The Quidditch pitch sprawled across the northwest corner of Hogwarts castle, its emerald grass stretching wide beneath the open sky.
At its heart lay a vast oval lawn, ringed by soft, well-tended earth. Surrounding it all were grandstands—towering, sweeping structures built to seat thousands. But today was no match day; only a handful of students dotted the empty stands.
Down on the pitch, the Gryffindor team was in the midst of practice. From above, they spotted a small procession heading their way across the grass.
Harry was the first to recognize that shock of pale blond hair. He frowned, then called out toward the goalposts, where Wood was stationed:
"Wood, heads up—Slytherin incoming!"
Wood blew his whistle sharply and bellowed to his players, "Slytherin brats are here to spy on our tactics!"
In an instant, all seven team members—brooms and balls in hand—swooped down toward the approaching group.
As they drew closer, it became clear that the newcomers were all lower-year students from every house. Wood scrutinized them, noting that aside from Slytherin's Seeker, Draco Malfoy, there weren't any other team members present.
He frowned at the gathering of underclassmen. "What's this about?"
"Wood, I want to duel Malfoy. The castle isn't exactly convenient, so… could we borrow the Quidditch pitch?"
The team exchanged confused glances, question marks practically floating above their heads.
Harry wasted no time—he whipped out his wand and pointed it at Malfoy, his voice stern:
"Malfoy, those Galleons you lost were part of a bet. You signed the agreement—no payback, remember?
Now you're picking on Neville? Got the guts, come after me instead. I'm president of the Charon Detective Society, or are you going to chicken out again?"
Draco's face drained of color. He knew exactly what Harry meant—the time in first year when he'd pretended to challenge Harry to a midnight duel, only to sell them out to Mr. Filch.
Gritting his teeth, Draco forced a sneer, but his hand—clutching a jade bead—had gone white, and he instinctively edged backward.
"He's the one who challenged me! Ask him if you don't believe it. After I duel him, you can decide if you want a turn."
Harry lowered his wand, eyeing Draco's upturned chin with a mix of annoyance and disbelief.
He turned to Neville, whose face was tense. "Neville, what's going on?"
Neville raised the sword in his hand. "He looks down on the swordsmanship Professor Holmes taught me. He thinks swordplay is just—"
Draco noticed the shifting expressions among the Gryffindors around him. He wasn't about to let things turn against him.
"Don't twist my words, Longbottom! I just think you're not cut out for swordsmanship—wasting Professor Holmes's time, that's all. I'm standing up for the Professor."
Neville shot back, "Enough talk, Malfoy. Are you going to duel or not? I don't need anyone's help. Today, I'll show you what real swordsmanship looks like."
The younger Slytherins jeered and egged them on:
"Show him what real magic is, Malfoy!"
"Swordplay? Only Muggles use that!"
Although there were older Gryffindors present, none of them intended to interfere in a lower-year dispute.
But the Weasley twins couldn't resist. They shouted in unison:
"Godric Gryffindor was the greatest duelist!"
"He respected his opponents—championed fairness!"
"Against wizards, he fought with his wand!"
"Against Muggles, his swordsmanship was second to none!"
On the last line, both turned to Draco, their faces full of mockery, especially when they reached the word "Muggles."
Draco's pale cheeks flushed an angry red.
As the highest-ranking student present, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain took charge:
"Clear the pitch—let's take to the air. Keep watch for any Professors. Everyone, spread out. Neville, you've got this—go for it!"
Harry stayed where he was, his expression grim. "I'll be Neville's second."
By tradition, a wizard duel allowed each participant a second.
But Neville shook his head, shooting a challenging look at Draco. "I don't need a second. I can handle him myself."
Draco stepped forward, chin high. "Hmph, I don't need a second to deal with you, Longbottom."
The students quickly formed a ring, encircling the two duelists. Overhead, a few Gryffindor Quidditch team members hovered on their brooms, watching.
The duelists took their places. Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a jade orb inlaid with three stars—one of the legendary Slytherin Dragon Balls for third-years.
He smirked, "Take a good look—this isn't your Remembrall. I'm one of the Slytherin Dragon Ball inheritors."
Without waiting for Neville to prepare, Draco muttered an incantation and hurled the orb to the ground before him.
With a flash, a five-meter-long giant serpent materialized on the pitch. Its body was thick and muscular, covered in heavy, metallic scales that shimmered in the sunlight. Power rippled beneath its skin, promising both speed and brute force.
The serpent's head was narrow and fierce, its eyes glowing like rubies as it fixed its gaze on Neville. It opened its massive jaws, revealing rows of razor-sharp fangs, and flicked its tongue menacingly.
Its tail thudded against the ground—thump, thump—sending shivers through the crowd.
Several students, startled, had already drawn their wands, even though they knew this was just a conjured beast without any true magical properties.
"Doesn't matter—giant serpents are terrifying, no matter how you look at it!"
"Only courage and brains will get you through this one."
"Fred, George—shut it!"
"What a shame it's a magical construct. If it were real, think how much meat you'd get off that thing!"
"Looks tough enough—imagine what a seventh-year's Dragon Ball could summon."
"Don't forget, with all seven Dragon Balls, you can summon a dragon!"
"Is Longbottom frozen with fear?"
"Where's his sword?"
"I heard the Professor taught him some sword-concealing technique—maybe he's got it hidden on him."
As Neville stood motionless, the Gryffindors began to worry.
Draco laughed, certain he'd rattled his opponent.
But Neville simply patted a pouch at his waist and shouted, "Sword—come!"
A flash of silver shot from his pouch, landing in his hand and transforming into a gleaming silver sword.
At the same moment, Neville's wand slipped into his left hand. He cast a Serpentine Glide charm on his own feet, then swiftly tucked his wand away.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
"Left-handed casting!"
"Wand in the left, sword in the right—Neville, you're unstoppable!"
🔥 Want to read the next 50+ chapters RIGHT NOW?
💎 Patreon members get instant access!
⚡ Limited-time offer currently running...
👉 [Join on - patreon.com/GoldenLong]