Gemma held Harry's hand, helping him to stand.
"Will they hear this?" Harry released Gemma, put his hands in his pockets, and asked casually. "I mean… you lost to a first-year. Aren't you worried about embarrassing your house?"
Gemma smiled.
"If it were Mr. Salvador, maybe… after all, he even defeated Voldemort."
Then she turned her head and spoke firmly:
"Very well, Parkinson, Flint. Go apologize to Miss Granger!"
Reluctantly, Pansy and Marcus stood up, casting pleading looks at Gemma, who remained impassive.
To Harry's surprise, the two obeyed and walked over to Hermione, bowing to apologize. The sincerity in their tone and attitude was so genuine that Harry wondered if they were the same people.
Draco stood behind them, a flash of disappointment crossing his face.
"Not all Slytherins are weak," Harry whispered to Gemma. "At least we have a worthy opponent in you, Miss Farley."
"Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Potter," Gemma replied with a bow.
The duel was over, the agreement fulfilled, and the incident resolved.
The students who witnessed the thrilling duel walked away, still animatedly discussing what had happened. Many were surprised that the Slytherins admitted defeat; others suspected it was a clever plan by Miss Farley, a strategic revenge against the "savior" Potter.
Why would Slytherins admit defeat so easily? That was the general consensus.
On the way back:
"They're definitely up to something," Ron whispered. "Slytherins are like that… but Miss Farley… well, I admit she has something to offer. Percy would certainly appreciate her; she really doesn't seem like a typical Slytherin."
"No," Harry thought, "this is the true Slytherin."
Most Slytherins from a century ago, though rude and sometimes cruel in their methods, always fought face-to-face, never relying on underhanded tricks.
What kind of Slytherins are these today? Children of Death Eaters… what good upbringing could they possibly have?
"Miss Farley is indeed a respectable prefect," Hermione agreed. "But won't she be attacked by the Slytherins for doing this?"
"No," Ron said confidently. "She's not just a prefect; she's the top student of the house, having excelled among the older students."
Hermione sighed. "I hope I can be as strong as her someday…"
"Not as strong as Harry?" Ron asked with a smile.
"Oh, Ronald," Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't expect to catch up to Harry…"
Indeed, with Gemma's magical level, there was hope of keeping up with her; but Harry's level was already overwhelming for a first-year. Even Hermione felt the thick barrier separating her from him.
"I'm just average," Harry said modestly. "By the time you reach fifth year, you'll be almost as good as me."
Everyone laughed, and then Neville timidly asked:
"Um… Harry, I heard you secretly teach spells to Ron and Hermione. Could you teach us too, me and Seamus?"
He whispered, "I know I'm not very good, but I still want to learn…"
Suddenly, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.
"Why not?" Harry said with a smile. "We're all classmates. It's fair to help each other, learning from each other's strengths."
"Yeah," agreed Hermione. "Look, my memory subjects, like History of Magic, are good, Harry's spells are amazing, and Ron… Ron is also funny…"
"Hey!" protested Ron. "What do you mean I'm funny too? I try, you know?"
"Heh," Hermione smiled at him. "When you practice spells, you do well, but in real combat, you always fall a bit short. Didn't you notice? That big guy near Flint—you had to disarm him twice before you succeeded!"
Ron pouted but didn't argue; he knew Hermione was right. Without her intervention, he would have been successfully neutralized by the big guy.
Watching this scene, Harry thought of Cassandra.
In his first two years, he loved to play, enjoying wizard chess with Gareth, attending the Teachers' Dinner, and petting magical creatures with Papiyas. So he didn't dedicate much time to learning spells; his mind was always occupied with fun, and mastering magic was just a casual endeavor.
Cassandra dragged him to the Wand Dueling Room, and every time he was suspended in the air, disarmed, or forced to dance endlessly, she mocked him for not studying enough, saying he deserved the humiliation.
"I almost beat you!" Harry shouted defiantly, suspended in the air.
Cassandra poked his face with her wand, her lips forming a precise angle, saying:
"I bet you're always 'almost, almost, almost' when learning spells, but in real combat, it's always 'just a little more, just a little more, just a little more!' Potter, when will you ever grow up?"
At the time, Harry hated Cassandra for not paying attention to him. Only in third year, facing furtive hunters in the Forbidden Forest, did he finally understand her good intentions.
"We won't be so lucky next time, Potter!"
Cassandra, who had protected him from a spell, calmly cast a Quick Healing Charm on his arm.
"Harry, Harry?"
Hermione waved in front of his eyes.
"Hm?" Harry snapped out of his daydream.
"What's wrong? You looked worried," Hermione asked, concerned.
"Oh, nothing," Harry smiled. "Neville, Seamus, I hope you're not just excited for a few days and then complain about how hard it is after a few days of training."
"We won't!" said Seamus and Neville in unison.
"Then let's vote by raising our hands. I agree to admit two new members to our Dueling Club."
Harry raised his hand.
"Me too," said Hermione.
Ron raised his hand. "Me too."
"Three to zero," Harry said, extending his hand. "Welcome to the club, Neville and Seamus."
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