"Merlin's beard, justice really is served!"
Ron couldn't help blurting out his joy, the smug grin spreading across his face.
Hermione shot him a glare so sharp it could have flayed skin. Even Harry looked at him with disappointment.
"I'm going to ask him face to face what he's thinking!"
Hermione stood up abruptly, clearly about to rush out the door. Impulsive? Absolutely. For all her brains, she fit Gryffindor more than Ravenclaw in moments like this.
"Hold up, don't be rash!"
"Rashness is the devil's business!"
Fred and George Weasley—Hogwarts' very own comedy duo—jumped in to block her path with synchronized flair.
"It's nighttime."
"He's not in a classroom."
"You're in Gryffindor."
"He's in Slytherin."
"You can't enter the Slytherin common room."
"So yeah, not gonna happen."
Hermione rolled her eyes, clearly fed up with the twins' little performance routine. She bit her lip in frustration.
"Then tomorrow... tomorrow I'll go to that dueling ground and find him there!"
-----
The highly anticipated next morning arrived.
At the break of dawn, Hogwarts' ancient castle grounds were already swarmed by a restless tide of chattering students.
The crowd today outshone even the rowdiest Quidditch Cup finals. After all, Quidditch happened every year—
this duel was a once-in-a-millennium event.
All seven central figures stood ready on the field.
Up front among the spectators stood Professors Snape, Dumbledore, and other faculty members, all with expressions ranging from tight concern to grim apprehension. Their eyes locked onto Marius Cloud and the six Slytherin Prefects, the tension thickening with every passing breath.
Hermione's heart pounded like a drum in her chest.
Barry, Joseph, and Bunier clenched their fists in silent regret—each one wishing they'd fought harder to stand beside their boss today.
The noisy chatter slowly died down as tension spread like fog. In the shadows of the ancient stone castle, hundreds of students stared toward the center of the grounds.
There stood Marius Cloud, bathed in golden morning light, alone.
On the other side: six seasoned Prefects, eyes burning with battlelust.
The sight sparked something inside many students—a stirring sense of awe, of witnessing something greater. Words like lone warrior, heroic figure, whispered in hearts, if not on lips.
No matter what they'd thought about Marius being out of his depth, now that they were seeing this scene with their own eyes…
They couldn't help but feel something stirring inside.
-----
"Got any last words before we start?"
Marius casually rolled his wrists like a seasoned brawler ready for a bar fight—not the poised etiquette expected of a dueling wizard.
The six Prefects' faces darkened.
Seriously? You pre-emptively called anything we might say "useless chatter"?
Before they could retort, Dumbledore unexpectedly spoke.
"You're sure about this? In battle, anything can happen. I may not react in time to save you. And your opponents won't be pulling punches, either. A clean hit could be more than just a few weeks in the Hospital Wing."
"If they do hold back, that'd be troublesome," Marius replied with a grin. "If they lose while going easy, they might come whining for rematches every other week."
Dumbledore fell silent. Across from Marius, the six Prefects chuckled in disbelief.
Seriously, Marius? Already speaking as if your victory is a foregone conclusion?
Still, none of them argued. Why waste words when you could win with spells?
Besides, who wanted to end up like Samuel yesterday, humiliated by Marius' savage tongue before the duel even started?
-----
"Good luck, Marius!"
Only Hermione's voice rang out from the crowd, her cheer sounding lonely and far too thin for such a huge moment.
Harry hesitated but stayed quiet.
Pansy clenched her fists in silence. As much as she worried, her family's manners stopped her from shouting anything unseemly.
Both sides took a deep breath. The Prefects lifted their wands in formal salute.
Marius responded in kind, slowly drawing his wand from his sleeve.
It gleamed white in the morning sun, and the powerful magic it radiated was so potent, Marius could almost hear the roar of a dragon. His wand—the extension of his soul—was thrilled.
Six wands now pointed at him, ready to strike. Marius stood, solitary but unmoved.
The air crackled.
To the students watching, this wasn't a duel—it was a storm brewing.
They held their breath. Could there really be a twist to this? Would a lone student possibly hold his ground against six seasoned warriors?
On paper, just the combined force of six spells should have overwhelmed anyone.
But the moment they saw Marius stand there… calm, collected, sure—
Some of them doubted.
He didn't look like a man gambling on luck.
He looked like someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
Only a few seconds passed. But to the crowd, it felt like an eternity.
Then—Marius struck first.
-----
Outnumbered, outmatched—he had to make the first move.
But what stunned every single person present…
was the spell he used.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The words echoed like a bomb.
His wand pointed straight at Pauline Fudge—the most timid of the Six Prefects.
It was no accident. He'd chosen her for a reason: weakest in body, mind, and magic.
The moment she heard those forbidden words, her mind blanked out.
She froze.
Didn't raise her wand.
Didn't move.
Didn't even scream.
Because in her worst nightmares, she had never imagined someone would dare use the Killing Curse in front of the entire school—
with Dumbledore right there!
And yet—Marius Cloud had done exactly that.
The flash of green light struck her squarely in the chest. Pauline crumpled to the ground without a sound, limp and lifeless.
The crowd screamed.
Chaos erupted.
And so, with the most forbidden of all spells, Marius Cloud declared war on the entire system.
--------------
T/N:
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