"Help Harry? You? The only reason you even made it onto the Slytherin Quidditch team was because your family paid your way in—what makes you think you can help Harry?" Ron suddenly sneered loudly.
This time, even Harry looked at Ron with clear displeasure.
"Hey, Ron, that's just your assumption, isn't it…"
Before Harry could finish, the entire Slytherin side erupted in fury.
"How dare you insult Mr. Cloud like that!"
"Showing such disrespect—you must have a death wish, Weasel-shit!"
"What do you know? With Mr. Cloud's strength, do you really think he'd need money to join the team?"
Marius Cloud's face darkened immediately.
Whatever Ron Weasley might grow into in the future, the boy standing before him now was undeniably stupid.
Something he had maliciously speculated in his head—Ron had blurted it out in public, in front of everyone, as if it were unquestionable fact, and even had the gall to accuse Marius with a self-righteous expression.
"Marius Cloud would never do something like that!" Hermione finally burst out.
Just moments earlier, when they were surrounded by so many people, she had felt too embarrassed to show any closeness to Marius. But now, with Ron slandering him so viciously, Hermione could no longer hold back.
"What am I wrong about?" Ron roared back, veins bulging on his neck. "So Cloud's good in duels—so what? That doesn't mean he's any good at Quidditch!"
"Which means there has to be something shady going on! You're all being fooled by his appearance!"
Deep down, Ron simply couldn't accept it.
The truth was unbearable: a boy his age, yet surpassing him in family background, in talent, in strength. Even Harry—the friend Ron most relied on—was slowly being drawn to Cloud's side.
The Slytherins' fury only mounted higher, nearly spilling over into chaos.
"Don't you dare insult Mr. Cloud!"
"Apologize to him this instant!"
The Gryffindors nearby were thrown off by the sudden uproar. But when they saw the Slytherins all draw their wands, their instincts took over—they raised their own wands in response.
The atmosphere grew dangerously tense, and the two sides stood on the brink of exploding.
"Just a bunch of pathetic Gryffindors—who gave you the right to slander Mr. Cloud?"
"What 'Marius Cloud'? He's only a first-year! How good could he possibly be on a broom?"
"Mr. Cloud rode a broomstick straight to Hogwarts on the very first day of school!" a Slytherin shouted back.
"Utterly ridiculous! If broom-riding were all it took to get onto the Quidditch team, the roster would've been full ages ago!"
The two groups of young wizards hurled insults back and forth, wands still pointed across the divide. Tension rose by the second, threatening to snap.
Seizing the moment, a Slytherin boy darted forward and, instead of hexing, threw a fist straight into Ron's face.
Caught completely off guard, Ron staggered back, blood spurting from his nose.
Furious, he roared and swung his own fist back at his attacker.
The Gryffindors, fired up by Ron's retaliation, pushed forward as well, ready to trade blows.
Just as the brawl was about to erupt, Marius's cold voice rang out like thunder.
"STOP—ALL OF YOU!"
His words carried more than authority.
Laced within them was the subtle force of Psychic Pulse, his mental energy searing through every student's mind.
Though not loud, his command echoed like a tolling bell inside each skull.
The first time Marius had used this trick was back at Riven's Bookstore. Once again, the results were undeniable.
At the very least, both Gryffindor and Slytherin froze, their steps halting involuntarily.
"You are all members of Slytherin House," Marius snapped. "Remember to carry yourselves with grace and dignity. Do not bring shame to your House with childish brawling!"
He then turned his sharp gaze on the Gryffindors, sending a chill through their hearts.
"And look at you lot! A bunch of wizards, yet what do you do? Throw punches like Muggles? Have you no shame at all?"
The Gryffindors stared in disbelief.
Wait… who was it yesterday who used nothing but his fists to knock out a Seventh-Year Prefect and flatten a Fifth-Year Prefect too?
That was you, Marius Cloud!
And now you're telling us that fistfighting is beneath us!?
The Slytherins lowered their heads as if chastised. But before long, Marius added coldly:
"If you're going to fight, then do it properly. Aim for the vital joints, the weak spots—only then will your opponent be left wailing like a child. Do I make myself clear?"
The students nearly choked on their own laughter.
So that's what you meant by 'don't use basic brawling'—not that fighting itself was wrong, but that their technique was terrible!
The Gryffindors were left speechless, half crying, half laughing.
That was Marius Cloud for you. Some things would never change.
The Slytherins, on the other hand, burst into laughter and shouted in unison:
"Understood, Senior Cloud!"
Finally satisfied, Marius nodded. "Good. Now scatter—before the professors arrive."
The crowd dispersed in twos and threes, each heading back to their own business, until only Ron was left standing alone, clutching his bloody nose, looking utterly humiliated.
Damn it! I got punched for nothing!
At that moment, Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, came rushing toward them.
"What's going on here? What happened just now?"
From a distance, on her way over, she had clearly seen Slytherins and Gryffindors ready to clash, wands and fists alike.
The sight had terrified her—it had looked as if a full-on fight was seconds away.
But when she finally arrived, the tension had mysteriously evaporated.
Completely bewildered, Madam Hooch blinked in confusion.
Hermione leaned close and whispered softly, "Professor, it's all right now. Cloud stepped in and stopped everyone."
"Oh really?" Madam Hooch turned to Marius with a kind smile. "Well then—thank you, child. Very well, since it seems everything's under control, welcome to your very first flying lesson!"
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T/N:
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