In the Slytherin girls' dormitory, Daphne sat at her desk with two sheets of letter paper spread before her. Gripping her quill, Daphne was conflicted. She wanted to ask her mother: What exactly was pure-blood nobility?
As the eldest daughter of the Greengrass family, she'd been taught from childhood about pure-blood excellence, pure-blood superiority. In the worldview instilled in her, Muggle-born wizards were only slightly better than Muggles, who couldn't use magic, but no matter how hard they tried, they could only look up to pure-blood wizards.
But Daphne thought of Leonardo's incredible abilities—various magical knowledge he seemed to just know, silent spell techniques, transfiguration she'd never seen before. She'd learned from Malfoy that Leo came from a Muggle family.
So Daphne's mood had been complicated lately. She didn't understand how Leonardo could reach that level.
Daphne gripped her quill tightly, beginning to write:
"Dear Mother: As you wished, I'm doing very well at Hogwarts. I recently encountered a confusion: pure-blood, wizard bloodlines..."
The scratching sound paused. Daphne folded the letter, took another sheet, and continued writing:
"My dearest sister, Astoria, how is your health recently? Take your medicine on time and listen to Mother. Hogwarts is very interesting. When you come here, you definitely won't be disappointed. There's so much magic to learn here, professors with distinctive styles, many classmates, among them a Ravenclaw..."
In the Great Hall, it was now approaching noon, twelve o'clock. Young wizards crowded together—today was Halloween after all. The school would have a half-day holiday starting in the afternoon. After enduring classes all morning, the children were completely free and joyful.
They seemed to have already forgotten last night's panic from the troll invasion. The entire campus buzzed with celebration.
But there were always exceptions. Like Malfoy, hiding in the Great Hall's corner. He paced constantly, wand in hand, making a few practice gestures.
Last night they'd agreed: today at twelve o'clock he'd duel with Leo. But Malfoy's mind kept showing him that monster—that monster Leo had casually created. His already pale face whitened another shade.
Gripping his wand tightly, Malfoy finally stopped trembling.
"Malfoy, go for it! Teach that kid a lesson. A mere Muggle-born wizard dueling with pure-blood—what a joke."
A tall, burly boy passed by Malfoy, speaking in a rough voice. Malfoy glanced at him—Marcus Flint, Slytherin's Quidditch captain, from the Flint family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
Perhaps because this guy somewhat resembled a troll, Malfoy recalled last night's scene again. That savage, powerful-looking troll had been easily strangled by the terrifying creature Leo created.
The already frightening scene, magnified by fear, made Malfoy even more uncomfortable now.
"Ugh—"
Malfoy covered his mouth, hiding his dry heaving.
"Um, are you okay? Not feeling well? Poor health won't let you play Quidditch. Even though you've told me how much you love Quidditch, how good you are at flying..."
Having no patience for Marcus's rambling, Malfoy excused himself and left, head down, walking to sit at a long table's edge.
Grabbing a glass of juice and gulping several mouthfuls, he finally suppressed the nausea. Putting down the glass, Malfoy looked up and saw several "familiar faces" opposite.
Ron had half a pumpkin pasty stuffed in his mouth, chewing while looking at Malfoy with surprise. Harry pushed his glasses. Thinking of Leo's abilities yesterday and Malfoy's upcoming duel, Harry's mouth curved upward. Hermione's response was normal—just glancing at Malfoy before continuing to eat.
When Malfoy's gaze shifted, he saw the handsome youth showing him a kind smile. Leonardo said softly, "Good afternoon."
Malfoy practically jumped up, even spilling the juice on the table. Then Leonardo watched Malfoy lift his legs, turn around, and retreat—all in one smooth motion.
This scene made Leo shake his head gently. The kid was badly scared last night. Looking at Malfoy's dark circles, he probably hadn't slept at all. Well, during the duel later, he'd finish quickly and let the child get some rest.
"Leo, are you planning to use yesterday's move?"
Ron swallowed the pumpkin pastry in his mouth, asking curiously. Although he couldn't get Leo to teach him that transfiguration technique yet, he still wanted to see it again.
But Leonardo shook his head. "I'll try something different—something with more spectacular effects."
Preferably something like Dumbledore's Firestorm—the kind that would make other students never want to bother him again. Being able to study peacefully at Hogwarts for a few years would be ideal. Schools were for studying, after all.
When Malfoy hid at the position furthest from that table, just about to catch his breath, two tall, fat figures found him.
"Draco, we finally found you!"
"Crabbe? Goyle?"
Seeing his two friends arrive, Malfoy immediately straightened his back, raised his chin, and acted casual. "Do you need something?"
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged excited glances. Goyle unfolded the cloth strip he was holding, with Crabbe holding half.
Seeing the words written on the cloth, Malfoy's vision darkened, and he almost fainted.
"Celebrate Malfoy's Great Victory, Defend Pure-Blood Glory!"
Malfoy barely steadied himself, lips trembling. "You—who told you to do this?"
Hearing this, Crabbe thought they were being praised, grinning. "Goyle wrote the words; I came up with the idea. Malfoy, are you satisfied? Unfortunately, neither of us can draw; otherwise, we could have painted your family crest."
Seeing his teammate taking credit, Goyle wasn't willing, loudly saying, "Malfoy, I've promoted this throughout Slytherin. After the duel, this will definitely boost your fame and status. Let me handle such small matters for you."
These words hit Malfoy like a punch to the gut. He clutched his chest, collapsing to sit on the ground.
Right, yesterday he'd sworn on family honor. Many people witnessed it then, and now even more... He couldn't avoid this duel like last time with Potter. This time, he had to fight!
But those bizarre compound eyes surfaced again before Malfoy's vision, making his head split and stomach turn.
DONG!
Twelve o'clock sharp. The bell echoed through the Great Hall.
This bell pulled Malfoy back to reality. He found himself already lifted up by Crabbe. Goyle had just drawn out Malfoy's wand, stuffing it into his hand.
"Go for it, Malfoy!"
After the two friends' encouragement, they supported him as he walked to the Great Hall's center. People had already cleared a path.
At the other end stood a youth with dark golden hair shimmering slightly in sunlight, a handsome face wearing a polite smile, dark green eyes looking toward Malfoy. The youth held his wand at his chest, saying softly:
"Are you ready?"