Marius Cloud's words rang through the Slytherin meeting room with an echo that seemed to shake the walls.
The Prefects sat in stunned silence. No one spoke. No one moved.
Which only made Marius's bold declaration all the more thunderous.
Every Prefect stared at him, expressions twitching, mouths twitching—emotions boiling just beneath the surface.
They didn't know how to respond.
Because they were all thinking the same thing:
They were furious.
All of them.
Utterly livid.
"Did he really just say that his strength alone was enough to surpass the entire Prefect Council?!"
Caesar's body trembled ever so slightly. His voice turned colder than frost. "You think you can stand above all of us... alone?"
His gaze toward Marius was no longer just disdainful—it was almost pitying.
Because in his mind, Marius was digging his own grave.
He had insulted the honor and dignity of every Prefect present.
This wasn't just arrogance—it was blasphemy.
Very well then.
If Marius wanted death, they would oblige.
The meeting that followed would go down as one of the shortest—and most explosive—in Slytherin history.
Within mere hours, the entire school had caught wind of the decision.
Maybe because the rumor had already begun spreading during Charms that morning, but this time, the news traveled faster than a howler through a quiet hall.
It was no longer just a Slytherin matter.
It had become a full-blown Hogwarts-wide sensation.
Even the professors—including Albus Dumbledore himself—were now fully aware.
The Slytherin Prefect Council had accepted Marius Cloud's challenge.
The duel was to take place the next day, on the field outside the castle.
One versus six.
One first-year, against all of Slytherin's full Prefects.
-----
"Professor Dumbledore, what is the meaning of this!?" Professor McGonagall stormed into the Headmaster's office that very evening, her tartan robes billowing with fury.
To her surprise, all four Heads of House were already present.
Snape, of course, looked stormier than usual. He clearly hadn't expected this farce to escalate to this scale.
This little lunatic...
"Minerva, please," Dumbledore said kindly, lacing his fingers together on the desk. "Let's not be hasty. It's still a matter between students."
He then turned toward Snape, voice gentle but probing. "Severus, do you have any thoughts on this?"
Snape took a long breath, his voice as venomous as ever. "In all the centuries of Slytherin tradition, there has never been a precedent for this. There is no protocol for dealing with such... reckless arrogance. That boy's pride—Cloud's pride—is beyond reason—"
"Your Slytherin traditions should be abolished!" Flitwick cut in with unexpected sharpness, his small stature bristling with anger. "If something happens to that boy, don't think I won't hold you personally responsible!"
"Professor Flitwick," Snape said coldly, "I hardly think the students of my House require the concern of the Ravenclaw Head."
"I agree with Filius," McGonagall said grimly. "Letting students maim each other for the sake of House politics is barbaric. This entire system should be banned."
"Enough, Minerva, Filius," Dumbledore raised his hand, calming the room. "This tradition—unwritten though it may be—was left behind by Salazar Slytherin himself. It has endured for over a thousand years. To forcibly strip it away now would only cause further resistance."
He paused in thought for several seconds.
"I will personally attend the duel tomorrow," Dumbledore said at last. "If anything begins to go wrong, I will intervene immediately."
"Oh, that poor child..." Professor Sprout murmured, already shaking her head. "Even if he survives... his reputation, his school life—he'll be ruined for the next seven years."
"She's right, Albus," McGonagall said earnestly. "What if you're too late? What if he dies out there? Hogwarts hasn't seen a fatal duel since that incident fifty years ago—"
"Minerva!"
Dumbledore's voice cracked like a whip.
McGonagall drew back, realizing what she'd just invoked. "Apologies. I'll... try not to bring that up again."
The Headmaster's face was unreadable, but it was clear: his mind was made up.
There was no stopping this now.
Flitwick was the only one still muttering. "Why is everyone so sure he'll lose? I saw his performance in Charms class today—his talent is extraordinary. He might even follow in my footsteps and become a Dueling Champion..."
McGonagall gave him a withering look.
"Fine, fine," Flitwick grumbled, throwing up his hands. "Regardless, he's still a child. I'll be at the duel tomorrow—with Dumbledore—to make sure things don't get out of hand."
No matter how much Flitwick favored Marius, even he couldn't delude himself into believing the boy had any real chance in a fight like this.
The outcome was as inevitable as the sun rising in the east.
There were no variables.
No surprises.
Only—
"…Maybe not."
The quiet voice came from Snape.
Everyone turned to look at him, startled.
But Snape said nothing more.
He didn't need to.
Because he had seen it.
He had watched Marius that night—when the boy had taken down three duel champions all at once, alone, without a scratch.
None of the others could understand it. None of them had witnessed that overwhelming strength.
At least not yet.
Snape believed that there might not be a single Prefect who could defeat Marius in a one-on-one duel.
But tomorrow?
Tomorrow would be six against one.
And reality was always crueler than theory.
-----
As for the students of Hogwarts?
They didn't care about tradition, danger, or responsibility.
All they knew was—
Tomorrow's duel was going to be one for the ages.
Seven years' worth of students were already buzzing like fireworks, unable to talk about anything else.
"Tch tch... there's going to be a real show tomorrow."
--------------
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