The Competition Turns into War pt. 2
Draco and Neville walked through the castle corridors until they reached the classroom they had adopted as their investigation base. It wasn't just any room: they had spread out maps, notes, and most importantly, a massive blackboard that looked straight out of a detective club. Of course, they had gotten permission from a beautiful and charismatic professor with whom they had certain connections. Nepotism? Absolutely. And who cared?
On the board hung photos and names connected with red threads, marking the students who had lost their wands. Off to the side, a conceptual map of the castle stretched out like a web, with points highlighting dormitories and suspicious corridors.
Draco, focused, added the latest piece of information they had extracted from a student. In one corner of the board, several repeated phrases from all testimonies stood out: something crashing against walls, a small shadow, and growls like those of a beast.
Neville, though not fully understanding, helped diligently, pasting photos and tightening the threads until they lined up neatly. Then he stood at Draco's side, staring at the board as if it were some ancient mystery.
"What do you think?" Draco asked, without taking his eyes off the board.
"Huh?" Neville jumped, nervous, as if a professor had just called on him in class. "Ah… maybe a magical creature entered the castle," he guessed, more instinct than logic.
Draco nodded slowly. "That's what I thought too. But the strange thing is it only takes wands. For example, Weasley's wand: broken, unicorn hair. That third-year's: dragon heartstring. Then another with phoenix feather… one with hippogriff tail feather… another with mermaid scale… occamy feather… even thunderbird feather."
As he listed them, his expression grew more and more serious. "The cores never repeat," he muttered suddenly.
Neville raised an eyebrow, not grasping the significance. Draco, however, smiled as if he had just solved an impossible riddle.
"Then maybe we can catch it," he said, eyes gleaming with triumph.
Neville looked at him as though he were speaking troll language. Draco sighed and patiently explained.
"If it's collecting different cores, all we have to do is keep watch over the students whose wands have the ones missing. And then we set a trap."
"A-ah… but… nobody wants to go around telling what their wand core is. And there are too many students to ask," Neville objected, scratching his head.
Draco smiled proudly. "That's easy. If I recall correctly, you returned your father's wand, didn't you? So you were bought a new one."
"Yes, but… mine also has unicorn hair, like Weasley's," Neville admitted nervously.
"No matter. We disguise it and spread the rumor that it has a rare core. It'll be the perfect bait," Draco explained with an astute grin. He turned toward the door. "Come on, I need a couple of tools. I'll ask Master Flamel."
As soon as he opened the door, he froze. He slammed it shut in a single motion.
Neville, just behind him, hadn't seen anything and blinked in confusion. "Aren't we going out?"
"Wait." Draco pressed a hand to his forehead. "Oh, Merlin…" He began pacing in circles, as if the ceiling itself were about to collapse.
"What's wrong?" Neville asked, increasingly uneasy.
Draco looked at him with the solemnity of someone announcing the end of the world. "This isn't the first silly competition we've had. And it always ends the same way: absolute chaos. Look… Harry usually takes it as a game, though he's as competitive as Hermione. Hermione, being the smartest, usually gets ahead, and we set up little obstacles to delay her. But Harry… at first, he's calm, so we don't poke him. The problem is he always ends up teasing someone in the group. If he teases Hermione or me, no problem—we tolerate it. But if he targets Daphne… that vengeful witch won't rest until she builds an entire strategy to get him back. And that's when the dragon wakes up. Then Harry takes it seriously. And trust me, you don't want to see Harry serious. Hermione won't let herself lose either, and that turns everything into a war."
Neville swallowed hard. "W-w-war?"
"Don't worry, we don't try to kill each other… but the castle doesn't always survive," Draco clarified with resignation.
He opened the door just a crack, and this time Neville saw. The corridor was full of black cats, walking with calm feline grace. Only they weren't common cats: they were larger, thinner, their fur dark as ink, with enormous blue eyes glowing in the dim light… and claws sharp enough to tear through stone.
"Matagots," Draco whispered, shutting the door quickly again.
Neville rushed to the window, only to find more of the creatures prowling outside. "Did Harry do this?" he asked in a trembling voice.
"No," Draco replied simply. "This is Hermione's work. Sometimes she goes a little overboard."
Meanwhile, not far away, Hermione smiled with a hint of malice. Beside her, Luna was gently stroking a black cat that purred with dignified contentment.
"Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Cat. Sorry about Hermione attacking you to multiply you… here's your payment," Luna said innocently, pulling out a small bag of food.
Hermione, more practical, slipped a silver collar around the feline's neck, gleaming with protective runes. "An enchantment to keep you safe," she murmured.
The cat looked at her with bright eyes and gave a single approving meow.
Hermione thanked the student who owned the cat before leaving with Luna. She walked with a light step, even cheerful, as if she hadn't just left her classmates trapped in a perimeter full of matagots.
"Since Harry didn't attack Draco or me… it must have been Daphne. And she, as always, must have gone overboard with her revenge. Better that I got ahead a little," she remarked calmly, almost innocently.
Then she frowned, thoughtful. "Now I need to prepare in case Harry decides to strike back." She turned to Luna, ready to tell her where they were heading next.
But she froze.
There, standing right in front of them, was an incredibly handsome young man, so much like Harry that it was impossible not to recognize him. He smiled while stroking Luna's head, and she looked up at him happily, without the slightest suspicion.
"Oh, I came to warn you that this was about to level up, but it seems you already got ahead of yourself," said Harry, his gaze shifting toward the corridor surrounded by matagots.
"H-Harry…" Hermione murmured, a terrible premonition washing over her.
She raised her hand, her blue aura ready to respond to any attack. But she never managed to conjure anything.
A branch sprouted from nowhere, seizing her arm. Another coiled around her leg, and within seconds both arms and legs were bound. The ground split open, and an entire tree erupted upward, growing rapidly around her. The branches encircled her like a living prison, leaving only her head exposed.
"W-what—?!"
Luciel appeared at that moment, shaking the empty vial of a potion he had spilled onto the ground. Its green liquid was still fizzing faintly.
"Sorry, Hermione. I'm just following orders," Luciel said with a forced smile, though his eyes showed genuine apology.
"Harry, put me down right now!" Hermione demanded, furious and desperate.
"No," Harry replied with a charming smile, as if he were politely refusing a tea invitation. Then he turned to Luna. "You know, Luna, in one corner of the main garden there's a family of little Bowtruckles."
Luna's eyes lit up instantly. Without a second thought, she spun around and dashed off.
"Wait, Luna! You're my assistant, you're supposed to help me out of here!" Hermione shouted. But all she saw was her helper's back, running away with excitement, more eager to see the Bowtruckles than to rescue her friend.
"Good luck," Harry said lightly, turning away and walking off at a leisurely pace.
"Harry, you idiot!" Hermione roared, struggling helplessly against the thick branches that bound her.
…
"Harry… I think you're getting younger again," Luciel pointed out carefully. He no longer looked like a twenty-year-old adult, but rather an eighteen-year-old.
Harry stopped, frowning. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a broken vial that had survived the trap. Inside, a tiny drop of liquid still clung to the glass. He brought it to his nose and sniffed.
"Mmm… they changed some of the ingredients. That's why it's acting strange. Using such an ancient recipe with extinct plants is suicide. It's really dangerous to use things half-finished," he said seriously.
Luciel's eyes widened. "You recognize the potion just by the smell?"
"Yes. Oh, shit." Harry's expression hardened instantly.
"What is it?" Luciel asked, nervous.
Harry stayed silent for a moment, then finally let it out with frustration: "We need to pause the competition. I have to prepare an antidote or I'll end up turning into a baby."
"What?!" Luciel exclaimed in horror. "How much time do you have?"
Harry pulled out his pocket watch, opened it calmly, and checked the time. "Thirty minutes."
Luciel paled.
Harry took a deep breath. "I won't have time to brew anything. The best option is to find my mother. She can fix this."
Luciel reacted at once. "Ah… right. I think I heard Fleur had a Special Magic class with her today."
They exchanged a quick glance and, without wasting another second, sprinted down the castle corridors toward Wanda's office.
…
Meanwhile, not far away, Daphne watched Harry running through the halls with a worried look on his face. She, on the other hand, wore the satisfied smile of a villain.
"Heh, heh… that's why the rule exists: no asking Aunt Wanda for help. Because the first one who does, loses," she murmured with the confidence of a master strategist.
Astoria, standing beside her, gazed up at her sister with admiration. "Sister… did you know this was going to happen?"
Daphne adjusted her hair with pride and calmly answered, "No. He was supposed to turn into an old man who could barely walk."
The admiration in Astoria's eyes vanished instantly.