"Did it really have to come to a duel, Azrael?" Hermione asked, her voice tinged with sorrow as she glanced between Harry and Ron, facing off in the Duelling Club arena. The warmth they'd shared just a day ago was gone, replaced by a simmering anger that threatened to erupt.
"They crossed a line, saying things they shouldn't have," Azrael replied wearily. "It couldn't go on."
Harry had nearly brought up the Weasleys' lawbreaking, while Ron had almost called Harry's friendship with Draco absurd.
"But a duel? It's barbaric," Hermione protested.
"We had to bring them here, in public," Azrael said, exhaustion etching his face. "They're not stupid enough to air their beliefs in front of everyone. With seniors around, someone will step in if they get out of hand."
"So, you're just passing the buck?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Delegating what you can't handle is standard in business," Azrael said with a shrug. "My dad's motto. I'm feeling it now—didn't expect their heads to be this hard."
He glanced at Ron, then Harry. The Weasleys' stance against Muggle prejudice was well-known, but Harry's stubborn refusal to renounce his Muggle dislike caught Azrael off guard.
"Purebloodism, Muggle protection—it's all just adult posturing for profit, a tool," Azrael said. "Losing friends over it is idiotic."
"Are you a pureblood supremacist like Farkas?" Hermione asked pointedly.
"It's just family policy," Azrael said, shrugging again. "I don't buy it."
Without Slytherins around, he seemed no different from a Gryffindor. But Hermione's thoughts drifted to Elai Brown. Even if Azrael saw her and Ron as friends, the idea of being judged behind her back soured her mood.
"I wouldn't have invited you two to parties if I meant it," Azrael added, oblivious to her unease. "I lied to my parents, said you're a half-blood and Ron's a Weasley who doesn't care about Muggle protection."
"You lied to your parents?!" Hermione exclaimed, stunned by his duplicity.
He's never hurt me, but is he even trustworthy? she thought.
"I figured they wouldn't find out," Azrael said, ruffling his blond hair. "Sure, prejudice exists in our world, but I just wanted you two to see the fun parts, not that nonsense."
Hermione's feelings were mixed. She understood Azrael couldn't openly defy his pureblood family, and he was doing what he could within those constraints. But emotionally, it stung to know her parents were erased in his lies. And then there was another question.
"What's the difference between me and Colin in your pureblood world?" she asked.
To Hermione, purebloodism's exclusionary marriage customs were archaic and irrational, as was the disdain for Muggle-borns like her and Colin.
Rejecting new ideas only leads to stagnation, she thought.
Azrael averted his gaze. Even when he'd followed purebloodism, he'd found it stifling. Hermione's words pressed harder.
"Being looked down on for being Muggle-born—it's the same for me and Colin," she said. "I know you didn't hate him for that, but still."
Her gaze weighed on Azrael, guilt crushing him.
I was naive, he realized. I should've known Hermione couldn't just accept being spared while others like Colin suffered.
He'd underestimated the pain of prejudice, treating it lightly as he mimicked adult cunning. He should've seen how deeply it cut.
"If that's how it was, I couldn't stay friends with you all," Hermione said softly.
"I swear it's not," Azrael said earnestly. "We didn't hate Colin for being Muggle-born. We tried to be kind to him, Farkas too."
"But Slytherin's got that culture," he admitted. "I play along when I need to."
Hermione and Ron shone brightly to him, unwavering in their principles. He couldn't act with their conviction, forced to belittle Hermione in front of pureblood peers to protect himself and his friends.
"Not everyone can just change their beliefs like that," Hermione said. "Most people can't."
"You're right," Azrael admitted, watching the duel unfold, humbled by his own privilege and folly.
The duel's referee was Banarge Vist, a fifth-year Hufflepuff prefect. He welcomed Farkas warmly and found Harry and Ron's presence amusing, free of Slytherin bias and unconvinced Harry had petrified Colin.
"A duel to test your skills? Nice," Banarge said, grinning. "We've been short on spirited rookies. Welcome, Farkas's friends."
He approved a practice duel, but the crowd—led by Gryffindor's Lee Jordan—treated it like a spectacle. Some whispered about Harry and Colin's petrification.
"Potter versus Weasley? This'll be good!" Lee shouted. "Who're we betting on? I'm putting five Sickles on Weasley!"
"Three Sickles and four Knuts on Potter!" another called.
"Five Sickles on Weasley! Gotta go for the long shot!" a third added.
"Jordan! Lichty! Chris!" Banarge barked. "No betting! Expelliarmus!"
"Wait, it was just a joke—" Lee protested as Banarge confiscated and returned the coins, striding back to the arena's center.
Harry, on the right, locked eyes with Ron's fiery red hair across the arena.
"The duel begins," Banarge announced. "Harry Potter's second is Farkas Sadalfas. Ron Weasley's is Blaise Zabini. I, Banarge Vist, will judge. Understood?"
Zabini had volunteered as Ron's second, surprising the crowd. A Slytherin backing a Gryffindor was unheard of.
With a wave of Banarge's wand, red flames—harmless but vivid—encircled the arena, resonating with Ron's hair. "These flames are an illusion," Banarge said. "Club rules: cross the line, lose your wand, or lose fighting ability, and you're out. Clear?"
"Yes," Harry and Ron said in unison.
"One more thing," Banarge added. "Injuries that linger are an automatic forfeit. Got it?"
As the duel loomed, Harry's anger surged. He's never lived with Muggles, so how can he say their prejudice is wrong?
Ron's dismissal of Harry's pain—calling it bad luck—felt like a betrayal. As friends, Harry needed Ron to understand. He wanted to win and say, Live with the Dursleys for a day. You'd hate Muggles too.
Ron glared back, his gaze unflinching.
They're supposed to be close, Banarge thought, sensing the hostility. I might need to step in.
"Face each other with respect and test your skills!" Banarge called. "Bow! Begin!"
Harry backstepped right, casting his strongest spell. "Expelliarmus…"
Disarming Ron quickly was his best shot. He retreated to the spell's maximum range, aiming to end it fast.
In beginner duels, combatants typically traded light spells before escalating, a courtesy. But Harry had no patience for that. Neutralizing Ron swiftly was his only goal. And he was right to act.
Before Harry finished, Ron's wand flicked faster, unleashing a silent green flash that struck Harry's face.
Ron's mind burned red with fury, fixated on Harry as the duel began.
Idiot.
Learning Harry and Farkas held prejudiced views shocked him. Raised in the Weasley family, Ron never saw himself as superior for his pureblood status. With exceptional older brothers, he'd always felt like an afterthought.
Even so, Ron knew judging Muggles for being Muggles was wrong. We've all got Muggle blood somewhere! The Weasleys, Harry—his mother's parents were Muggles. Harry's prejudice felt like self-denial, unthinkable for a friend.
I can't let my friends fall into that stupid, harmful mindset.
Purebloodism only hurt people—self and others. Though Ron didn't consciously carry his family's grudge against pureblood supremacists who'd killed relatives, it shaped him. Beyond anger, he couldn't stand by while friends veered toward folly. Unknowingly, he embodied Godric Gryffindor standing against Salazar Slytherin's excesses.
Knowing Harry's strength from past mock duels, Ron stood firm, aiming to cast his fastest, strongest spell to end it quickly.
"Expelliarmus…" Harry began, but the green flash hit first.
"Harry! Are you okay?" Farkas shouted.
Ron didn't press the attack. Harry tried again. "Expelliarm—?!"
Nausea overwhelmed him. Collapsing, he vomited—not lunch, but writhing, massive slugs spilling from his mouth.
"Match over! Winner, Ron Weasley!" Banarge declared.
"Yes! Knuts in the bag!" Lee Jordan cheered as the crowd roared.
Azrael, relieved, looked at Ron. Thank you, Ron.
Beating Harry—master of Expelliarmus with sharp reflexes—was no small feat. Azrael doubted even Hermione could've done it. Ron's victory ended the clash before it spiraled further.
Banarge lifted Harry, vanishing the slugs with a spell and curing him with a counter-charm. Harry, teary-eyed, thanked him.
"Weasley, blocking a spell's incantation was smart," Banarge said. "You've practiced silent casting?"
"Uh, no," Ron stammered. "I just thought it was my only shot and went for it…"
Unconsciously? Silent Transfiguration? Banarge stared at Ron's wand—worn ash with unicorn hair, a Vist family staple.
An old hand-me-down, Banarge noted. Loyal to its first owner, not him. And he still pulled off a silent spell?
Ash and unicorn wands were fiercely loyal to their original owners, underperforming for others. Knowing the Weasleys' poverty, Banarge felt sympathy. With proper training, this kid could shine.
Banarge, a fifth-year leading the club over sixth- and seventh-years, was chosen for his knowledge and impartiality. His judgment proved right—Ron gained confidence from the praise.
"Practice that spell's feel, Weasley," Banarge said. "Keep at it, and you'll be a great wizard."
To Harry, he smiled. "Retreating to cast was smart, and Expelliarmus was a good choice. Work on casting instinctively, watch your opponent's eyes and wand. Your strategy's solid—just practice."
He eyed Harry's wand—holly with phoenix feather. Holly for luck, but phoenix feather? Rare. It favors emotional, unstable types.
Harry's volatile nature matched the wand. Promising, but he needs caution. Basic charms and hexes first—curses can wait.
Banarge's approach echoed Sirius Black's, prioritizing Harry's growth over reckless power.
Harry, unaware, burned with frustration. Lost again. First Draco, now Ron. What am I missing?
The fair duel left him thoroughly defeated. Per their agreement, Harry's loss meant renouncing his Muggle prejudice, while a win would've forced Ron to reconsider his Muggle support. Harry had lost.
"Fine fight," Banarge said. "Face each other, honor your opponent, and bow!"
Harry bowed cleanly, as Azrael had taught. His resentment toward Muggles churned, but he had to honor the deal—for himself.
Afterward, he shook Ron's hand, muttering, "You were right."
Relief washed over Ron. "So, you'll drop that nonsense—"
"I'll give you a month," Harry interrupted. "We duel again. If I win, we're even, and I don't have to change."
I'll keep the promise… for now, Harry thought, his competitive streak refusing defeat.
Ron gaped, then exploded. "You haven't learned a thing!"
"Give it up, Ron," Zabini said, grinning as he slung an arm around him. "Harry's a sore loser."
"What's that, you lot? Betting again?" Banarge called.
"No, Banarge-senpai, nothing!" Hermione said, beaming.
Harry and Ron might bicker more now, but their bond felt closer, like true rivals. "Harry lost, but we're back to normal," Hermione said.
"Guess so," Azrael said. "If Harry goes off the rails, Ron'll stop him."
"What do you all take me for?!" Ron snapped.
Azrael had dumped the responsibility on Ron. From then on, the six frequented the Duelling Club, their Magical Inquiry Club activities overlapping. Their spellwork improved rapidly in the process.
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