This time, Malfoy's arrogance didn't spark irritation among the other students. Quite the opposite—some even cheered loudly, clapping and egging him on.
That, in itself, was rather telling of the distinctly Western atmosphere.
Popularity wasn't won by being the most diligent, polite, or well-mannered student. No—more often than not, the admired ones were the cheeky, mischievous types who also wielded undeniable strength.
Like in Muggle schools—basketball and football players tended to enjoy the privilege of first choice in dating.
And at Hogwarts? One only had to look at the Marauders.
James Potter, who won Lily's heart. Sirius Black, who was even more popular than James during their school days—how many letters of admiration had he received?
Slytherin had always carried the reputation of cold-blooded serpents, scheming in the shadows, ready to stab you with some dirty trick.
But Malfoy, right now, was different. He wasn't lurking—he was brazen, fearless, practically radiating dominance. And against Ron Weasley of all people?
That swagger, that domineering confidence—they loved it.
Everyone loved it.
Everyone except Ron.
To Malfoy, Ron barely existed. He didn't even consider him an opponent. Ron, however, itched to smash his fist into Malfoy's smug face right then and there. But with professors watching, he swallowed the urge. He wouldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper.
So Ron strutted onto the stage, imitating Malfoy's air of disdain. They ended up nose-to-nose, making the crowd burst out laughing.
And most of that laughter was aimed squarely at Ron.
Malfoy's upbringing had endowed him with an aristocratic air, that ingrained sense of superiority and polish.
Ron, on the other hand… the best word for his manner was "awkward." His attempt at swagger came off stiff and ridiculous. Even his brothers buried their faces in their hands, while Ginny hid in the crowd, cheeks burning as someone whispered, "Ginny, your brother's hilarious."
"Malfoy, dueling isn't about who can shout louder," Ron spat, trying for menace.
"You're right," Malfoy said coolly, smirking. "In a moment, I'll make sure you are the one screaming. And trust me—you won't be able to hold it back."
…Terrible line.
Tom's expression shifted—something about this banter felt oddly off. Rouse noticed it too. When their eyes met, both carried the same baffled look.
Alright. Clearly, they were the only two normal ones left in this madhouse of a school.
"Excellent! Full of spirit!" Rouse boomed suddenly, cutting off the pre-duel trash talk before it veered further into absurdity. "But words are empty. Magic speaks louder! Now—show respect to one another!"
Malfoy immediately straightened, mimicking the formal bow and wand gesture he had seen Rouse and Flitwick demonstrate earlier. His motions were crisp, precise—almost perfect.
Ron, however, gave only the barest nod, a lazy bend at the waist, so half-hearted it made the professors frown.
"Weasley!" Professor McGonagall barked, voice like a whip. "Did you learn nothing from the lesson just moments ago? Or are you so stiff-necked you cannot bend at all?"
McGonagall didn't care about Gryffindors losing to Slytherins—she cared about losing with dignity. Ron's attitude wasn't just poor form. It was rude. Ill-bred. Unacceptable.
Ron hunched his shoulders, muttering as he gave a reluctant bow. Malfoy, of course, sneered.
He didn't want to bow to Ron either. But Tom had taught him this much: arrogance was something you displayed after you won, not before.
Tom had even reminded him of his own past:
"Last year you strutted around like a little prince and got your nose broken for it. Did you learn nothing? Never celebrate too early. And remember—if you wait for him to pick the fight, everyone will see you as the victim, not the bully."
At the time, Malfoy had burned with shame. That stretch of weeks had been a living nightmare for him—taunted even by Slytherins. But the lesson stuck.
People might refuse to listen to advice, but reality taught its lessons brutally well.
And now, compared to an ordinary student like Ron, Malfoy stood leagues ahead.
"I will count you down. Only when I say start may you cast spells. Understood?"
"Understood!" both answered.
"Good. Three… two… one… BEGIN!"
The moment Rouse finished, Ron whipped his wand upward.
"Eat slugs!"
A streak of silver light burst forth—but Malfoy was faster.
"Protego!"
The curse struck the shimmering shield and ricocheted away. It hurtled toward a cluster of students, but Flitwick flicked his wand, dissolving the rogue spell with elegant ease.
"Protego?!" Ron's voice cracked with disbelief. "How—how can you cast the Shield Charm?!"
It was nothing unusual for an older student to master it. But Malfoy was the same age as him!
"You think everyone is as lazy and unmotivated as you?" Malfoy sneered, striding forward, the shield still glowing around him.
"Tarantallegra!"
The incantation flew from his lips. Ron, forewarned, quickly darted aside, remembering from books that standing still made you a sitting target. But dodging was all he could do—he hadn't learned to cast while moving. So he hopped and scampered about the stage like a panicked monkey, earning more laughter.
Malfoy ignored the mockery, pressing forward step by step, closing the gap.
Seven paces—spells were fast. Within seven paces—spells were deadly accurate.
Ron panicked. If he kept retreating, he'd fall right off the stage.
"Tarantallegra!" Malfoy cried again.
This time Ron failed to dodge. His legs jerked violently, and suddenly he was capering across the platform, forced into a grotesque, clownish dance.
Malfoy strode forward, tore the wand from Ron's hand, and finally let the laughter burst free.
"Weasley, that's quite the dance! At this rate, you'd make more money working in a bar than your father earns at the Ministry!"
The insult cut deep. Over the summer, his father had brawled with Arthur Weasley in Flourish and Blotts, only to come away humiliated when Hagrid broke it up. Tonight, at least, he could claim revenge. He'd be sure to write to his father immediately—perhaps even coax some extra Galleons as a reward.
"Malfoy! Take this spell off me!" Ron shouted, face red as he flailed.
But Malfoy ignored him, looking instead to Rouse. "Professor, does this count as a win?"
"Of course," Rouse said cheerfully, nodding. "Excellent work, Malfoy. That Shield Charm was impressive. You clearly have talent—keep working hard."