Harry stood tall and commanding in the center of the duelling chamber, his robes whipping dramatically around him in a swirl of barely contained magic.
It was time to discover how well the countless battles he had witnessed through Voldemort’s eyes would translate into real duelling skill.
“Standard European Duelling Rules,” Lord Greengrass called from the far side of the vast, heavily warded room.
“Standard?” Harry countered with a raised eyebrow.
“How about Extended Class B? We are the Gray faction, after all.”
Greengrass studied him for a long moment before a small, intrigued smile tugged at his lips.
“Very well. Extended Class B Rules. Joint countdown from three—beginning on one.”
Lady Sunny stood off to the side, nervously fidgeting with the cuff of her robes.
Both men raised their wands.
“Three… Two… One!”
“Three… Two… One!”
A rapid barrage of spells streaked toward Harry.
He swatted most of them aside with casual flicks of his wrist.
One particularly vicious purple curse resisted deflection, so he sidestepped it smoothly and raised a shield to absorb the Stunner hidden in its wake.
Steady…
A Stun, Shield-Breaker, Stun combination met a similar fate—Harry conjured a rock to intercept the breaker and let the Stunners dissipate harmlessly against his silently cast Protego.
Seeing that Harry had yet to attack, Lord Greengrass escalated.
More complex spells flew: transfigured beasts fell to Harry’s mid-range flame whip, magical fog was scattered by a miniature hurricane, and illusions failed entirely against his refined magical senses.
Going well.
Then Jacob Greengrass struck in earnest.
In a single fluid sequence, Harry found himself trapped.
A banishing curse, shield-breaker, and stunner closed in from one side, a charging transfigured creature attacked from another, and a delayed firewall roared to life on the third.
It was a masterful pincer attack with no obvious escape.
A flash of triumph crossed Greengrass’s face—only to vanish as Harry shot straight upward, levitating ten feet into the air.
He grinned darkly.
My turn.
≤○≥
Jacob realized he was being humored less than thirty seconds into the duel.
He had been a highly ranked duellist on the international circuit in his younger days and was accustomed to the give-and-take rhythm of a proper match.
But this… this was different.
The young man wasn’t even trying to conserve energy.
He blocked spells head-on instead of dodging, remained rooted in place rather than circling the arena, and left glaring openings in his casting—gaps where he should have been pressing the attack.
So that’s how he wants to play it.
Jacob conjured rocks that transformed into a pack of Confunded attack dogs.
He followed with a freezing fog that nearly solidified around Slytherin, only for a powerful gust of wind to shred it apart.
Two illusory copies of himself sprang forth, firing spells in rapid succession—spells that Slytherin simply allowed to pass harmlessly through him.
How in Merlin’s name…?
Enough games.
Jacob unleashed his signature trap—the combination that had once earned him his highest competitive ranking.
A flicker of surprise crossed Slytherin’s face.
Got you—
His triumph died instantly as his opponent shot upward, levitating effortlessly ten feet off the ground and completely evading the pincer attack.
Lord Slytherin grinned.
Oh, hell.
Barely twenty seconds later, the duel was over.
It had been little more than an exhibition of dominance.
Jacob now found himself helplessly bound in the coils of a massive conjured serpent, surrounded by floating swords all pointed directly at his vital organs.
“Do you yield?” Slytherin asked, descending gracefully to the floor like an avenging angel.
Jacob stared at the man who had just thoroughly overpowered him.
“Yes… I yield.”
Slytherin hissed a command and the serpent released him, slithering away as the swords vanished into thin air.
Jacob could only shrug.
After everything he had just witnessed, learning that Lord Slytherin was a Parselmouth was possibly the least surprising revelation of the day.
He shared a brief, stunned look with his wife.
Sunny stood off to the side, staring at the young man in open awe.
“I trust my abilities are no longer in doubt, Lord Greengrass?”
“Certainly not. And please, call me Jacob.”
Slytherin smiled.
“Then you may call me Harry.”
They shook hands firmly.
Jacob glanced upward.
“I assume that flying ability is a Slytherin family secret. The only other person I’ve heard of who could do that was You-Know-Who.”
“Yes. The legacy of Slytherin is quite extraordinary.”
“I’ll say. So, Harry… are you going to tell us how you came by the Lordship?”
“I will, but first I have one more request. I need a proxy to hold my seat on the Wizengamot. Do you have any recommendations?”
Jacob’s eyebrows rose.
“Why would you need a proxy?”
“I have excellent reasons—at least for the short term—and they tie into how I claimed the title. Anyone come to mind?”
Jacob glanced at his wife.
“Well… Sunny has all the necessary training, if it’s truly required.”
Sunny nodded, still unable to take her eyes off Harry.
“Excellent,” Jacob said.
“Shall we move somewhere more comfortable?”
Ten minutes later, after some preliminary Wizengamot strategy, they were seated in the cozy living room—Jacob across from Harry, with Sunny beside him on the sofa.
The conversation had flowed surprisingly well.
Sunny in particular seemed quite taken with their guest.
“So, Harry,” Sunny teased lightly, “are you going to keep us in suspense all evening?”
Harry smiled.
“You must understand that by sharing what I’m about to tell you, I am placing a great deal of trust in you. We are allies now, but if any of this became public knowledge—”
“You needn’t worry about that,” Sunny interrupted, a bit more forcefully than intended, before blushing slightly.
“I-I mean…”
Jacob smoothly intervened.
“What my lady means is that we consider ourselves worthy of your trust.”
“Of course.” Harry reached into his robes and withdrew a small vial of milky blue liquid.
“Do you know what this is?”
“No,” Jacob replied.