🧍The Whisper of Pride
Hogwarts at night was a strange place — quiet, yes, but never truly still. Walls whispered. Staircases sighed. And sometimes, in the hush between two clock ticks, even the castle seemed to feel.
That night, Aarav wandered the halls alone.
He wasn't angry, or scared. But there was a knot in his chest — something unfamiliar.
Earlier that day, Malfoy had challenged him to a duel. And not the fun, dramatic kind — this one came from bitterness.
> "Midnight. Trophy Room. Don't be a coward," Draco had said, face red with embarrassment after Aarav effortlessly transformed his petty jinx into flowers and applause.
Aarav hadn't meant to show off.
But he had.
And now — he wasn't sure what to do.
---
☕ In the Common Room
Back in Gryffindor Tower, the common room glowed with firelight and leftover laughter.
Ron was asleep, face-first in a chessboard. Harry snored softly nearby, curled under a blanket.
Only Hermione sat awake, quietly reading.
Aarav walked over, pulled up a chair, and poured himself a cup of chai from thin air. He took a sip and winced.
"Too sweet," he mumbled.
"Everything okay?" Hermione asked, not looking up from her book.
Aarav paused. Then sighed.
"I didn't come here to fight anyone, Hermione. I came to… I don't know… live a little. Experience. Heal. Be human for once."
She finally looked up, expression soft.
"That's what most people are trying to do, you know. But we mess it up sometimes — with pride, fear, insecurity."
Aarav looked into his chai. "I could end the duel in one breath. But maybe… the harder path is showing someone like Malfoy that he doesn't need to fight at all."
Hermione smiled. "Then maybe that's exactly what you're meant to do."
---
🏛️ The Trophy Room
Aarav arrived just before midnight.
The Trophy Room was cold and silver-lit. Dust shimmered in moonbeams. Every object told a story — of victory, of loss, of names both forgotten and worshipped.
Draco was already there, pacing. He had his wand clenched tightly, but his hands trembled.
Crabbe and Goyle flanked him, pretending to be brave. But they looked nervous. Like boys in a world too sharp for their understanding.
"Thought you'd run away," Draco spat.
Aarav shook his head. "I don't run. But I also don't throw sparks just because someone's angry."
Draco raised his wand.
Aarav didn't.
---
⚡ The Moment
"Expelliarmus!"
The spell burst forward, red and hot.
Aarav didn't dodge. Didn't block.
Instead, he took a single breath — and the spell stopped midair.
But not violently.
It just… softened. Melted into golden dust.
Aarav closed his eyes. The dust danced around him, harmless. Gentle.
"Try again," he said quietly.
Draco's next spell was louder. Angrier. Stupefy!
This time, Aarav simply stepped forward. The spell passed through him — like a breeze through tall grass — and fizzled into warmth.
He stood there, arms at his side.
"No tricks," he said. "Just talk."
Draco's wand wavered. His breath hitched.
> "Why won't you fight me?"
---
💬 The Truth Beneath
Aarav looked at him. Really looked.
And for the first time, saw not a rival.
But a boy.
> A boy who grew up trying to earn love through pride.
A boy afraid of not being special.
A boy who wanted to be seen — not just for his name, but for his hurt.
"I'm not here to humiliate you," Aarav said softly. "I'm not better than you. Just… different."
Draco's mouth opened. Then closed.
And slowly, his wand lowered.
"You made me look like a joke," he muttered. "Earlier, in the Hall."
"I didn't mean to. I just… acted. And maybe that was careless."
That stunned him.
Aarav — this strange, powerful boy from another world — just apologized.
---
☕ The Most Unexpected Ending
Aarav reached into his sleeve and pulled out four small cups of warm milk — cinnamon, cardamom, a hint of honey. Comfort in liquid form.
He held one out.
"Sit. Please. Just for a while."
Draco stared at it. Then, after a long pause, he sat.
Crabbe and Goyle followed, unsure why, but somehow certain they should.
For a few minutes, no one spoke. The silence was… healing.
"Do you miss your family?" Draco asked suddenly.
Aarav blinked, surprised. Then nodded.
"Yeah. Every day."
He didn't say more. He didn't need to.
That one sentence — human, soft, unguarded — was enough.
---
🌌 After
The four of them sat until the moon dipped below the windowsill.
Then, quietly, Draco stood. Handed back the empty cup.
"We're not friends," he said. "Not yet."
Aarav nodded. "That's okay. Sometimes peace is enough."
Draco didn't respond. But when he left, he walked slower. Shoulders less tense. Wand holstered.
And for the first time in a long while, he wasn't looking for someone to fight.
---
🌠 Aarav's Reflection
Later, alone again in the Trophy Room, Aarav stood before an old case displaying a broken wand and a faded Quidditch medal.
He thought of the many battles he'd won in his life — with weapons, with spells, with divine fire.
But tonight's battle?
> It was won with listening. With kindness. With chai and silence and letting someone feel… human.
And that, he realized, was far rarer than any divine war.
He smiled to himself and whispered, "That's enough for tonight."