Slytherin Girls' Dormitory.
Daphne sat at her desk, two sheets of parchment spread out before her.
Clutching her quill, she hesitated. She wanted to ask her mother in the letter:
What exactly is the nobility of pure-blood?
As the eldest daughter of the Greengrass family, she had been taught from a young age about the excellence and superiority of pure-bloods.
In her ingrained understanding, Muggle-born wizards were only slightly better than ordinary Muggles—no matter how hard they tried, they could only ever look up to pure-bloods.
But when Daphne thought of Lucien's unbelievable performance—his vast knowledge of magic, his mastery of silent casting, his unheard-of Transfiguration—her certainty wavered.
She had learned from Malfoy that Lucien came from a Muggle family.
Lately, Daphne's thoughts had been in turmoil. She couldn't understand how someone like him could reach such heights.
Gripping her quill more firmly, she began to write on the parchment:
"Dear Mother,
As you wished, I am doing very well at Hogwarts.
Recently, however, I've encountered a dilemma regarding pure-blood lineage........…"
The sound of writing paused for a moment. Daphne folded the letter, picked up another sheet of parchment, and began to write again:
"My dearest sister,
Astoria, how has your health been lately? Remember to take your medicine on time and listen to Mother.
Hogwarts is wonderful. You won't be disappointed when you come here.
There's so much magic to learn, Professors with all sorts of personalities, and many classmates, including a Ravenclaw......…"
…
Great Hall.
It was nearly noon.
The young wizards bustled about; today was Halloween.
The school would have a half-day holiday starting that afternoon. After enduring a long morning of classes, the students were completely free and full of excitement.
They seemed to have already forgotten the panic caused by the Troll invasion the night before, and the entire castle was filled with a festive atmosphere.
But, of course, there were exceptions.
For instance, Malfoy, who was pacing restlessly in a corner of the Great Hall.
He walked back and forth, wand in hand, making a few experimental gestures.
They had agreed the night before to duel at twelve o'clock today.
But…
Malfoy's mind kept replaying the image of that monster—the creature Lucien had casually conjured.
His already pale face grew even whiter.
He gripped his wand tightly, trying to stop his trembling hand.
"Malfoy, come on, teach that kid a lesson. Hah! A mere Mudblood wizard daring to duel a pure-blood? What a joke."
A tall, broad-shouldered boy passed by, speaking in a deep, rough voice.
Malfoy glanced at him. Marcus Flint, Slytherin's Quidditch Captain, from the Flint family—one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
Perhaps because Flint's appearance faintly resembled that of a Troll, Malfoy was reminded once again of what he had seen the night before.
That seemingly savage and powerful Troll had been effortlessly strangled by the horrifying creature Lucien had created.
The terrifying memory, magnified by fear, made Malfoy feel sick to his stomach.
"Ugh—"
He quickly covered his mouth with one hand, fighting the urge to vomit.
"Uh, are you alright? Feeling unwell?"
"Well, if you're sick, you can't play Quidditch. Even though you told me how much you love it, and how good you are at flying…"
Unwilling to listen to Marcus's simple-minded chatter any longer, Malfoy quickly made an excuse and left the corner, walking with his head down to sit at the edge of a long table.
He grabbed a glass of pumpkin juice and gulped several mouthfuls, finally managing to suppress the nausea caused by fear.
Setting the cup down, Malfoy looked up—and saw a few familiar faces sitting across from him.
Ron, with half a pumpkin pasty stuffed in his mouth, chewed as he stared at Malfoy in surprise.
Harry adjusted his glasses. Remembering Lucien's display of power the previous night and imagining how Malfoy might react in the duel, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Hermione, however, appeared perfectly calm. She merely gave Malfoy a brief glance before returning to her meal.
When Malfoy's gaze shifted, he saw the handsome young man smiling pleasantly at him.
Lucien chuckled softly. "Good afternoon," he mouthed.
!!! With a sharp whoosh, Malfoy practically leapt to his feet, knocking over the juice on the table.
Immediately after, Lucien watched as Malfoy turned and retreated in one swift motion.
The sight made Lucien shake his head slightly. Poor child—he must have been terrified last night.
Judging by the dark circles under Malfoy's eyes, he probably hadn't slept well either.
Hmm, better to end the duel quickly later, so the boy could get a good night's rest.
"Lucien, are you going to use that spell from yesterday?"
Ron swallowed the pumpkin pasty in his mouth and asked curiously.
Even though Lucien hadn't agreed to teach him that Transfiguration spell, Ron still wanted to see it again.
But Lucien shook his head.
"Forget it. Let's try something different—something with a more spectacular effect."
Preferably something like Dumbledore's Fiendfyre—something that would make the other students think twice before provoking him again.
He really just wanted a few peaceful years of study at Hogwarts. After all, wasn't school meant for learning?
As Malfoy tried to catch his breath in the farthest corner from the long table, two tall, burly figures spotted him and called out in delight:
"Oh, finally, Malfoy, there you are!"
"Crabbe? Goyle?"
Seeing his two cronies approach, Malfoy immediately straightened his back, lifted his chin, and acted as though nothing was wrong.
"What do you want with me?"
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged excited glances.
Goyle unfolded a strip of cloth he was holding, and the two each grabbed one end.
The moment Malfoy saw the words written on it, his vision went black, and he nearly fainted.
"Celebrating Malfoy's Great Victory — Vowing to Defend Pure-Blood Glory to the Death!"
Malfoy steadied himself with difficulty, his lips trembling.
"You—you… who told you to do this?"
Hearing that, Crabbe grinned, thinking they were about to be praised.
"Goyle wrote the words, and I came up with the idea, hehe. Are you satisfied?"
"It's a pity we can't draw; otherwise, we'd have added your family crest!"
Seeing his partner rush to take credit, Goyle looked displeased and loudly added,
"Hehe, I've already spread the word in Slytherin. After today's duel, your reputation and status will rise sky-high!"
"For such a small matter, just let me serve you, no thanks needed."
Those words pierced Malfoy's heart like a sharp blade.
He clutched his chest and collapsed to the ground.
Yes—he had already sworn on his family's honor yesterday, with many witnesses present. And now, even more people knew…
He couldn't escape the duel this time like he had tricked Potter before.
This time, he had to fight.
But—but…
Once again, those eerie compound eyes appeared in Malfoy's mind, making his head pound and his stomach twist.
Dong—~~~~~~~~
The clock struck twelve.
The chime echoed through the Great Hall.
The sound snapped Malfoy back to reality, and he vaguely realized that Crabbe had already helped him to his feet.
Goyle had just pulled out Malfoy's wand and shoved it into his hand.
"Go, Malfoy! Teach that git a lesson!"
After the two cronies offered their enthusiastic encouragement, they escorted him toward the center of the Great Hall.
The students had already cleared a wide path.
At the other end stood a young man whose dark golden hair gleamed faintly in the sunlight. A polite, composed smile rested on his handsome face, and his dark green eyes were fixed on Malfoy.
The young man held his wand to his chest and said softly, "Are you ready?"
__________
11 Advance Chaps- P@treon/DarkDevil1