The duel‑hall froze for half a second, and then the place exploded.
Everyone's eyes—Snape's included—were fixed on the teenager calmly standing in the center of three toppled Shadow Prefects. A first‑year had just laid out second‑, third‑ and fourth‑year duel champions in half a minute, and not a single person had truly seen how he'd done it.
Even Pansy's worshipful gaze faltered for a moment, replaced by outright worry.
"In Merlin's name… what kind of lunatic challenges the entire senior tier on day one?"
A Pure‑Blood Punch?
Snape alone had sensed what might be going on—yet even he was reluctant to believe it.
A pure‑blood wizard… using his fists? And winning? Preposterous!
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Seeing the second‑year Brunel flattened, Joseph (Year 3) and Barry (Year 4) hurled spells in tandem. Two crimson streaks tore through the air toward Marius Cloud.
"Excellent form," Snape drawled, drifting to the rear of the hall. "Splendid aggression—"
By now Joseph and Barry were trading every hex they knew. Older students winced; half those spells could floor a fifth‑year if they hit squarely.
But Marius merely flicked his white‑oak wand. Every curse was parried, ricocheting away into walls, floor, furniture— and, more often than not, directly into the crowd of jeering upper‑years who'd been cheering Joseph and Barry on.
"Watch your aim!" Snape barked as he rushed from victim to victim, counter‑cursing stunned bodies. Sweat beaded on the professor's forehead. Marius, of course, just offered an innocent smile:
"Apologies, Professor. I'll try to be more careful."
That only made Snape glower harder.
Barry snapped. "Enough of this! Petrify him!"
Bolts of bright light turned the hall into a lightning storm. Students could barely keep up—yet none of those curses so much as brushed Marius. It dawned on the onlookers that he was angling every single reflection.
"Look—every stray spell is nailing the kids who were taunting him earlier!"
"Is he guiding the ricochets? That's mad!"
Joseph roared, launching a point‑blank Stunning Spell.
Marius's lips barely moved: "Mental Pulse."
To the spectators, nothing happened—then Joseph crumpled, eyes rolling back. The third‑year slammed face‑first to the stone floor, out cold. Gasps ricocheted around the hall.
Not one person had seen Marius cast. They hadn't even heard a syllable.
Barry's face drained of color. Still, pride forced him forward.
"For the honor of my family—come at me head‑on!"
Exactly what I hoped for, Marius thought.
Barry thrust his wand. "REDUCTO!"
A molten crimson beam—far deadlier than any school duel should allow—screamed across the ring.
"IDIOT—STAND DOWN!" Snape shrieked. He'd explicitly forbidden lethal spells; Barry had just crossed the line. The professor's wand flashed up to interfere.
But Marius was faster.
He swung his wand like a rapier—ping!—and the Reductor Curse rebounded, arcing harmlessly over the crowd. Snape froze mid‑stride, half horrified, half awed that a first‑year had just batted away a senior's kill‑shot.
Barry gaped. That moment of shock was all Marius needed. A sidestep—a hooked wrist—and Barry felt his own spell slam into the floor beside him, shattering stone. Before he could recover, Marius's left fist drove into his stomach—follow‑up borrowed directly from SAS close‑quarters drills.
The fourth‑year folded over with a wheeze and pitched off the platform.
Silence… Then Pandemonium
For several heartbeats, the Slytherin common room was tomb‑silent.
Then the noise erupted—shouts, cheers, screams, the ring of Galleons hitting flagstones as students frantically recalculated wagers. Even students who'd bet against Marius were screaming in disbelief.
Pansy looked ready to swoon— equal parts admiration and something dangerously close to adoration.
Snape's jaw worked soundlessly. He loathed admitting it, but the boy had neutralized lethal magic with a casual parry—something a seventh‑year would sweat to replicate.
Marius dusted off his sleeves, eyes sweeping the room. "Gentlemen," he said mildly, "I believe that concludes our little test. Any objections?"
Not a soul answered.
He turned—just in time to catch Snape trying to compose his scowl into something resembling professional calm.
"That should settle the Shadow Prefect business, Professor."
A pause, then a wicked half‑smile. "Unless you fancy a demonstration as well?"
Snape's nostrils flared. "Cloud, fifty points from Slytherin for your—appalling—show of… sportsmanship."
Marius only chuckled. "Deduct and be happy, sir. Slytherin will earn them back by breakfast."
Aftermath
Students swarmed around their new first‑year champion, half‑awed, half‑terrified— and entirely unwilling to stand in his way ever again.
"That," Pansy whispered, slipping to Marius's side, "was magnificent."
He winked. "Only doing my absolute best."
In the corner, Snape massaged his temples. Never— not once in his tenure—had the House of Snakes been thrown into such chaos on the first night.
This year, he thought darkly, is going to be a nightmare.
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