Draco was in an absolutely dreadful mood.
Just a few minutes ago, he had been standing below the stage with the air of someone waiting to enjoy a fine spectacle. He had firmly believed that Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin, a master of Dark magic even his father held in a certain degree of awe, would crush that blowhard Professor Gray as easily as stepping on a slug.
And yet now, Professor Snape had lost.
Malfoy had seen it clearly with his own eyes. Snape’s terrifyingly powerful curse had been stopped dead by that enormous glowing fist, and Snape himself had been left in a thoroughly humiliating state by the impact.
"This is impossible..." Malfoy stared fixedly at the professor in dark blue robes on the stage, his fingers clenched so tightly they had gone white. "That kind of crude, barbaric magic... how could it possibly defeat Professor Snape?"
He remembered mocking Gray in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He remembered imitating Gray’s fist-swinging with Crabbe and Goyle in the common room.
And now, somehow, it felt like he himself had become the joke.
Malfoy had always admired strength, and Lynn’s defeat of Snape left him in a deeply conflicted mood.
"Thanks to Professor Snape for that truly magnificent demonstration."
Onstage, Lynn’s voice cut through Malfoy’s turbulent thoughts. The professor gave a casual wave of his hand, as though defeating a top-tier wizard were no more than a trivial after-dinner exercise.
"Now it’s your turn. Pair off and come up to practice. Remember, stop at the point of contact."
The crowd immediately began to stir.
That idiot Longbottom from Gryffindor looked terrified, and Potter, that sanctimonious saint Potter, had already raised his wand, apparently about to partner with that Mudblood Granger.
A nameless fury surged up in Malfoy, overwhelming even his fear.
Why was Potter always so lucky?
Why was he always the center of attention?
Why had powerful Professor Gray spoken up for him on the very first day of term?
Snape’s loss had been an accident, surely. But Draco absolutely could not lose to Potter.
"I’ll be your opponent."
Malfoy strode forward and planted himself directly between Harry and Hermione, chin lifted high, his trademark sneer in place.
"The great Harry Potter wouldn’t refuse, would he?"
Harry frowned, a flash of disgust crossing his green eyes, but he turned and raised his wand anyway.
"I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Malfoy."
The two of them stepped into the middle of the platform. Around them, the students gradually quieted down, watching the pair of enemies with eager anticipation.
"Raise your wands and get ready!" Lynn called from the side. "One, two, three, "
Malfoy lifted his wand over his shoulder, but before Lynn even reached three, he had already shouted, "Expelliarmus!"
A bolt of red light shot out.
But Harry sidestepped sharply to the left, narrowly avoiding the spell, then seized the opening and cast, "Rictusempra!"
A streak of silver light struck Malfoy in the stomach before he could dodge.
A wave of pain spread through his midsection. He doubled over, clutching his stomach and gasping.
Before he had even recovered, another spell hit him, a Tickling Charm. He felt laughter he could not control explode out of him, and he dropped to his knees, laughing so hard his whole body went weak.
Harry stood before him without pressing the attack.
In a flash of inspiration, Malfoy pretended he was still helpless with laughter while secretly tightening his grip on his wand.
The moment Harry’s attention slipped, Malfoy whipped it up and shouted between gasps of laughter, "Tarantallegra!"
Harry was hit, and his legs immediately began jerking out of control, forcing him into an absurd dance.
"Serves you right! That’s what you get for spacing out in a duel!" Malfoy sneered as he staggered back to his feet, preparing to follow up with another curse.
And then he met Harry’s eyes.
There was no hesitation in them now.
While still fighting to stop his own ridiculous dancing, Harry shouted furiously, "Magic Missile!"
Three red darts shot from the tip of his wand, curving through the air toward Malfoy.
Malfoy instantly tried to throw himself backward, but the darts tracked him like they had eyes. There was no dodging them.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
All three struck him square in the chest.
Harry’s darts were nowhere near as terrifyingly powerful as the ones Lynn had demonstrated earlier, but taking a spell full on without any defense still felt awful.
Malfoy felt as though a great lump like Goyle had punched him in the chest three times in a row. His ribs let out a groan, and his entire body was sent flying backward, arcing through the air off the edge of the stage.
It’s over.
Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut in despair.
This is the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me.
But instead of crashing to the floor, he felt a hand catch him firmly by the back, absorbing all the force.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking at Lynn’s face, still wearing that faint, unreadable smile.
"You got quite a bit of height there, Mr. Malfoy."
Lynn set him upright again. His tone was impossible to read, was that mockery, or praise?
Malfoy’s face burned crimson. He shoved Lynn’s hand away at once.
"Let go of me! I haven’t lost! That was, that was just Potter taking me by surprise!"
"Of course. You haven’t lost."
Lynn did not seem offended in the slightest. He adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses, looked down at the disheveled Slytherin heir, and lowered his voice almost conspiratorially.
"But Draco, do you really think tossing spells back and forth like some kind of brute suits you?"
Malfoy blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I’ve been watching you, Draco." Lynn’s voice was soft enough that only the two of them could hear. "You’re not suited to charging in like Potter, relying on instinct and raw force. Your real strengths are your words, your arrogance, and that particular gift you have... for wanting to grind people beneath your heel with sheer nastiness."
Lynn pointed toward Harry, who was still trying to get control of his dancing legs.
"For certain wizards, words themselves are the sharpest weapon. Try pouring your magic into your mockery instead of merely insulting people with your mouth."
He quickly guided Malfoy through the way the spell should be channeled.
"That’s how a Bard fights. There’s no harm in trying, if you want to win."
Infuse magic... into mockery?
Malfoy looked at Lynn, doubtful, then glanced back toward the stage.
He refused to lose like this.
Grinding his teeth, he climbed back onto the platform.
At that moment, Harry had finally managed to break the dancing curse and was standing straight again, breathing hard and watching him warily.
"Want to go flying again, Malfoy?" Harry said coldly.
Malfoy recalled Lynn’s words.
Your strength lies in your voice.
Taking a deep breath, he clenched his wand and drew up the magic inside himself, letting it resonate through his words.
"You all right there, Scarhead?"
Malfoy spoke, and though his voice was not loud, it carried a strange penetrative force, as if it exploded directly inside Harry’s mind.
"That dancing was pathetic. You looked like an ugly troll."
The cantrip Vicious Mockery was successfully cast.
The effect was immediate.
Harry’s body, which had just been preparing another spell, suddenly stiffened. His face turned pale at once, as though he had just been struck hard across the skull.
"Ah!" Harry clutched his head in pain, and the light at his wandtip sputtered out.
"It actually... worked?!"
Malfoy stared at his own hands in stunned delight.
This was his kind of power.
Just a few sharp words, and the insufferable Harry Potter could be brought to his knees.
Professor Gray had been right.
A confidence Malfoy had never felt before surged through his chest.
Looking at Harry, now full of openings under the pain, Malfoy felt that this still was not enough. He wanted to finish him off, to utterly crush Potter’s pride.
He raised the hand holding his wand above his shoulder, preparing to cast the spell Snape had taught him before, Serpensortia.
And then his eyes met Harry’s.
Malfoy had spent years mocking Harry, but he had never once seen that look in his eyes before.
It was not just anger.
It was something else, something like fury so intense it felt as though it might ignite and become real.
Harry spoke then, his voice low and cold.
"Shut up."
Malfoy staggered backward several steps, all the confidence he had felt moments ago vanishing at once, replaced by a sudden, irrational fear.
And as if to answer that fear, he felt a searing heat burst up from inside his own body, spreading outward from that terror itself.
Before he could even react, a mass of dark green flames exploded into being all over him!\
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