Jemma took Harry's hand to help herself up.
"Will they really listen to you?" Harry let go of Jemma, shoved his hands in his pockets, and asked leisurely, "I mean, you just lost to a first-year. Won't that make you lose face in your house?"
Jemma gave him a smile in reply.
"If it's Mr. Savior, then no—I mean, you've even defeated You-Know-Who."
With that, she turned her head.
"Alright, Parkinson, Flint." Her tone brooked no refusal. "Go and apologize to Miss Granger!"
Pansy and Marcus reluctantly stood up, looking pleadingly at Jemma, but she remained unmoved.
To Harry's surprise, the two actually did what they were told. They walked over to Hermione, bowed, and apologized sincerely.
Their attitude was so genuinely earnest that Harry began to wonder if they'd been replaced by someone else.
Draco stood at the back, the disappointment on his face flickering by.
"Not all Slytherins are hopeless," Harry whispered to Jemma, "At least there's a worthy rival like you, Miss Fari."
"Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Potter." Jemma gave him a curtsy.
The duel was over, the bet settled, and with it, the little farce ended as well.
The students who'd been watching this spectacular duel began leaving one after another, still chattering excitedly about what had just happened.
Many were surprised—surprised that Slytherin could admit fault; others figured it was an evil plot of Fari's, convinced she must be secretly planning some terrible revenge against the Savior Potter.
After all, when had Slytherin ever conceded without a fight? That's what everyone was thinking.
On the way back.
"They're definitely plotting something," Ron muttered, "That's how Slytherins are. Still… I have to admit, Miss Fari being praised by Percy must mean she has something special. She really doesn't seem like a typical Slytherin."
No, Harry thought, this is what a true Slytherin is like.
Most Slytherins a hundred years ago—though their methods were a bit rough, maybe even ruthless—always fought face-to-face, rather than scheming with low tricks.
And what about Slytherins nowadays? Their parents are all Death Eaters… can you really expect good kids to come out of homes like that?
"Miss Fari is indeed a respectable Class Prefect," Hermione agreed. "But won't she get ganged up on by the rest of Slytherin for this?"
"No way." Ron replied with total confidence, "Miss Fari isn't just the Slytherin Class Prefect, she's their top student—earned that spot fighting her way through the upper years."
Hermione spoke with a hint of longing: "I wish I could be as strong as she is…"
"Shouldn't you want to be as powerful as Harry?" Ron joked.
"Oh, honestly, Ronald." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I really don't expect to ever catch up to Harry…"
It was true—Jemma's skill with magic spells was at least close enough to feel like you might catch up someday; Harry was at a level that left first-year young wizards breathless.
Even a genius like Hermione felt there was a painfully thick wall standing between her and Harry.
"I'm just average," Harry said modestly. "By the time you guys hit fifth year, I reckon you'll pretty much catch up."
Everyone laughed together, and after the laughter, Neville asked timidly, "Um, Harry, I heard Ron and Hermione learned their spells from you in secret, so I was wondering… could you help me and Seamus too?"
Then he added in a low voice, "I know I'm pretty hopeless, but I still want to try my best…"
Suddenly, he felt a warm hand rest on his shoulder.
"Why wouldn't I?" Harry smiled. "We're all classmates here, helping each other out is what we should do. We all have our strengths."
"That's right," Hermione added, "Look—I'm good at History of Magic and memorizing, Harry's amazing with magical spells, and Ron… Ron is really funny…"
"Oi!" Ron protested. "What do you mean I'm funny! I work hard too, you know!"
"Pfft." Hermione glanced at him. "You always say 'close enough' in practice, but when it comes to a real duel you're always just short. Didn't you notice? That big lump next to Flint—you needed two tries to disarm him!"
Ron pouted but didn't argue—he knew Hermione was right.
If Hermione hadn't yanked him out of the way of a spell, he'd have been hit by that big lump's counterattack.
Watching this scene, Harry thought of Cassandra.
His first two years, he was always messing around, liked playing Wizard Chess with Gareth, sneaking meals from Teacher Hao Ying, or playing with Pabi and the fluffy Magical Creatures.
So he'd never put much effort into spells—his mind was always on fun. As for learning spells, he was satisfied as long as he could just barely pull them off.
Cassandra dragged him into Dueling Wand, and every time, during a duel, she'd either hang him upside down, disarm him, or make him dance nonstop—always mocking him for his sloppy study habits and saying he deserved every embarrassing defeat.
"I almost beat you that time!" Harry protested from where he was hanging mid-air.
Cassandra just poked his face with her magic wand, lips as warm as 37 degrees, but words cold as minus 37.
"Bet you're always 'almost there' when you practice spells, and when you duel, you're always 'just short, just short, just short!' Potter! When are you finally going to grow up?"
Back then, Harry hated how Cassandra never let him save face. But in third year, the first time he and a Poacher clashed, scared out of his wits in the Forbidden Forest, he finally understood why she was so harsh.
"Next time we won't be so lucky, Potter!"
Cassandra, after blocking a spell for him, mocked him with disgust, calmly aiming her wand at her arm and casting a quick-heal spell.
"Harry, Harry?"
Hermione waved a hand in front of his eyes.
"Hm?" Only then did Harry snap out of it.
"What's wrong? You seem lost in thought," Hermione asked with concern.
"Oh, nothing." Harry smiled at her. "Neville, Seamus, I hope you two won't just be fired up for a few days, then quit when it gets tough."
"We won't!" Seamus and Neville said in unison.
"Then let's put it to a vote. Our Dueling House is welcoming two new members—my vote's yes."
Harry raised his hand.
"Me too." Hermione raised her hand.
Ron raised his as well. "Same here."
"Three to zero." Harry held out his hand. "Welcome to the team, Neville, Seamus."
(Please invest, please follow, please vote monthly—begging for everything.)