.
It wasn’t sentintality. Even a century ago, there had been no shortage of stunning won among dark wizards. He’d hurled curses at their beautiful faces without a second thought.
He was simply curious.
"You’ve already defeated seven fifth-year students, proving your abilities far exceed those of an ordinary first-year," Gemma explained. "If you win, I promise no Slytherin will trouble you again. If you lose, you owe Slytherin House an apology."
"I don’t care about trouble," Harry replied nonchalantly. "If I win, I want Parkinson and Flint to apologize to Hermione. As for bothering ... I doubt Slytherins could even manage to be a nuisance."
Harry truly couldn’t stand anyone with the surna Flint.
A century ago at Hogwarts, Muggle-born discrimination was not uncommon. The first ti Harry encountered the slur "Mudblood," it had co from a boy nad Derek Flint.
That sa Flint had deliberately knocked over Harry’s dinner plate in the Great Hall. Gareth had stood up for him and suffered ruthless retaliation as a result.
But after that incident, Derek Flint never dared cross Harry again. Gareth suspected it was because Derek’s father, Mr Flint, had been severely warned by the Board of Governors.
Despite Gareth’s repeated claims that his aunt, Professor Weasley, wasn’t on the Board and that even the Headmaster couldn’t dictate their actions, Harry always suspected the Deputy Headmistress had intervened on his behalf.
"Why doesn’t the Board do sothing about Cassandra Malfoy?" Harry had wondered as a first-year back then. Malfoy constantly mocked him for being lazy, arrogant, and unmotivated. She even tried to recruit him as her follower—a proposition Harry found particularly repulsive.
Gemma furrowed her brows slightly. She didn’t actually want to clash with Harry. The duel challenge stemd purely from his disrespectful remarks about Slytherin.
If she were just another Slytherin student, she might have let it slide. But as a prefect, her role demanded both honor and responsibility.
"Draw your wand, Miss Farley," Harry said.
He withdrew his own wand and gestured for his friends to step back to avoid any stray spells.
"Harry..." Ron looked concerned. Farley's na was one Percy frequently ntioned, always with high praise as one of Slytherin's finest students. Percy admired her not just for her stellar grades but for her "not-so-typical Slytherin" personality.
"Don’t worry, Ron," Harry reassured him with a grin. "Take care of Neville. He hit his head earlier, so he’s probably not feeling great. I’ve got this."
Ron wanted to protest but was promptly dragged aside by Hermione, who firmly clutched his sleeve.
"I’ll be the referee!" Draco suddenly appeared, eyeing Harry with a mischievous grin.
The crowd quickly ford a circle around the duelists. Gemma stood at the center and hesitated for a mont. "Mr. Potter, don’t you need a mont to rest?"
"Thank you, but no." Harry gave her a graceful bow. "Miss Farley, surely you don’t need to remind you of the basic etiquette of a duel?"
Gemma raised her wand horizontally across her chest, returning the bow with an impeccable dueling salute.
"Three!" Draco raised his hand high.
"Expelliarmus!"
Both cast Disarming Charms simultaneously, their spells colliding in a burst of orange-red sparks.
Gemma flicked her wrist, animating the statue behind her. It ca to life, striding nacingly toward Harry.
In response, Harry waved his wand, summoning two suits of armor from the doorway. Ard with long spears, they charged at the animated statue.
Unnoticed by many, a vine crept toward Harry’s feet. Without looking, he incinerated it with a burst of fla, then used one of the animated suits of armor to shield himself from Gemma’s curse before countering with a Stupefy.
The duel was srizing. For most of the first-years, this was their first ti witnessing such an intense wizard’s duel. They watched with bated breath, utterly transfixed.
When Gemma dodged one of Harry’s spells, another streak of red magic shot toward her—an anticipated movent.
"Protego!" she parried with a Shield Charm.
But Harry’s follow-up spell was imdiate.
The Shield Charm’s energy dissipated, leaving her defenseless as the spell struck her.
"Incarcerous!"
Thick ropes materialized, binding Gemma tightly and sending her tumbling onto the snow-covered ground.
Her normally loose and comfortable Hogwarts robes now clung to her, accentuating her figure as the ropes tightened.
Without her magic to sustain it, the animated statue crumbled.
The two suits of armor crossed their spears at her neck, poised to strike should she resist.
"You’ve lost, Miss Farley," Harry declared with an air of elegance.
He considered himself a gentleman—treating won as equals, deserving of his full effort in a duel.
"I admit defeat," Gemma conceded decisively.
Harry flicked his wand. The armor returned to its original positions, and the ropes binding Gemma vanished.
Sowhere in the crowd, a disappointed sigh could be heard, likely mourning the ropes’ disappearance.
"Now then, it’s ti to fulfill your promise, Miss Farley," Harry said, extending a hand to her.
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