"Cease your magic at once!"
Professor Flitwick's voice didn't just carry; it vibrated through the very marrow of everyone's bones. It was a Sonorous-enhanced shriek that acted like a physical barrier, forcing every student to drop their wands and clamp their hands over their ears. The ringing echo lingered in the rafters of the Great Hall long after the sound had died down.
Lockhart, who had been hiding behind a suit of armor for the last three minutes, suddenly bounded back into the fray. He moved through the crowd like a frantic gardener surveying a storm-damaged flowerbed.
"Oh dear, quite a lively start! Up you get, Macmillan... steady on, Miss Fawcett... and someone please find a cloth for Mr. Boot's nose, it's a bit of a gusher," Lockhart babbled, his face pale beneath the remains of his perfect hair. He climbed back onto the stage, trying to regain his composure. "I think we've seen enough... enthusiasm. Let's transition to the main event! The inter-house exhibition. Each house shall put forward their finest young wizard to represent them in a final tournament."
Professor Flitwick didn't hesitate. His chest puffed out with pride as he gestured toward the Ravenclaw section. "Allen Harris will represent the House of the Eagle."
There wasn't a single murmur of dissent from the Ravenclaws. They watched Allen with the kind of reverence usually reserved for visiting dignitaries. Allen stepped forward, his expression composed, offering Flitwick a small, respectful nod as he ascended the platform.
Snape, meanwhile, was stalking toward the Slytherin ranks. He moved with a predatory grace, his black robes billowing like ink in water. He reached out and snagged Draco Malfoy by the shoulder, pulling him toward the stage. "Slytherin shall be represented by Mr. Malfoy," Snape announced, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "Since he and Harris share the same curriculum, it should be an... enlightening match."
Lockhart, not wanting to be left out of the decision-making, pointed toward the Gryffindors. "And for the Lions, we must have Mr. Harry Potter! Hufflepuff, step forward, Justin Finch-Fletchley!"
The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Harry and Justin made their way to the center. Harry looked like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards, his green eyes darting nervously toward Snape. Justin, on the other hand, looked determined, though his hands were shaking slightly.
"Malfoy and Potter in the first bracket," Snape dictated, his eyes fixed on Harry with a look of pure loathing. "Harris and Finch-Fletchley in the second."
Flitwick offered no protest. He knew Allen's level better than anyone in the room, and he looked at Justin with a sort of grandfatherly pity.
"Wonderful, wonderful!" Lockhart beamed, attempting to demonstrate a defensive posture. "Now, Harry, Justin—don't be alarmed. Just follow my lead. A flick here, a twist there... oops!"
His wand flew out of his hand for the third time that evening, clattering against the stone floor. Lockhart laughed it off, his face turning a shade of pink that matched his robes. "My wand is simply over-eager to see some action! Carry on!"
Snape leaned down, whispering something into Malfoy's ear. Whatever it was, it made Draco's pale face light up with a cruel, jagged grin.
The first match between Allen and Justin was a masterclass in professional courtesy. Justin was talented for a second-year, but Allen moved with a fluidity that made the Hufflepuff look like he was moving through molasses. Allen didn't blast him or humiliate him; he simply parried Justin's opening jab and, with a surgical flick of his wrist, sent Justin's wand spinning into the air.
Allen caught the wand out of the air before it hit the ground and handed it back to a stunned Justin with a polite smile. "Well fought, Justin. Your footwork is improving."
Justin breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he'd been outclassed, but Allen had allowed him to keep his dignity. Instead of leaving the stage in shame, he moved to the edge, eager to watch the next bout.
Then came the match everyone had been waiting for: Potter versus Malfoy.
The tension was thick enough to choke on. Lockhart gave the signal, and Malfoy didn't waste a second. He didn't go for a disarming spell.
"Serpentortia!" Malfoy shrieked.
The end of his wand seemed to explode. A jet of black smoke solidified mid-air, and a massive, six-foot-long cobra slammed onto the stage. It hit the wood with a heavy thud, immediately coiling itself into a strike position. Its hood flared, and its golden eyes fixed on Harry.
The screams from the front row were deafening as students scrambled backward, nearly toppling the house tables.
"Don't move, Potter," Snape said, his voice dripping with mock concern as he moved forward with agonizing slowness. "I'll remove the... pest."
"Allow me!" Lockhart shouted, clearly desperate to prove his worth. He brandished his wand and blasted a spell at the snake.
There was a thunderous bang. The snake wasn't destroyed; instead, it was launched twenty feet into the air, landing right in front of Justin Finch-Fletchley. Enraged and disoriented, the cobra hissed, its head swaying as it prepared to sink its fangs into Justin's throat.
That was when the world went cold.
Harry stepped forward, his eyes glazed, and a sound erupted from his throat that wasn't human. It was a dry, rasping hiss—a series of sibilant sounds that felt like ice water dripping down the spines of everyone in the Hall.
The snake froze. It looked at Harry, its aggression vanishing instantly. It slumped onto the floor, its head bowing low, appearing almost submissive.
"What do you think you're doing?" Justin yelled, his face turning a ghostly white. "What are you trying to do to me?"
Before Harry could even blink, Justin turned and fled the Great Hall, his boots echoing loudly in the stunned silence. Snape stepped forward, a look of grim satisfaction on his face, and vanished the snake with a casual wave of his wand.
The whispers started immediately. "Parselmouth," someone hissed. "The mark of a Dark Wizard."
Allen stood on the sidelines, his heart thumping. He understood exactly what Harry had said: 'Leave him alone.' It was a command for peace, but to everyone else, it sounded like a dark incantation. Allen felt a brief urge to speak up, to clarify—but the weight of the social stigma held his tongue. If he revealed he could understand it, he'd be dragged into the same pit of suspicion.
Seeing Harry standing there, looking like a lost child amidst a sea of judging eyes, Allen felt a pang of sympathy. "Harry!" Allen called out, his voice cutting through the whispers. "Focus! The duel isn't over yet!"
It was meant to be a lifeline, a way to pull Harry back to reality, but Malfoy saw it as an opening. Taking advantage of Harry's distraction, Draco fired a stinging hex that caught Harry in the shoulder, nearly knocking him off his feet.
"Rictusempra!" Harry roared, his frustration finally boiling over.
A silver bolt of light slammed into Malfoy's stomach. The effect was immediate. Draco didn't fly back; he doubled over, a hysterical, wheezing laugh erupting from his lungs. He collapsed onto the stage, clutching his midsection, his legs kicking out in a fit of uncontrollable giggles that looked utterly painful.
Harry stood over him, but he wasn't looking at Malfoy. He was looking at the crowd, searching for a single friendly face.
Malfoy, still gasping for air and weeping with laughter, managed to point his wand at Harry's shins. "Tarantallegra!"
Harry's legs suddenly began to twitch. Within seconds, he was performing an erratic, high-speed tap dance, his boots clattering against the stage as if possessed. It was a ridiculous sight—one boy laughing himself to death and the other dancing a jig of doom.
"Enough!" Snape shouted, stepping between them. "Finite Incantatem!"
The laughter died in Malfoy's throat, and Harry's legs finally went still. Both boys looked exhausted, their hair matted with sweat.
"Well... who is the victor?" Lockhart asked, looking between the two.
Snape leaned over to confer with Flitwick. There was a brief, heated exchange of whispers before Snape turned back to the crowd. "Since both were incapacitated by the other's spells, the final winner shall be determined by a gauntlet. Both Malfoy and Potter will face Allen Harris individually. The house point reward will be decided based on those results."
Snape's eyes gleamed. He clearly expected Malfoy to regain his honor, or at the very least, he wanted to see Harry Potter thoroughly crushed by Ravenclaw's prodigy.
Malfoy was up first. He stepped back onto the stage, his face pale and his hands shaking. He had seen Allen take down George Weasley, and he knew he was in trouble. But Snape was watching from the shadows behind him, and the pressure was too much to ignore.
"Start!" Lockhart cried.
Malfoy didn't wait for "three." He lunged, screaming, "Serpentortia!" again. He was betting everything on the snake.
Allen didn't even flinch. As the black smoke began to pour from Malfoy's wand, Allen performed a sweeping, elegant motion. It wasn't a blast; it was a vanishing act. Before the snake could even solidify its tail, it was consumed by a shimmering ripple in the air, disappearing as if it had never existed.
Allen didn't give Malfoy a chance to breathe.
"Expelliarmus!"
This time, Allen didn't catch the wand. The red light struck Malfoy with the force of a sledgehammer. Draco was lifted off the stage, flying backward in a high arc. He crashed into Crabbe and Goyle in the front row, his wand flying out of his hand and wedging itself—with a sickening squelch—directly into Crabbe's nostril.
Crabbe let out a howl of agony that echoed through the Hall, clutching his face as Malfoy lay groaning on top of him.
Snape's lip curled in disgust at the display of incompetence. "Pathetic. Potter! Get up there."
Harry swallowed hard and stepped onto the stage. He looked like a man walking toward the gallows. He felt the weight of every eye in the room—eyes that now saw him as the 'Heir of Slytherin' or some dark omen. Only Allen was looking at him with anything resembling neutrality.
Harry felt the world closing in on him. He didn't want to fight Allen. He didn't want to fight anyone. He just wanted to go back to the common room and hide.
The duel was over before it really began. Allen saw the defeat in Harry's eyes. He didn't use the same force he'd used on Malfoy. He moved in close, his movements a blur of Ravenclaw precision. With a gentle twist of his wand, he disarmed Harry so smoothly it almost looked like a choreographed dance.
Harry's wand landed softly in Allen's palm. Harry didn't fall; he just stood there, his shoulders slumped.
"Winner: Allen Harris for Ravenclaw!" Lockhart proclaimed, hoisting Allen's arm into the air.
The Ravenclaws erupted into a roar of triumph that shook the enchanted ceiling. Fifty points. They were back in the game. But as Allen looked at Harry, he didn't feel like a champion. He felt like the only person who knew the truth in a room full of people who had already made up their minds.