A wave of cheers washed over Neville, and he couldn't help but let a small, satisfied smile slip across his lips. All those hours of secret practice were finally paying off.
With the ever-vocal pitch commentator Lee Jordan absent, it fell to Fred and George to reluctantly take up the mantle of play-by-play announcers.
The twins soared overhead, circling on their brooms, voices magically amplified for all to hear:
"In the midst of a desolate Quidditch pitch, a lone swordsman in black robes stands at the center of the field. His gaze is steely and cold, a chilling aura of determination radiating from his stance."
"Neville Longbottom, the swordsman of Gryffindor, wields a blazing sword that glimmers with a faint golden light beneath the sun."
"He grips his blade tightly, standing tall on the hallowed turf of Hogwarts. His eyes are sharp, unwavering, fixed upon the massive, fearsome serpent before him."
"But let's be honest—when it comes to raw power and intimidation, a giant serpent is enough to make anyone quake. It'll take both courage and brains to come out on top!"
"Can our swordsman, Longbottom, triumph today?"
"Let's wait and see!"
Down on the pitch, Neville flushed red as the commentary echoed from above, joined by a chorus of students chanting, "Neville Longbottom, swordsman of Gryffindor!"
He muttered under his breath, wishing desperately for the match to end before those two could say anything more embarrassing.
"The swordsman's grip is firm, his eyes resolute. Look—he's using Serpentine Glide to close in on the serpent, dodging its strikes with nimble footwork. He's aiming for the head, swinging his blade in a dazzling arc!"
"Yes, yes! Our Gryffindor swordsman, Neville Longbottom, has landed a hit on the Slytherin serpent!"
Below, the Slytherin students bristled. "He can't hurt the Slytherin Dragon Ball serpent!" one shouted.
George drawled, "True enough. After all, this snake was crafted by Professor Holmes himself. You didn't think it'd go down that easy, did you?"
Fred chimed in, feigning disappointment, "This is one tough serpent—its scales are like armor, and it packs a wallop. See how it lashes out with its tail? That's real power!"
"Beautiful—look at that footwork!"
"Nice one, Neville! That's Headmistress McGonagall's signature Serpentine Glide charm in action—he's out-slithering the snake itself!"
"The swordsman lands like a bolt of lightning, then charges the serpent again. Every swing of his blade crackles with spirit, every move stamped with his relentless will!"
That last flourish made Neville falter for a split second—he almost wanted to shout at the twins to knock it off. The brief distraction nearly cost him, but he managed to dodge disaster at the last instant.
"The swordsman leaps over the serpent's tail and launches another assault. He keeps shifting his angle and force, searching for that one fatal opening."
"This is a true contest of skill and strength. The swordsman's attacks are swift and precise, while the serpent's power and reflexes are nothing short of stunning."
The crowd roared, with Slytherins looking particularly smug.
Neville quickly widened the gap between himself and the serpent, both hands gripping his sword as he fixed his gaze just above the creature's head.
A quiet smile tugged at his lips. For all the enthusiastic commentary and cheers, none of them really understood swordsmanship. Hidden in the chaos of battle, every slash and thrust of his blade was deliberate—he'd never once been probing. His target had always been the same: the serpent's head.
Professor Holmes had taught him: If your enemy has no weakness, you must create one.
The serpent's scales were too thick for a single blow. He'd have to carve out a weak spot, stroke by stroke.
He drew a deep breath, shutting out the noise, then activated Serpentine Glide once more and swung for the same place—
"Bang!"
Suddenly, the giant serpent dissolved into a cloud of white mist, which rapidly condensed into a massive fist and punched straight at him.
Having poured every ounce of strength into his final strike, Neville collapsed onto the ground just as he felt his blade sever the serpent's head—barely dodging the incoming fist of mist.
The punch whooshed over his head, close enough to make his scalp tingle. But the misty fist vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the Dragon Ball lying on the grass.
A hush fell over the crowd.
"That's it? He won?"
"Was the snake's time just up? I thought Professor Holmes's stuff always had a time limit."
"Doesn't look like it!"
"Trust Professor Holmes to have a sneaky backup plan!"
"Ahem—a stroke of genius, you mean!"
Draco was the first to react. He whipped out his wand and fired a spell at Neville.
Seeing the attack, Neville rolled aside just in time, narrowly avoiding the curse.
But instead of pressing the attack, Draco dashed over to snatch up his Dragon Ball, cradling it with a look of relief once he saw it was unharmed.
"Coward!"
"Typical Slytherin!"
"The duel isn't over!"
"Gryffindor's down!"
"Neville, use your sword—slice him!"
"Cut him down!"
On the sidelines, Harry had drawn his wand, but his classmates quickly held him back.
After all, the duel was between Neville and Draco. Even if Neville had bested the magical beast, Draco himself was still in the fight.
If Draco had been less arrogant and actually coordinated with the serpent, Neville wouldn't have lasted nearly as long. But most of the younger students hadn't even considered this, their sense for real combat still unformed.
Only the upper-year students hovering above—especially Wood, who'd trained in magical dueling under Douglas—kept sighing. No wonder the Professor looked down on today's students; they still didn't understand what true battle meant.
Back on the pitch, Neville quickly sheathed his sword. He remembered the first lesson Douglas had given him: At Hogwarts, never point your sword at your fellow students.
He drew his wand and faced Draco once more.
It dawned on Draco at last—he was a wizard. Why had he just stood there, watching?
The duel resumed with a flurry of spells, wands flashing as jets of colored light arced across the field.
High above, George and Fred took up their commentary again:
"On the wide-open pitch, a Gryffindor wizard and a Slytherin—well, let's just say 'junior wizard'—stand face to face."
"They're dressed in magnificent black robes… well, not that magnificent."
"Wands at the ready, faces grim."
"George, I think the Slytherin brat just looks mad."
"Look—Neville's making the first move… beautiful Leg-Locker Curse!"
"That's our Gryffindor swordsman! Too bad it missed."
"Oh, what a dreadful Blasting Curse—the Slytherin brat has no sense of decency."
"Wood, make sure they stick around and clean up the pitch afterward."
"That's a fire spell—learned from Professor Lupin!"
"Blimey, Professor Lupin actually taught that to a Slytherin?"
"Another Leg-Locker Curse—so close…"
"Our swordsman's down!"
"He may have lost the magical duel, but he's still a true Gryffindor."
"Because the sword of Gryffindor is meant for Muggles only!"
🔥 Want to read the next 50+ chapters RIGHT NOW?
💎 Patreon members get instant access!
⚡ Limited-time offer currently running...
👉 [Join on - patreon.com/GoldenLong]