Crabbe, whose name had just been called, turned as pale as a ghost.
He shook violently, his bulky frame quivering like a slab of frozen lard, as if he'd just received news of a family tragedy.
"I… I… I don't want to!" he wailed, collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud, legs flailing as he scrambled backward.
His wide eyes locked onto the fists swinging through the air, filled with abject terror.
What… what kind of dark magic is this?!
These were first-year wizards, barely a week into their time at Hogwarts. Had Ethan Vincent secretly trained in Azkaban before arriving here?!
Ethan, meanwhile, hummed cheerfully, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Hm hm~ (￣▽￣)＞"
The duel was over in a flash.
Neither Slytherin nor Gryffindor had anticipated such an outcome.
It was supposed to be a wizard's duel! Why are you throwing punches?!
It was as if they were playing rock-paper-scissors, and Ethan had casually lobbed a missile.
Only Ethan's two Ravenclaw companions, Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein, wore expressions that screamed, We saw this coming.
Michael, arms crossed and a blade of grass still tangled in his hair, flashed what he thought was a cool, taunting smirk at the Slytherins. His eyes, however, darted through the crowd, subtly searching for any pretty girls among them.
Anthony, on the other hand, adjusted his glasses with calm disdain, peering down at Draco Malfoy, who was still sprawled on the ground, whimpering.
What a fool, Anthony thought. He never stood a chance.
After this humiliating defeat, Malfoy would likely never recover his pride.
Challenging Ethan Vincent was a mistake, and this was the inevitable result.
"Sorry, Harry," Ethan said, turning to Harry Potter with a mock-regretful tone. "Looks like you won't get your turn today."
Harry snapped out of his stunned daze, stammering, "N-no problem! You're incredible, Ethan…"
Inwardly, Harry exhaled in relief. He hadn't even caught the spell Malfoy had tried to cast at the start of the duel. The last thing he wanted was to make a fool of himself in front of everyone. Now, watching Malfoy's pathetic state, Harry felt a twinge of pity.
Go home, kid. Just go home.
"Well then," Ethan said, raising his voice slightly, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "This duel is over. Thank you all for giving me such a pleasant experience."
Not only had he gotten to stretch his muscles, but he'd also tested his experimental "portal" technique.
A win-win.
Ethan had won twice over, and he knew it.
At his words, the Slytherins' expressions darkened instantly.
Mockery.
This was blatant, unapologetic mockery!
Malfoy had been defeated before he could even begin, left crumpled on the ground in a pitiful heap. It was a loss so humiliating it couldn't get any worse.
And Ethan had the gall to call it "pleasant"? Well, from his perspective, it probably was.
Sigh. Malfoy really brought this on himself.
Charging into a duel without knowing his opponent's strength—what an idiot.
He'd lost all traces of his self-proclaimed "platinum noble" demeanor, dragging the rest of Slytherin down with him.
The Slytherins' gazes turned cold, their dissatisfaction with Malfoy palpable.
In truth, Malfoy felt utterly wronged. He'd known he was dueling Ethan, but how could he have predicted Ethan would turn it into a brawler's duel? Who could defend against that?!
Pansy Parkinson, sprawled atop the groaning Malfoy, seemed intent on finishing him off with her weight alone.
She was frantic, unsure of any healing spells and unable to drag Malfoy to the hospital wing by herself.
Catching the icy glares from her fellow Slytherins, her anxiety boiled into rage, all directed at Ethan.
"You think this is over?!" she screeched, her voice shrill with fury. "I'm telling you, you're done! The Malfoy family won't let you get away with this! His father's a school governor—one word from him, and you'll be expelled! Sent back to whatever filthy hole you crawled out of, Mudblood!"
"Someone like you, scraping by doing House-elf work, doesn't deserve to be here with us!"
"What did you say?!" Ron Weasley exploded, his face flushing with anger as if Pansy had struck a nerve. His fists clenched, ready to mimic Ethan's fists-first approach.
But before Ron could charge, Ethan raised a hand, effortlessly halting him.
Ethan's cobalt-blue eyes met Pansy's, calm and unshaken, carrying no hint of threat.
Yet, under that steady gaze, Pansy shivered involuntarily.
Amid her fury, a flicker of fear crept in.
"First," Ethan began, his voice low but clear, cutting through the tension like a blade, "my name isn't 'Mudblood.' It's Ethan Vincent."
"Second, I don't consider 'House-elf' an insult. It's their tireless care that's turned some wizards into spoiled, overgrown babies who can't lift a finger for themselves."
Pansy froze, stunned.
Ethan's words were a subtle jab, and her anger flared hotter.
But before she could retort, Ethan's voice rose sharply, commanding attention.
"Just think about it!"
He thrust an arm skyward, his black hair catching the breeze, his presence electric, as if he stood on a grand stage.
His usually tranquil cobalt eyes rippled with intensity, like a calm sea revealing its stormy depths.
A fire surged in Ethan's chest.
It's time.
Time to awaken these young wizards, the new generation of Hogwarts!
Following the pull of his heart, Ethan's voice rang out, impassioned and unyielding:
"Labor is the most glorious thing!"
"In ancient times, if the Four Founders had only spoken grand words without action, Hogwarts wouldn't exist. You and I wouldn't be standing here, divided into our four houses!"
"But why is it that now, earning a living through honest work—through the sweat of your own hands—is mocked or even used as an excuse to degrade others by some wizards?!"
At these words, every eye turned to Malfoy and Pansy, sharp and scrutinizing. Whispers rippled through the crowd.
Pansy's heart raced. This isn't right! She was supposed to be the one mocking Ethan, not the other way around! How had she become the target?
Ethan didn't give her a moment to recover.
His voice, young but cold as steel, struck like a hammer:
"The reason is simple: their wealth wasn't earned through labor."
"During You-Know-Who's reign, we lost so much—sacrificed so much. And yet, what's become of those who should face justice?"
The air shifted.
Several Slytherins paled, their confidence faltering.
Some, sensing the tide turning against them, slipped quietly into the crowd, hoping to escape notice.
Crabbe and Goyle, clueless but uneasy, huddled together, their massive frames shrinking as if they could melt into the earth.
Pansy roared, her voice raw with desperation: "Shut up! Someone make him shut up!"
"Yes," Ethan cut in, his tone sharp and unrelenting. "That's exactly it. We can't know the truth because everyone who tried to speak out was silenced!"
"I'll say it plainly: their wealth was stolen from us!"
"Who among us isn't fighting to survive? Who can say their family's struggles are because of laziness?!"
In the crowd, Ron nodded fiercely, his eyes locked on Ethan, heart pounding with the fire of his words.
Exactly.
Why should those who betrayed them during You-Know-Who's time get to look down on them now?
Not just Ron—others felt it too.
The Gryffindors, in particular, glared at the Slytherins with burning intensity.
These were the people who'd cowered or worse, aided the enemy, during the darkest times. And now they dared to scorn the families who'd fought for justice?
Was that fair?!
The air crackled with tension, thick and volatile, as if a single word from Ethan could unleash a storm.
The crowd stood ready, poised to show these Slytherins the true strength of those who worked, fought, and persevered.
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