"Weasley!"
Malfoy's furious shout echoed through the Great Hall.
Heads turned as students craned to see what was going on.
Malfoy clutched a mechanical frog, squeezing it until it squeaked.
Ron, feeling a bit guilty, knew he was in the wrong. He didn't like Malfoy one bit, but the guy really hadn't deserved this.
Glancing at the mushroom slices and creamy white soup dripping from Malfoy's hair, Ron cleared his throat.
"Sorry, mate. My mechanical animal wasn't tuned right. Let me clean you up."
He pulled out his wand, ready to cast a spell to tidy Malfoy up.
"Weasley! Don't you dare point that filthy, worn-out wand at me!" Malfoy barked, freezing Ron mid-motion.
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Malfoy opened his palm, glaring at the slightly warped mechanical frog, and sneered.
"Well, well, when did the Weasleys get the Galleons for new magical gadgets?"
"What's this—another piece of junk cobbled together from some secondhand rubbish heap?"
"Honestly, you're a disgrace to wizarding families!"
With a crack, Malfoy hurled the frog to the floor, gears and parts exploding everywhere.
Ron's face turned as red as his hair, his chest heaving. Humiliated, he shakily raised his wand.
But a voice cut through, halting his impulse.
"First time I've heard of a Malfoy washing their hair with cream of mushroom soup."
Harry glanced at Malfoy's head, not bothering to hide his grin.
"Not exactly healthy, Malfoy. I'll send you some shampoo—my family's brand works wonders."
"Potter!"
Malfoy spun his fury toward Harry, who gave it right back, and the two started trading barbs.
The Weasley twins watched the spat between Harry and Malfoy with cold eyes.
Teasing Ron was all in good fun for them, but they wouldn't stand for an outsider bullying their little Ronnie.
Of course, they weren't about to stoop to beating up a scrawny kid like Malfoy—that'd be too low.
But the twins exchanged a knowing glance.
A harmless prank? That didn't count as bullying.
While everyone's attention was on Harry and Malfoy's shouting match, Lucien noticed Ron quietly picking up the scattered frog parts, gathering them in his hands.
With a flick of his wand, Lucien sent the remaining pieces flying to Ron's palm.
Ron looked at Lucien, his eyes slightly red.
"Thanks, Lucien."
Lucien tucked his wand away and said reassuringly, "Don't let his words get to you. Temporary glory and appearances are just surface stuff. A family's true strength lies in its values and knowledge."
Ron pressed his lips together and nodded firmly.
But it wasn't just Ron who heard Lucien's words.
"Grafton!"
Malfoy abruptly stopped his verbal sparring with Harry, turning to Lucien with a face dark as a storm.
"What gives you the right to judge noble pure-blood families?"
"You're nothing but a lowly Muggle-born!"
Malfoy's anger boiled over. He'd been doused in soup thanks to Ron, mocked by Harry, and now Lucien's words reminded him of the time Lucien had rejected him.
A Muggle-born wizard—how dare he turn down a pure-blood's favor, or speak on pure-blood honor!
"Malfoy!"
Harry whipped out his wand, refusing to let Malfoy insult his friend further.
Malfoy sneered, tilting his chin up.
"Did I say something wrong? Muggle-borns, no matter how hard they try, will always be beneath pure-blood achievements."
His words echoed, drawing scattered agreement from the crowd—mostly Slytherins, their smirks dripping with mockery as they eyed Lucien.
Slytherin had the most pure-bloods of any house, and their defining trait was ambition. They prided themselves on their lineage, looking down on mixed-bloods and especially Muggle-borns, whom they saw as the lowest of the low.
Lucien gazed calmly at Malfoy, not a trace of anger in his expression.
"How much power has your family's glory and bloodline actually given you to talk to me like that?"
Malfoy's head was clouded with rage, and he glared at Lucien fearlessly.
"How dare you question the Malfoy family!"
Lucien shook his head, his tone even.
"I'm not questioning your family. Your ancestors carried on their legacy their way, passing down their so-called glory to you."
"But can you carry that legacy? Are you even worthy of throwing around your family's honor?"
That pushed Malfoy over the edge. He yanked his wand from his robes.
"Grafton! I challenge you to a duel!"
"I'll make you regret disrespecting pure-blood honor, and you'll apologize for daring to insult me!"
Despite Malfoy's tantrum, Lucien gave a half-smile, almost amused.
A duel, just like that?
Such a childish tantrum.
When the skill gap was this wide, even the fiercest outburst just looked cute to the other side.
Before Lucien could respond, Harry piped up with a mocking tone.
"Lucien, don't bother. Malfoy's just a liar and a coward."
"Last time he challenged me to a duel in the Trophy Room, he didn't even show up!"
Harry was still sore about Malfoy tricking him into facing a three-headed dog.
He piled on, painting Malfoy as a no-show cheat and a spineless git.
Malfoy's pale face flushed red, his lips trembling with fury.
"Tomorrow, noon, right here!"
"I, Draco Malfoy, will duel Lucien Grafton in a wizard's duel!"
"I swear on the Malfoy family's honor—I won't back out!"
Malfoy's loud declaration stirred up quite a commotion, drawing more students to crowd around.
Even a few newly arrived professors turned their attention to the scene.
Lucien stood unfazed at the center of it all.
Announcing the time and place without even waiting for his reply?
Slytherins and their pure-blood nonsense were such a hassle.
Good thing he hadn't been sorted into Slytherin. Ravenclaw was definitely better for focusing on studies.
Fine. One good hit could shut this down and prevent future nonsense.
He'd come to Hogwarts to learn, not to waste time playing these silly power games with kids.
Lucien glanced at Malfoy's scrawny frame.
Right, the spell needed to be flashy and powerful but controlled. Couldn't exactly kill a classmate—that'd be a bigger headache.
A trip to the Hospital Wing for half a month should do it. Wouldn't even mess with his exams.
Sigh, he was too kind, still worrying about a classmate's grades.
"Troll—"
Professor Quirrell suddenly burst into the Great Hall, his purple turban askew.
He rushed to Dumbledore's side, shouting in a panic, "Troll—in the dungeons—I thought—you should know—"
Then, with a dramatic flop, Quirrell collapsed, out cold.
While the other students froze in confusion, Lucien quietly watched Quirrell's performance.
Fainting on cue? The man deserved an award.
[Ding! Loan triggered: Polymorphic Flesh Puppet]
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