Chapter 178: Still Gotta Rely On Wisdom!
Draco stood in the designated position, staring at Harry opposite him, calculating silently in his mind.
Potter grew up in a Muggle family, so he shouldn’t have mastered many spells, at most attending a few tutoring sessions with Professor Levent, learning some basic dueling techniques and the Disarming Charm early.
Technique is one aspect, but there’s also the issue of dueling demeanor.
Unlike Slytherin’s pure-blood noble wizards, Gryffindor is a group of reckless and barbaric guys who don’t care about image in duels, only thinking of going all out to win. The last duel was stopped by the professor’s intervention, but Draco could tell that Potter’s combat ability was slightly stronger than his own.
Even though he practiced intensively at home during the holiday and didn’t play much throughout the Christmas Holiday, he still had no confidence in this fight.
After all, the opponent was Potter!
In first year, he faced a troll head-on and the dark wizard Quirinus Quirrell; in second year, he directly confronted the Basilisk. Although these battles always had external factors interfering, the record is real. As a second year ordinary student, who wouldn’t feel intimidated facing such an opponent?
No matter what, he was a descendant of the Malfoy family, a Slytherin wizard, and had received Professor Levent’s guidance. With courage but not mindless barbarity, as long as he flexibly employed the Malfoy family’s wisdom… he would surely win!
Draco took a deep breath, his eyes a bit complex, but he still firmly gripped his wand.
……
Harry was also quietly sizing up Malfoy opposite him.
Having attended Hogwarts for nearly two years, experiencing a series of events, having clashed with Malfoy before, and serving detention together patrolling the Forbidden Forest, when Hagrid secretly hatched and raised Norbert, this guy didn’t snitch, volunteered as the team’s Seeker, a decent rival…
Earlier when asking for Dobby, he agreed very readily.
Mr. Malfoy’s plotted conspiracy might have nothing to do with his son.
Compared to the initial pure dislike, Harry’s impression of Malfoy had improved slightly.
End the fight quickly later, go a bit easy on him, so Malfoy wouldn’t lose too much face.
Harry thought silently in his mind.
“One… two… three!”
【Expelliarmus】
Harry snapped back to attention, waved his wand, magic power surging out as a beam of red light instantly shot toward Malfoy ahead.
This was the Disarming Charm taught by both Professor Levent and Professor Flitwick; Harry had only learned it recently, merely at a preliminary mastery, with no particularly outstanding power. But Harry felt this spell was especially smooth to cast, as if perfectly attuned to his magic power.
At the same time, the opponent raised his hand and flung a spell, also the Disarming Charm, slower than the two professors’ demonstration earlier but already top speed among peers.
Drawing on experience accumulated from multiple battles, Harry narrowed his eyes; his intuition told him the opponent’s Disarming Charm was weaker in power.
“Boom!”
A muffled roar as the two Disarming Charms collided precisely.
The spells released almost simultaneously, but Harry’s Disarming Charm was faster and more powerful, still advancing a bit after impact before exploding less than five feet in front of Draco.
Closer distance meant higher risk and shorter reaction time.
The side with the advantage could react first, with ample time to prepare the next attack.
From 17 feet away, Harry saw the astonishment on Draco’s face and his widened eyes; he unhesitatingly launched a second attack.
【Expelliarmus】
Another streak of crimson light flashed across the Great Hall, shooting straight at the opponent’s chest.
Draco immediately swung his wand.
“Bang!”
The two Disarming Charms collided with a resounding explosion. This time, the blast was even closer to Draco, only about three feet away.
Before he could prepare, a third spell crossed the safe distance, trailing a thin red tail as it assaulted. Draco had no time to think, barely blocking in haste; the spell just finished chanting when the two curses collided, exploding almost at wand tip.
“No good, I’ll lose if this continues…”
Draco was a bit panicked; three consecutive Disarming Charms kept him from lifting his head, rendering the Malfoy family’s wisdom useless.
Can’t compete head-on with spells!
That guy’s Disarming Charm was ridiculous, faster casting speed, greater power; their spells colliding was a one-sided rout.
Three successive explosions left Draco’s head buzzing; in haste, he couldn’t think of a counter, and with the lesson from last time, he didn’t want to use dark magic like the Engorgement Charm; various thoughts crowded in, leaving only one idea—
Fight him!
The opponent was brewing a fourth attack; Draco felt he couldn’t keep up, glanced at the finely maintained wand in his hand, steeled himself, and directly threw the wand at the opponent’s face.
Hawthorn wood, thick and heavy, hollowed partially to hold unicorn hair wand core, still substantial weight, emitting a faint whir as it spun in midair.
“Whoosh… whoosh…”
The throwing posture was poor, force and angle off, slightly deviating from the intended path, but luckily not far apart, so not too deviated.
Harry stared in surprise at the incoming wooden stick, which knocked his trouser leg, painless and weak, attack power less than Fang’s tail swipe, but it did disrupt his casting.
Right behind was Malfoy.
He disregarded the elegance of a pure-blood wizard, ignored Slytherin demeanor, grabbed his collar and charged, the momentum from the run knocking them both to the ground, naturally rolling into a tussle.
This wizard duel became utterly unmagical.
Melvin returned to the Great Hall and saw this scene: two skinny second year students tussling—though it was one-sided suppression, Harry pinning Draco’s arm with one hand, holding absolute advantage.
Draco had been pampered since childhood, never fought; Harry regularly sparred with his cousin, a heavyweight boxer; the gap between them was obvious.
Glancing around, almost no discussion; the onlookers were silent.
Including the prefects from both houses, Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape, and those classmates watching the fun, eyes sparkling with excitement, eager expressions, but no one stepped in to stop it.
Melvin also saw Hermione: “Why aren’t you pulling them apart?”
“This duel had a wager; if Harry wins, he can free Dobby,” Hermione said quietly.
“Even so, no need to make it this ugly; they’re wizards, what is this?” Melvin felt it was cringeworthy, worse than last time’s dark magic, “Harry even took tutoring lessons, it’s not like he can’t win; where’s his wand?”
“Malfoy chose hand-to-hand.”
“…”
Melvin fell silent involuntarily.
Was this still the peacock-proud Malfoy?
Could it be his influence?
Last semester, encouraging him to compete for Seeker, talk of courage, twisting a Slytherin into a Gryffindor?
……
Courage has a time limit; as the adrenaline cooled, the worked-up Draco gradually regained reason, peripheral vision catching the watching teachers and students, shame surging up.
This feeling was familiar, similar to last semester self-recommending for Seeker in front of Professor Snape—another rush of blood then regaining senses, being stared at just like this.
Only last time it was just Professor Snape; this time nearly the whole school.
Draco realized something wrong; Professor Levent’s guidance had issues—courage doesn’t work every time; last time it got him the Seeker spot, this time it trashed the Malfoy family reputation.
Making him like those Gryffindor idiots.
“…”
This farce needed to end!
Draco held his breath, hands relaxing for an instant, seizing the opponent’s lax moment to burst free; he was about to break loose, but Harry just gripped his arm again, resuming the constraint.
The joint twisted at a tricky angle, hard to move, and very painful.
Draco hurriedly shouted low: “Let go! Let go!”
“You surrender?” Harry eased slightly.
“…”
Draco frowned slightly; having made such a scene already lost face once; surrendering would be twice, “No way!”
“Then I won’t let go.”
“…”
Draco struggled a few more times, finding it basically impossible to break free with his strength, instead getting twisted more painfully and tightly; utterly exhausted, he showed no expression, even numb.
Potter was Gryffindor, completely unconcerned with poise or demeanor.
His troll brain only wanted to win, only wanted that house-elf.
House-elf?
Draco’s eyes lit up; lowering his voice to one only they could hear: “Let me go, and I’ll concede if you surrender voluntarily, then transfer that house-elf to you!”
“I win the duel, you’re supposed to release Dobby anyway.”
Draco stopped struggling, sneered: “You’re right, but will you really do it?”
“…”
Harry paused, involuntarily recalling Dobby’s scars and the various punishment methods it mentioned.
Hot iron on hands, head into walls, whipping the body… In pure-blood wizards’ eyes, house-elves seemed worse than the lowliest slaves; one could imagine, if angering Malfoy, Dobby might suffer even crueler punishments.
Though Dobby could be quite annoying sometimes, it was just mentally off, with a kind heart.
Harry frowned slightly, eased his grip, asked lowly: “If I concede, you won’t torture Dobby and will hand it over to me?”
“I swear on the Malfoy name.”
“Fine…”
As expected, Malfoys were all bad guys!
Harry released the constraining hand, stood with a complex expression, bowed with his recent wand in salute: “This duel, I lost.”
Draco also struggled up, gasping while completing the dueling courtesy, but no triumphant expression on his face, staggering out of the Great Hall toward the Slytherin Common Room.
Professor Levent’s guidance wasn’t applicable in all situations; most times, the Malfoy family wisdom was more reliable.
Professor Flitwick’s voice with a hint of smile rang out:
“Alright, today’s dueling lesson ends here.
“Practice methods for the Disarming Charm and Iron Armor Charm will be made into recordings given to each house’s prefects; for anything unclear, watch repeatedly via the Projection Mirror, practice repeatedly, or ask me after class; you can also consult Professor Snape and Professor Levent.”
The prefects nodded in agreement.
Last semester under Melvin’s influence, each house Common Room had a Small Projection Mirror; professors provided relevant memories, used normally for review.
Mentioning the Projection Mirror inevitably sparked discussion.
Gryffindor’s George asked loudly: “Professor, can you connect the Projection Mirrors to the Floo Network?”
“This involves school security; I can’t decide, need to ask Headmaster Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall.” Professor Flitwick smiled and shook his head.
Scanning the Great Hall, confirming no other questions, the instructor professor announced dismissal:
“Same time next week, same place; the Dueling Club welcomes everyone.”
“…”
George and Fred exchanged a glance, eyes darting slyly, turned and headed out of the Great Hall, seemingly off to find Professor McGonagall.
……
Dismissing students, ending club activities, Melvin stayed till last, helping Professor Flitwick tidy the Great Hall; candles and various table and chairs floated and flipped in midair.
Releasing Levitation Charms while chatting idly—one moment complaining about Headmaster Dumbledore exploiting staff, next exchanging Levitation Charm techniques; Melvin and Professor Flitwick chatted quite happily.
Extinguishing torches and candles, bidding farewell to Mrs. Norris, the two went upstairs together back to the office.
Near curfew, no student figures in the corridors, wall portraits quietly abed; passing the third floor, they ran into Professor McGonagall just coming down.
“Melvin, Filius…” The Deputy Headmaster greeted them, gaze lingering on Melvin, “Free tomorrow? Come with me to Hogsmeade; some accounts to settle.”
Professor Flitwick also looked at Melvin; since the young professor arrived, they had become the fixed partners for this task.
But Melvin declined this time, spreading hands helplessly: “Sorry professor, tomorrow I have a business meeting with a friend… some personal business.”
“Not in Hogsmeade?”
“In Newcastle.”
“In that case, my weekend is requisitioned.”
Professor Flitwick sighed regretfully, drawing a light laugh from Professor McGonagall; neither probed why the young professor’s business was in a North Sea coastal city.
Melvin also chuckled lightly: “How come Professor McGonagall’s coming down from upstairs?”
“The Weasley twins applied to connect each house’s Projection Mirrors to the Floo Network; I went to the Gryffindor Common Room to solicit the prefects’ opinions.”
“You agreed?”
“I think connecting on weekends and holidays is fine, but I’d like your view too, Melvin—what do you think?”
“…”
In a cloistered boarding school short on entertainment methods, letting students access television programs?
Melvin’s expression was a bit odd: “Professor McGonagall, I recall you’re half-blood, right?”
“My father was a Muggle, a church priest in Caithness.”
Melvin understood; TVs weren’t widespread then, plus priests being conservative, Professor McGonagall probably hadn’t seen teens addicted to television.
“Why ask that? What does the Projection Mirror and my background have to do?” Professor McGonagall felt curiosity, “Shouldn’t the Projection Mirror connect to the Floo Network on weekends?”
“If you insist…” Melvin pondered briefly, “I think we can try it.”
