Inside the Slytherin common room, a crowd had already gathered, eager for a show.
“Isn’t that Selwyn the Chandelier?” someone scoffed.
Pure-bloods in the crowd clearly weren’t worried about drawing his attention.
Selwyn had already earned himself a reputation.
Not everyone managed to spend their very first night at Hogwarts hanging from a chandelier.
Both Ivan Selwyn and Oberyn Nott flushed red at the comment.
Proud “aristocrats,” through and through.
“Looks like they’ve brought a whole crowd just to deal with Ravenclaw’s little spy,” someone else said, sizing up the situation instantly.
Malfoy stood off to the side with his two usual shadows, watching with mild curiosity.
He’d already heard about the chandelier incident, though Will himself hadn’t really registered on his radar until now.
As far as Malfoy was concerned, the only two people who mattered in this story were himself and Harry Potter.
Everyone else existed purely as background.
Potter, unfortunately, seemed entirely unmoved by his efforts so far, something Malfoy had spent the past few days quietly stewing over.
Watching Yaxley’s group close in on a single first-year, Malfoy scoffed openly.
“Ganging up on someone weaker than you.
How embarrassing for all of them.”
If it were him doing this, he wouldn’t need Crabbe or Goyle at all.
“They already embarrassed their families the night that Muggle brat strung them up on the lamp,” someone agreed, matching Malfoy’s disdain.
“Good.
Let the Muggle-borns learn early that nobility isn’t something to test.”
“Isn’t that Yaxley?
Third-year, isn’t he?
Bit pathetic, getting involved in first-year squabbles like this.”
“The Yaxleys and Selwyns have always been close.
Makes sense he’d step in.”
“Selwyn’s a joke either way, losing to a Muggle-born first-year like that.”
Most of the voices belonged to pure-blood or old wizarding families.
Muggle-born students in Slytherin carried little weight and were mostly kept at arm’s length, not that they had much choice.
No family name behind them, no numbers on their side.
The chatter clearly got under Yaxley’s skin.
His expression darkened.
“Kid, you don’t just learn magic by running your mouth.
I’m giving you this chance because you managed to beat them, that’s all.” His face had turned grim, wand already drawn.
“Since you won’t take the easy way out, don’t blame me for what comes next.”
Will doubted this boy had ever been in a real fight in his life.
All that posturing, and for what?
In the end, only the one left standing got to talk.
He simply lifted his own wand and pointed it at Yaxley, calm, no trace of fear in his silver-grey eyes.
If anything, Yaxley read something closer to amusement there.
“Fine then, let’s teach this Mudblood a lesson.
Stupefy!”
Yaxley swung his wand and fired the spell straight at him.
Will didn’t move.
He let it hit him head-on.
“He’s frozen up!
“Yaxley’s a third-year, this kid’s out of his depth!”
“Show the Mudblood his place!” Selwyn and the others jeered from the sidelines.
Sylvia’s voice cut through, frantic.
“Move, Will!”
“Protego.” A faint shield flickered into place around him.
“Pointless.
A first-year’s Shield Charm won’t hold against a proper Stunning Spell,” one of the older students muttered.
The Stunner struck Will square on.
Half the room braced for him to drop.
Instead, he only swayed slightly, grinned at Yaxley, and said, “Not bad.”
[You have personally experienced a spell’s effect.
Due to partial obstruction, experience gain is incomplete.
Charms Experience +2]
He hadn’t taken the hit out of recklessness.
He’d been testing something.
He’d already tried casting Stunning Spells on himself before, with mediocre results, and it had reminded him of something he’d picked up about how magic actually worked in this world: a spell’s true power depends heavily on the caster’s emotional and mental state, not just raw skill.
Barty Crouch Jr., disguised as Professor Moody, had once said outright that casting the Killing Curse required real intent behind it.
Dark magic in general responded to extreme emotion.
And the Patronus Charm demanded a genuinely happy memory to work at all.
Every professor at Hogwarts stressed this same idea in one form or another.
Dumbledore, in particular, never stopped talking about the power of love.
Will found it difficult to work up genuine hostility toward himself.
That wasn’t talent, that was closer to a diagnosis.
Which meant testing anything along these lines required an outside party.
Yaxley made for a convenient volunteer.
As for the Shield Charm specifically, it happened to be one of the spells Will knew best.
He’d understood the value of a solid defensive spell from the very start of his magical education and had spent real time drilling it.
A large share of his Level 4 Charms experience had come directly from practicing it, so much so that reading about it or drilling it further barely moved the needle anymore.
Back to the moment at hand: watching Will absorb a direct hit and stay upright, completely unaffected, left the whole room stunned.
Nobody had expected this from him.
The grin on Will’s face only deepened Yaxley’s anger.
Being outclassed by a first-year Muggle-born, in front of this many people, was more than his pride could take.
“Avis!
Expelliarmus!” Two spells, fired almost simultaneously.
This time Will didn’t stay put.
He darted sideways, weaving clear of the birds and the disarming charm tangled between them, then raised his wand.
“Incendio!”
A sweep of flame scattered the birds instantly, briefly turning the common room into something closer to a bonfire.
Will didn’t let up.
“Serpensortia!
Stupefy!
Petrificus Totalus!”
Three spells landed in rapid succession.
As Yaxley tried to dodge, two strands of grass at his feet twisted into black snakes and locked around his ankles.
Thrown off balance, he went down hard, right into the path of the Full Body-Bind meant for him, and froze solid on the spot.
In a matter of seconds, Yaxley was finished.
Selwyn and Nott both went visibly pale.
Their backup had folded faster than either of them.
“All of you, together! The source of this chapter is g.com.
He’s only one person!” Selwyn snarled, and seven or eight wands rose in unison.
Will’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Confringo!”
The blast tore through the middle of the group.
The shockwave left ears ringing throughout the room, and seven or eight students went down at once, wands scattering several feet in every direction.
The onlookers clapped hands over their ears, gasping.
Even Draco Malfoy stood frozen, quietly reevaluating everything.
This Muggle-born boy was genuinely dangerous, dangerous enough that he privately admitted he’d need both Crabbe and Goyle at his side just to stand a chance against him.
A lot of people in that room looked at Will differently after that.
For a first-year, his level of control was almost unheard of.
Spells like these gave plenty of third-years trouble, let alone someone barely a few weeks into their first term, and that was before accounting for the fact that he’d layered a Transfiguration mid-combat, then finished with something as volatile as a Blasting Curse.
The crowd gave him a wide berth almost instantly.
Too dangerous to stand near.
It was worth remembering that Peter Pettigrew, an Order of Merlin First Class recipient, had once died in an explosive curse gone wrong, taking twelve Muggles down with him.
What kind of talent was this, really?
[You have used a spell multiple times.
Proficiency increased.
Spell Mastery Experience +1]
[You have used a spell multiple times.
Proficiency increased.
Spell Mastery Experience +1]
[You have used a spell multiple times.
Proficiency increased.
Spell Mastery Experience +1]
Will frowned slightly.
Five experience points total.
Barely worth the effort.
Still, judging by the reactions around him, the message had landed.
Nobody here was likely to bother him again anytime soon.
A quiet school life finally felt within reach.
Then, right on cue.
“Will Behrens!
What exactly have you done?” The furious voice cut through the room from the entrance.
Will turned to find the sallow, black-haired figure already storming toward him.
The rest of Slytherin scattered like startled birds.
“This wasn’t Will’s fault, Professor, they started it—” Sylvia tried to explain, but Snape cut her off immediately.
“Miss Lestrange, this doesn’t concern you.
Step aside and let me speak with Behrens myself.” His expression had gone cold, his voice colder still.
“Or, if your concern for these poor souls runs that deep, you’re welcome to escort them to the hospital wing yourself.”
His black robes swept across the stone floor, trailing behind him like a shadow.
“As for you, Mr.
Behrens.”
He turned toward the corridor without another word, robes snapping behind him.
“My office.
Third door, west tower.”