“Anna Carrow?” Ron rubbed his eyes, double-checking to make sure he hadn’t misidentified her.
“You know her?” Mason looked up.
Harry and Seamus were holding Ron up by his arms beside him so he could peer over the sea of heads at the girl at the center of attention.
Ron patted their shoulders to let them know they could put him down.
He ran a hand through his red hair and glanced around repeatedly to make sure no one was paying attention to them before leaning in.
“Just like ‘pure-blood’ wizards call all of us ‘that Weasley,’ they all call her ‘the least Carrow-like Carrow.'” At that point, Ron dropped his voice even lower.
“Except for her, every other Carrow is currently staying in Azkaban…”
The surging crowd swept forward, and Mason and his friends squeezed past with difficulty to secure a spot right next to the commission board, finally getting a clear look at Anna Carrow.
Mason’s immediate thought was that she was remarkably short—petite in the eyes of most people.
She had long, pale golden hair and delicate features that gave a misleading impression of fragility at first glance.
Unless someone were truly malice-hearted, it was hard to harbor any ill will toward the girl.
“She doesn’t deserve the surname Carrow!
Her disgusting ancestor was kicked out of the family two hundred years ago.
A filthy, degenerate breed from a Muggle union has the nerve to show her face in Slytherin!”
Draco Malfoy’s voice cut through the air at the exact moment the crowd fell silent, plunging the atmosphere in half the Great Hall to absolute freezing point.
Professor McGonagall had gone off to find Albus Dumbledore when Mason went to submit his commission, but there was no shortage of people present to stand up for the girl.
“Are you planning on insulting every family that married a Muggle, Malfoy?” Anna walked over and handed a certificate signed by Albus Dumbledore to Elaine.
“Maybe I should advise them to form a queue first?”
A good number of Slytherin students were gathered around Malfoy.
Some paled upon hearing Anna’s words, though most remained indifferent.
On one side was Mason, who had made him look like a fool at the Sorting Ceremony; on the other was Anna, who had “stolen” a pure-blood family name.
With his two greatest enemies standing together, Malfoy had eyes for no one else.
He raised his head arrogantly, looking down his nose at the pair.
“None of them are like you.
Your grandmother was a Squib, and even your parents are pure Muggles…”
“At least they didn’t kneel at the feet of the Dark Lord and lick his filthy toes,” Anna fired back instantly.
Mason noticed that the girl, who was standing sideways relative to them, was already clutching her wand.
“Mimblewimble!” A Slytherin fourth-year couldn’t resist striking out.
Raised on pure Death Eater doctrine at home, he couldn’t stand anyone uttering the Dark Lord’s name, let alone insulting him.
“Pro—” Anna silently began her incantation.
Though she was only a second-year, she had been targeted constantly in private by other Slytherins, so she had naturally learned Protego early on. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Yet her reaction was still a fraction of a second too slow—the distance was simply too close.
While the final part of the incantation was still in her mind, the curse was already flying right before her eyes.
“[Shield].”
A sturdy, reliable translucent blue shield materialized once more, blocking the attack for Anna.
“Despicable!”
“Cowards who can only attack from the shadows!”
The sudden clash happened in the blink of an eye.
By the time the surrounding young witches and wizards reacted, a uproar erupted as they began hurling accusations at the Slytherin who had launched the ambush.
“This is a private Slytherin matter.
Are you sure you want to butt in?” Malfoy was overjoyed.
He had been wringing his hands over how to drag Mason into this, and counting the Slytherins he had brought, the snakes in the hall outnumbered the lions by thirty percent.
Mason said nothing, preoccupied with checking his spell cooldowns.
Harry took a firm stand at Mason’s right hand.
Anna was to their front left, while Elaine and the others behind them drew their wands as well.
Seeing the Gryffindors taking their battle stances, Malfoy and his group knew the fight had been accepted.
However, there were far too many eyes watching them in the hall.
A seasoned Slytherin upperclassman decided to muddy the waters first.
Hiding within the crowd, he silently recited a Transfiguration spell, turning several table legs into the rough shape of venomous snakes, then raised his wand, pointed it at Mason’s group, and suddenly bellowed:
“Serpensortia!”
“It’s a snake!” the younger students shrieked.
Mason’s ability to sense malevolence far exceeded that of ordinary people.
He had noticed a wretched-looking guy staring at him from the crowd long ago, so the moment a venomous snake burst from the tip of the guy’s wand, Mason immediately raised the Elder Staff, executing his only offensive spell at blinding speed:
“[Magic Missile].”
This spell required no incantation.
The moment Mason targeted his target, a concentrated sphere of arcane energy gathered at the tip of the Elder Staff, ready to be launched at his command.
Magic Missile was a projectile spell, but fortunately, Mason had excellent dynamic vision.
Just as the summoned serpent was about to reach them, a pale-faced Ron raised his hand, and Harry—just about to say something—saw a flash of intense purple light.
The flying serpent was struck by the sphere of arcane energy and sent flying backward toward the opposite wall at even greater speed.
A savory scent of charred meat drifted down from above the young students’ heads.
Everyone looked up.
The viper had been struck dead-on by the Magic Missile, the intense high-energy reaction burning the hit area down to the visible bone.
A section of blackened, scorched snake flesh and skin stuck to the wall, while the other piece fell due to gravity, landing together with the dead snake’s wide-eyed head right on the caster.
Screaming like a madman, he tore the dead snake off himself and scrambled out of the Great Hall on all fours.
*Gulp.* Malfoy swallowed hard.
He didn’t dare imagine what would happen if his own face took a hit from Mason’s “Dark magic.” It might not kill him on the spot, but at worst, it would burn off half his face, leaving him to wear a mask for the rest of his life.
The magical shield blocked a few more sneaky curses before its duration expired and it slowly dissipated.
Yet the Slytherin students opposite them no longer dared to move.
They had come to start a fight, not to enter a life-or-death arena!
That transfer student didn’t hesitate to toss around Dark magic—for all they knew, he had transferred from Durmstrang, a school where Dark magic was taught openly!
So…
were they supposed to just surrender?
They didn’t want to lose face like that either.
Mason himself was startled by the sheer power of his spell.
When had the Magic Missile, usually used for minor chipping damage, gained this much power?
A level three Magic Missile in the game only dealt 7 points of damage, taking three hits to kill a unarmored player…
But wait, it actually *did* make sense!
Wizards were notorious glass cannons; a spell like this could probably only be tanked by someone like Hagrid.
“You guys gonna forfeit or what?” Mason really didn’t want to blast a classmate with a Magic Missile, but that didn’t mean he lacked other options.
“I can do this all day.”
With that, Mason raised his staff.
Half of the Slytherins opposite him turned tail and fled in terror.
However, their leader, Draco Malfoy, remained stubbornly standing his ground.
He locked his eyes on Mason’s staff, planning an evasion route in his head, imagining himself dodging the attack and returning a curse of his own.
Mason summoned the magical shield once again.
Malfoy, on extreme alert, instantly suffered a system overload in his brain.
His rationality told him he didn’t need to run, his predictive memory told him to dive left, and his survival instinct told him to jump right.
Stuck in the middle, Malfoy could only watch as the magic shield, floating parallel to the floor, spun in place before being hurled toward them under Mason’s control.
The remaining Slytherins were thrown into complete disarray.
Malfoy was hit squarely by the shield and sent flying, crashing straight into Goyle’s stomach before passing out.
Then, a pair of gloomy eyes locked onto Mason.
Severus Snape had arrived.