Chapter 169: Draco Malfoy Seeks Help
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Other than Snape, who was frowning deeply, the two other Heads of House looked at Dumbledore in confusion.
"What do you mean, ’Shadow Prefects’?"
"This was Riddle’s idea," McGonagall explained for the two who hadn’t been told. She went through the details of the proposed system and how these Shadow leaders would be chosen.
After listening, Flitwick was quick to voice his approval.
Ravenclaw was far too scattered for his liking—every student off in their own little world, thinking too much and cooperating too little. If each year had someone to organize and take charge, efficiency would improve dramatically.
Sprout, on the other hand, was hesitant.
Hufflepuff didn’t have many conflicts, and the existing prefects were already doing fine. Adding another layer of leadership seemed unnecessary.
But when three other Houses were all in, refusing would only make her seem difficult.
Oh well. Go with the flow.
She nodded at last. With all four Heads in agreement, the decision was as good as sealed.
That afternoon, students found the notice they’d been hoping for pinned to the bulletin board: {In two weeks’ time, on Friday evening, Hogwarts will begin an extracurricular Dueling Class. Students interested may gather in the Great Hall at eight o’clock.}
"The Headmaster actually agreed!" Seamus whooped, practically bouncing. "I’ve been waiting forever for a chance to fight for real!"
"Don’t even think about it, Seamus," Neville muttered nervously. "You’ll blow your opponent to pieces."
A Ravenclaw, who clearly enjoyed stirring up trouble, spotted Harry and Ron nearby and raised his voice. "What about the duel between Weasley and Malfoy? When’s that happening?"
"That day, I’ll challenge Malfoy myself!" Ron shouted, storming off in a blaze of righteous fury.
Grins spread across the crowd. With so many witnesses, if he didn’t follow through, Weasley would be humiliated.
"Two whole weeks? Why so long?" another student groaned, echoing everyone’s impatience.
"Probably because Professor Wilkinson needs time to prepare. Just hold out a little longer."
At this point, Wilkinson’s popularity among students was sky-high. He had real skills, no arrogance, and compared to certain past professors, he looked like a hero.
"Guess we’ll wait. Gives me time to learn a few more spells anyway—no way I’m embarrassing myself in front of everyone."
That struck a nerve with more than a few. Quietly, several students slipped away from the crowd, already planning a trip to the library to study dueling techniques.
...
"You’re really doing your best for Hogwarts?"
In Wilkinson’s office, Tom sipped his coffee, amusement flickering in his voice.
The dueling class had come out of nowhere. He hadn’t heard a word about it beforehand. Lockhart’s little club had fizzled; now here came an official open course. Tom couldn’t tell if it was fate nudging things along, or just coincidence.
"If you disapprove, I can find a way to cancel it," Laos said carefully, misreading Tom’s tone.
"No need." Tom shook his head. "I told you already—do what you like, as long as you’re not stupid enough to expose yourself. This could even be fun to watch."
Laos exhaled in relief. Tom wasn’t angry.
"You’re more dedicated than I expected," Tom added, smirking. "Not just teaching your own subject, but going out of your way to improve Hogwarts’ duelers."
Laos scratched his cheek awkwardly. "Well... to be honest, it was Madam Rosier’s idea."
"Vinda Rosier?" Tom’s eyebrows rose. "What’s her game?"
If it had been Laos Wilkinson, Tom would have believed he was just bored and wanted a side project. But Rosier? She never acted without a plan.
Laos explained honestly: "She told me to do my best for Dumbledore, to prove myself useful. If I make a good impression, when the useless Dark Lord returns, Dumbledore might even bring me into the Order of the Phoenix. That way I’d have access to far more information."
Classic Rosier. Always thinking three steps ahead.
Tom’s eyelid twitched. The Dark Lord wasn’t even back yet, and already Rosier was planting spies at Dumbledore’s side. It was enough to corrupt even an innocent little newcomer like him.
"Well, then... work hard," Tom said dryly. "Strive to become Teacher of the Year, infiltrate the Order, and make yourself Dumbledore’s right-hand man."
"Teacher of the Year?" Laos blinked. "Wait, does Hogwarts even have an award like that?"
Of course it didn’t. But Laos didn’t seem to care much anyway. His dream was simpler: to meet Grindelwald in person someday, then rub it in Graves’ face—and in Graves’ grandfather’s too.
An employee with no interest in money or power, only in chasing strange personal dreams, was rare indeed. Rosier had picked him well. Out of all the candidates, she’d chosen Laos —the perfect pawn for them right now.
---
Overnight, dueling became the topic at Hogwarts.
Everywhere you went, students were buzzing—arguing over which spells packed the biggest punch, strategizing about striking first.
Gryffindors especially were fired up, eager for payback. Their Quidditch loss to Slytherin had left them a laughingstock for weeks. Now at last, a chance to turn the tables.
Even the professors weren’t immune. Lessons across the board started feeling like extensions of DADA.
In Transfiguration, McGonagall was in fine form. She turned books and classroom objects into scurrying animals, which darted around the desks.
"Don’t think Transfiguration is only for everyday use," she lectured briskly. "In a duel, a skilled Transfiguration master is a nightmare to face. Animals react faster than people, and they can intercept curses for you in critical moments. You can also use Transfiguration to restrain your opponent."
She pointed her wand at Neville. His chair suddenly sprouted two arms that wrapped around him in a tight embrace. Neville flailed and nearly toppled over before McGonagall steadied him with a calm flick.
"See? Transfiguration in a duel isn’t just elegant—it’s proof of real tactical intelligence."
That was all it took for the class’s enthusiasm to ignite. Students leaned forward, hanging on her words, far more attentive than usual.
In Charms, Professor Flitwick decided to share a story from his own dueling days. His eyes sparkled as he hopped onto a stack of books, reliving the memory.
"My opponent was tough," he began, twirling his mustache proudly. "He knew nearly every spell, and his memory was impeccable. I was on the verge of collapse. Everyone thought I was finished—until the very last move."
A student piped up eagerly. "You must’ve used some incredibly powerful magic, right, Professor?"
Flitwick chuckled. "Not at all. I won with nothing more than an Accio, the Summoning Charm."
The class gaped. Summoning Charms were basic; half the fifth-years could cast them in their sleep.
"I summoned a stone wall," Flitwick said, gesturing dramatically. "A massive one, thick and solid. It came hurtling toward us at ground level. Thanks to my... height, all I had to do was crouch, and it flew right over my head."
He grinned wider. "My opponent tried to copy me, of course. But he was much taller. Even crouching, his head stuck up higher than mine standing. The wall smacked him clean in the skull. Out cold. Concussion. Weeks of recovery."
The students exchanged awkward looks.
Flitwick beamed. "Surprising, isn’t it? Doesn’t sound very glamorous, does it?"
No one dared admit it, but that’s exactly what they were thinking.
"You’re making a mistake if you think dueling is just about flashy spellwork," Flitwick went on, wagging a finger. "The only goal is to make your opponent unable to continue. That’s all. Victory is victory—whether by luck, wit, or brute force. Never duel with pride as a burden. Use whatever you can within the rules, and you’ll have fought a proper duel."
The students nodded, thoughtful now.
Even Potions got swept up in the fever. Snape, of all people, altered the day’s lesson plan. Instead of brewing pain relief drafts, he had them start on Fire Protection Potions.
"This potion," he drawled in his usual grating tone, "can halt most flame-based spells, whether splashed on the ground or ingested beforehand. It is a defense against your opponent’s fire magic."
Harry immediately thought back to last year’s trials and the lucky guess that had gotten him through.
"In many formal duels," Snape continued, pacing, "potions are permitted—within limits." He suddenly snapped his head toward Ron. "Weasley. State the rules."
Ron stared blankly, eyes wide with the uncorrupted innocence of someone who had absolutely no idea.
"Excellent. Two points from Gryffindor."
The Gryffindors looked ready to throttle him. Snape ignored them, smug, and carried on.
"The rule is simple: a wizard may only use potions they brewed themselves. A well-prepared Potions master could be virtually unbeatable." He sneered. "Do not think waving your wand like an idiot is the only path to victory. Use your brain. Even if your opponent is pathetic, treat him like a real threat."
The Slytherins burst out laughing—they all knew exactly whom he meant.
"I will, Professor!" Draco Malfoy called loudly.
Harry had to physically grab Ron’s arm to stop him from leaping up.
"Calm down," he hissed. "That’s exactly what Malfoy and Snape want. Save it. When you beat him in a real duel, that’ll shut them both up."
Ron grudgingly sank back into his seat.
---
After class, Hermione dragged Tom off to the library. It wasn’t until after dinner that he finally returned to the common room—only to find Draco Malfoy waiting. The blond boy had clearly been hovering for a while, glancing at the door every few minutes.
The second Tom walked in, Draco rushed over.
"Tom, you have to help me," he blurted, slipping a heavy pouch of gold into Tom’s pocket with practiced ease.
"Help you duel?" Tom raised a brow. "Don’t tell me you can’t even handle a Weasley?"
Draco’s swagger had evaporated. He looked genuinely uneasy. "They’re poor, sure, but they’re still pure-bloods. My father says Arthur Weasley isn’t weak, and their family must have some secret spells. And he’s got older brothers who’ll back him up and train him."
His voice dropped to an urgent whisper. "I can’t afford to lose. Tom, I need a plan. I have to crush Weasley—then I can go after Potter."
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.
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