Chapter 173: Draco Malfoy’s Moment to Shine
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This time, Malfoy’s swagger didn’t earn boos or eye-rolls. Quite the opposite—some students actually cheered for him, clapping and egging him on.
Classic human behaviour.
It’s rarely the model students—the polite, well-behaved, hardworking ones—who end up being popular. More often, it’s the cocky troublemakers, the ones with a natural edge and some real muscle to back it up.
Just like in Muggle schools, where the basketball and football players usually get first pick when it comes to dating.
At Hogwarts? Well, just look at the Marauders.
James Potter won Lily’s heart, and Sirius Black was even more of a magnet in his school days. Half the students probably wrote him love letters.
Traditionally, Slytherins came across like cold-blooded snakes—always scheming, always ready to stab you in the back.
But Draco Malfoy? Right now, he looked like he had Ron Weasley in the palm of his hand.
That kind of dominance, that confidence—they loved it.
Everyone except Ron.
Draco treated him like he barely existed, which made Ron burn with the urge to smash him in the face. But with all the professors watching, he couldn’t afford to lose it.
So Ron stalked onto the stage, trying to copy Malfoy’s haughty, nose-in-the-air strut. The effect was... less than impressive. Students snickered outright.
Most of them were laughing at Ron.
Draco had been raised in luxury his whole life. He oozed arrogance and polish.
Ron, on the other hand, had all the poise of a nervous scarecrow. His imitation just looked pathetic. Even his brothers buried their faces in their hands, while Ginny shrank into the crowd, praying no one would yell, "Hey Ginny, your brother’s hilarious!"
"Malfoy, dueling isn’t about who shouts the loudest," Ron said, trying for menace.
"You’re absolutely right." Draco smirked. "In a minute I’ll make sure you’re the one screaming. Loud. And begging me to stop."
The line was so off that it made Tom wince.
He wasn’t the only one—Laos shot Draco a look too. For a moment, the two of them exchanged the same thought: "Oh no, not that kind of duel, guys."
Fine. Maybe the two of them were the only unhealthy ones in the room.
"Excellent, I like the spirit!" Laos cut in loudly, shutting down the trash talk before it spiraled any further. "But words are meaningless. Magic decides the outcome!"
"Now—bow to each other!"
Draco immediately moved through the steps with crisp precision, exactly as Laos and Flitwick had demonstrated earlier.
Ron? He gave the world’s laziest head bob, like bowing was beneath him. The professors all frowned.
"Weasley!" Professor McGonagall snapped. "Didn’t you hear a word just now? Or is your neck too stiff to bend properly?"
What she couldn’t stand wasn’t a Gryffindor losing to a Slytherin—it was this. Losing both the duel and the dignity. Rude, graceless, shameful. Not Elegant at all.
Ron shrank a little, then gave a proper bow, though his sulk was obvious. Draco’s smirk widened.
Not that he enjoyed bowing to Ron either. But Tom had drilled this into him: "A winner’s arrogance should come after the victory, not before."
Tom had even used Draco himself as an example:
"Remember last year? Strutting like you owned the place before our duel, only to end up flat on your back? You looked like an idiot. Never celebrate too early."
The memory still stung, but Draco had to admit it was true. That humiliation had been a nightmare—whispers from every corner of Slytherin for weeks.
Lesson learned. Pain is a better teacher than people.
And unless he was facing Potter, Draco now stood miles ahead of someone like Ron.
Laos raised his voice. "You may only cast once I’ve given the signal. Understood?"
"Understood!"
"Good. Three... two... one... begin!"
Laos barely finished when Ron whipped up his wand.
"Slugulus Eructo!"
A flash of green shot out—but Draco Malfoy was faster.
"Protego!"
The spell bounced off his Shield Charm, hurtling toward the crowd. Professor Flitwick flicked his wand and neatly dispelled it before it hit anyone.
Ron gaped. "Protego? How do you know the Shield Charm?!"
For older students it wasn’t shocking, but Malfoy was his age.
"You think everyone’s as lazy as you?" Draco sneered, stalking forward under the protection of his shield.
"Tarantallegra!"
Ron reacted instantly, darting sideways. He’d read enough to know he couldn’t just stand still and get pelted. But he hadn’t practiced casting while moving, so all he could do was flail around like a panicked monkey.
Draco didn’t mind. He kept closing the distance, shield gleaming.
At this range, spells were faster and harder to dodge.
Ron was getting desperate. Another step and he’d fall off the stage.
"Tarantallegra!"
This time, the spell was from Draco.
Ron’s legs jerked against his will and he started a ridiculous, spastic dance.
Draco swooped in, yanked Ron’s wand away, and finally let out a triumphant laugh.
"Weasley, that dance isn’t half bad. If you got a job in a bar, you’d probably earn more than your dad!"
The memory of summer flared—his father and Arthur Weasley brawling in Flourish and Blotts, only for that half-giant to interfere and leave Lucius humiliated.
Tonight, Draco would write home and tell his father the score was settled. And maybe ask for a little extra pocket money.
"Malfoy, end it! Cancel the spell!" Ron yelled.
Draco ignored him, turning to the professor. "So, does that mean I win?"
"Of course."
Laos nodded cheerfully. "Excellent Shield Charm, Malfoy. You clearly have talent—keep working hard."
Professor Flitwick lifted Ron’s curse with a flick of his wand. Ron’s face burned crimson, and he couldn’t bear to stay on the platform another second. He bolted, too embarrassed even to linger in the hall.
"Thank you, Professor. Now I’d like to challenge the next one—Harry Potter!"
Draco’s gaze locked on Harry, and he crooked a finger at him. "Potter, your buddy Weasley folded in seconds. Looks like it’s your turn."
Harry’s jaw tightened as he walked forward. The professors urged the rest of the students to keep practicing in pairs, but honestly, no one cared about their own duels anymore. Everyone had eyes fixed on the main stage.
Harry Vs. Draco.
...
The ritual done, Laos called for the duel to begin.
Draco immediately wrapped himself in another Shield Charm.
The beating he’d taken the past week hadn’t been for nothing. Under stress and raw emotion, he’d finally managed to cast the spell by Wednesday. Since then, he’d drilled it relentlessly, refining both speed and strength.
Maybe he’d never become a great wizard—his family were sly schemers, not heroes—but for now, he had a second-year’s edge no one could match.
"Expelliarmus!"
Harry fired the spell as soon as Laos gave the signal. He wasn’t deluded enough to think he’d win, but lying down and giving up wasn’t in his nature. And when he’d seen Laos use that disarming charm earlier, something about it just felt right.
He didn’t expect it to work. Yet red light slammed against Draco’s shimmering shield with such force that Draco staggered back several steps. Fine cracks splintered across the magical barrier.
Harry’s eyes widened. "It worked?" His pulse leapt—he raised his wand to cast again.
This time, nothing. His wand spat a puff of useless blue smoke, and Draco exhaled in relief.
So Potter had gotten lucky once. Even if he landed another, it wouldn’t break through. The advantage was still his.
Draco steadied himself, a cruel smile twisting his mouth. He began pelting Harry with mocking little hexes, toying with him.
Off to the side, Tom shook his head and lost interest. As long as Draco didn’t do anything idiotic, Harry wasn’t his match yet. No point watching a foregone conclusion.
Professor McGonagall turned her attention away as well, preferring to help other students.
But then came the scream.
A burst of light erupted from Draco’s wand, and a long black serpent spilled onto the stage, coiling between him and Harry.
The crowd shrieked and scrambled backward, like the snake was huge and needed plenty of space.
"Careful, Potter!" Draco called gleefully. "Don’t let it eat you!" He was savoring every second of his little performance and saw no reason to finish the duel quickly.
’Serpensortia,’ the Serpent Summoning Spell—his most powerful trick from the summer. Finally, a chance to show it off.
The conjured snake focused solely on Harry, thanks to Draco’s command.
But Harry didn’t feel fear. If anything, there was a strange familiarity, a flicker of kinship. As a boy, he’d always lingered at the reptile house in the zoo, fascinated by the boa constrictor there.
That faint connection vanished the moment he remembered who had conjured it: Draco Malfoy, and all he represented. Harry braced himself, unsure how to dispel the thing—when the words tore out of him in a raw, instinctive hiss.
The sound wasn’t English.
To everyone else, it was a harsh, unsettling string of "hissss" and "sssshh." But the snake froze, caught between lunging and retreating.
Before Harry could process what he’d done, Flitwick flicked his wand and the serpent dissolved into smoke.
"That’s quite enough, Mr. Malfoy," the professor said firmly. "You’ve monopolized the stage long enough. Give the others a chance."
Draco shot Harry a poisonous glare as he slunk away. He hadn’t expected that. If he’d known Potter was a Parselmouth, he’d never have risked that spell. His proudest trick, turned to nothing.
As Harry stepped down, he realized something was wrong. The crowd parted around him, shrinking away as though he carried the plague.
"Harry! You’re a Parselmouth? And you never told us?" The Weasley twins barreled up, each slinging an arm around him.
Harry blinked, bewildered. "A... what?"
Fred gave him a mock scowl. "Don’t play dumb."
"I’m not playing! I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Why’s everyone avoiding me? Does this have to do with that Parse-whatever?" Harry’s voice grew tight with frustration. How had a simple duel turned into this circus?
The twins exchanged a look. Harry genuinely had no idea. George leaned in, lowering his voice. "Just now—you stopped the snake, didn’t you? That hissing sound you made. That’s Parseltongue. It means you can talk to snakes, maybe even control them."
"Only famous dark wizards ever had that ability," Fred added more soberly. "Almost all of them Slytherins."
Harry felt his stomach drop. Now he understood why people were giving him such wide berth.
"But I didn’t even know I could do that," he protested. "I wasn’t speaking any language. I don’t even remember what I said!"
"You might not realize it, but we all heard you," George said. "And it wasn’t English."
Fred clapped him on the back. "Don’t worry about it. Honestly, it’s kind of brilliant. We’d kill for a trick like that. Next time we want roast snake, you’re our man. Forbidden Forest’s bound to have loads."
Grinning, the twins were quickly whisked away by a pair itching for their own duel.
Meanwhile, Tom had already opened up a study space for Ariana, letting her observe how her peers fought.
"See, Ariana? Ninety-nine percent of people in this world are just ordinary. Look at these Hogwarts students—pathetic, the lot of them."
"Remember that you are better than all of them."
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