The day smelled of business. But that's always the case — especially when, in the coming minutes, it's decided which way the plan will turn. I had to sweat, of course, for such a flexible plan with multiple moves, but it was worth it.
I stood aside and observed. I didn't intervene or even comment — although, I admit, my love for analyzing duels and an audience of friends suggested I should. But no. Today, I'm just an observer.
Farmus looked determined, but I wasn't overestimating him now. He's simply too emotional. He tried to hide his irritation, but in the corners of his lips, pure fury simmered. Unsworth, on the other hand, was oddly cold, as befits a Slytherin. Though, no — I think he was nervous. I hadn't noticed the habit of fidgeting with his nose and adjusting his clothes before.
Both had seconds, and I knew both well. And, of course, the judge was Professor Flitwick, who looked more serious than usual today and had his wand ready in advance. And rightly so, because a few words about non-lethal spells wouldn't hold anyone back here. An unusually large crowd had gathered around the platform for the Dueling Club; except, perhaps, first-years weren't allowed.
I let my gaze slide over the students' faces. Of course, they hadn't come for justice, but for someone else's conflict — free entertainment and new gossip material. And gossip was loved at school. Even too much. Which I had already proven to myself, using Farmus as an example.
The air shuddered. A flame struck the very center of the platform where Unsworth had stood a second ago. He nimbly managed to jump aside, and the blow hit the stone. A wave of heat rolled across the arena, stopping at the barrier.
Unsworth didn't respond immediately. He waited, taking spells on his shield, and then, almost without aiming, threw:
"Fumos Duo! Stupefy!"
Smoke burst from nowhere, settling in a dense, viscous layer. A red beam followed, flashing and extinguishing as quickly as a short breath. I managed to see Farmus dodge, but then the smoke swallowed everything. On the platform, only this smoke was visible. And also colorful flashes flickering here and there, accompanied by muffled pops.
By feel, the exchange of spells in complete disorientation lasted a whole minute, full of dull thuds from beams slicing through the smoke. It continued until one of them decided to disperse the veil with a powerful wind.
"Protego Tria!" Unsworth bellowed, taking an explosive spell on his shield. But the force of the explosion was substantial, and our prefect was thrown back further.
Only upon closer inspection did I notice traces of cutting charms on the platform's slabs. They weren't visible due to the smoke, unlike the colorful beams of repelling spells. So, he was hiding some of his strikes and even casting them non-verbally. And he wasn't using the simple cutting Diffindo, but something like Sectumsempra — a dark, nearly forbidden spell whose wounds don't heal easily. Otherwise, the marks on the stones wouldn't be so clearly visible.
The difference between these two spells is that the first can leave deep cuts, but Sectumsempra can easily sever a limb, or even a head. Even if you're lucky and survive, you might not be saved — wounds from dark spells heal poorly even with magic.
That's why he obscured everyone's view. Clever. But apparently, it didn't help much — Farmus had plenty of grit and was agile. His anger fueled him, and despite the risk, he kept up the offensive, only gaining momentum.
"Diffindo!" Farmus shouted.
The spell slashed through the space in front of him and passed a couple of inches from Unsworth's face, tearing the edge of his cloak.
The crowd buzzed, and the duel continued; with each second, the spells became only more dangerous. But I was thinking about something else: even the upper-year students from the Dueling Club often vocalize incantations, even when using spells they've demonstrated non-verbally. Apparently, it's not just the difficulty of non-verbal magic but also simple habit.
At some point, the Gryff almost pushed Unsworth to the edge of the platform, but apparently underestimated our prefect.
"Incendio Umbra!"
Flame of darkness. A fiery stream, like smoke, stretched from his wand in dark tendrils. The flame seemed to extinguish itself, leaving only a shadow that scorched the air. The barrier Farmus raised darkened, entwined with creeping tendrils of dark fire.
"Forbidden?" someone whispered in the crowd.
If it were, the duel would have been stopped. As it was — just not the most light-aligned spell.
Farmus momentarily dropped control of his protective spell and shouted:
"Aqua Eructo!"
A powerful, wide jet of water swept over the stream of dark fire, throwing Unsworth against the barrier. He hit his back on the stone floor. In a normal situation, he likely wouldn't have gotten up, but now he needed to. That's why, overcoming the pain, slowly but surely, he did rise. But it was already too late. Farmus intended to leave a deep scar on his opponent's face.
A slight movement, and a Cutting Charm flew from his wand, but Unsworth was at least somewhat lucky: the spell only grazed his cheek.
"First blood! The duel is over!" Flitwick announced loudly.
Blood trickled thinly down the prefect's skin, but he wasn't about to stop.
"Serpentes Adaligo," he uttered hoarsely.
The spell was interesting. As if a shadow crawled from the stone, gathering into the shape of a huge serpent. It raised its head, hissing, and lunged forward. Farmus raised his wand:
"Expecto Patronum!" the Gryffindor proclaimed loudly, creating a wave of pure light with a circular motion.
The serpent of darkness quickly disintegrated into dark flakes, but the Gryffindor's fury did not. At that same moment, a raging torrent of fire burst from his wand, which would have engulfed Unsworth if not for Flitwick, who shielded our prefect.
The crowd erupted with sounds — some clapped, some whispered, some whistled. It all merged into a single noise.
Unsworth stood motionless. A wand in his hand, and understanding in his eyes. He had seriously overstepped, using a couple of highly disapproved spells within school walls, and in a duel with agreed-upon rules at that. Moreover, after losing, he didn't accept it and attacked Farmus again and still lost, and would have burned to a crisp in shame if not for the professor.
He was utterly disgraced on all fronts. And Farmus was impressive… Though he merely responded to his opponent's less-than-fair behavior, he twice had a high chance of killing Unsworth.
Unsworth was paler than ever. He turned and wanted to leave without a word. The crowd parted before him, but Farmus's words stopped him.
"You must apologize for the vile rumors you spread!"
At Farmus's loud roar, the Slytherin finally turned and began his tirade.
"How many times do I have to say it, you brainless idiot! I didn't spread rumors; someone set us up!"
Farmus also stepped down from the platform and began closing in on Unsworth. Each of his steps showed he wasn't coming down to pat Unsworth on the shoulder.
"You think I'll believe your word?! You've lied more in your life than spoken the truth! I demand an apology! By the rules and agreement, you must admit guilt and apologize!"
"I will not!" Unsworth threw as a parting shot, for which he immediately received an Expelliarmus. Then, in a fit of rage, Farmus decided to finish off his opponent with a Cutting Charm, but Flitwick arrived just in time again. Soon, he led both to the Headmaster's office.
I watched Unsworth and was pleased — soon we'd have a different prefect. One more loyal to me. Immediately after the duel, I headed to the common room and settled into an armchair in front of the fireplace. Beyond the thin glass of the Slytherin common room lay the depths of the Black Lake. Sitting here, I often caught myself thinking: how interesting it would be to dive into that watery thickness, where sometimes you could spot something that would keep you awake later. Though most often, it was just ordinary fish swimming — or simply imagination playing tricks. But isn't it interesting to imagine: what if the glass cracked?
Ooh… seems the cockroaches in my head are really acting up. Well, what of it!? I feed them for this reason… Just kidding!
I didn't sit alone for long. While everyone was having lunch and whispering about the duel, and the two prefects were in the Headmaster's office with three of the four Heads of House, I was waiting for one person.
And, of course, he appeared right when I was starting to think he'd be late.
In the fireplace light, a tall silhouette appeared and soon sank into the adjacent armchair. It was Lucian Foley — a sixth-year from a noble family among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, an excellent student, a lover of theoretical magic, and a bore of the highest category.
His appearance was notable: long, slightly curly hair the color of gold, neatly tied in a short ponytail; nearly two meters tall, with a straight posture; eyes — blue as thick ice under the sun. And that perpetual squint of a person who tries to find a mistake in everything, especially in the words of their interlocutor. Oh yes, I almost forgot about his eternal cheerfulness — if you knew him superficially.
I wasn't joking about his height; it was hard to find anyone taller in the school. Except, perhaps, Hagrid, but he's in a league of his own for obvious reasons.
"You, as always, aren't eating or sleeping," he said, glancing at my armchair. "Interesting, is it simply because you're not hungry, or is it a manic drive for control?"
"The second one," I replied calmly, simultaneously creating a Dome of Silence. "Though the first isn't excluded either."
He smirked when the spell — the Dome of Silence — enveloped the space around us.
"You look cheerful for a second-year who nearly got Unsworth burned at a duel… by someone else's hands."
"Thank you, but your compliments never bring joy."
"I'm merely stating a fact; it wasn't a compliment. I see everything is going according to your plan."
"Almost. But there's one 'but.'"
"And this 'but' is related to Professor Snape," he guessed instantly.
"Of course. After today's circus, someone needs to explain to him why our house has dragged him into problems again."
"I take it my role in this play is already defined?" asked Foley, who had already grown accustomed to my age and took me seriously. Especially after today.
"Naturally," I said, smiling slightly. "You will tell a story. A plausible one. In it, Unsworth is an impulsive idiot who couldn't resolve a conflict with the Gryffindor prefect and dragged all of us into it, even simple second-years. Especially me. And you, an upstanding sixth-year, tried to dissuade him and help maintain discipline."
He snorted.
"Too theatrical. Snape will see through it."
"The Head of House loves drama; he just won't admit it," I countered. "He needs to see someone intelligent who can maintain order and not bother him with problems. You are a man of logic and calm, so you should fit the role. And our relationship is good."
Lucian leaned back in the armchair, looking into the fire.
"And how do you plan to explain my presence in this story?"
"Very simply. You heard that Farmus was mocking the younger years while Unsworth did nothing. Understanding that he would lose in a conflict, he didn't resolve the situation, acting like a child. You, as a responsible upper-year, couldn't turn a blind eye and decided to warn that the prefect wasn't coping. Sophia Selwyn, however, is trying for two."
"Hmm. And if he checks with Selwyn?"
"Then she will tell our version."
He smiled.
"You've even drawn her in. This is no longer a plan — it's a symphony. Bravo! How did you manage to make so many good connections in your second year?"
"Your task is to give Snape a version where Unsworth isn't a villain, but simply an idiot. A lazy, conflict-prone idiot. And the professor doesn't like idiots. You, on the other hand! The voice of reason who tried to prevent disgrace. Plus, a person willing to take on this heavy burden of responsibility."
"It will be wonderful if I become prefect."
"Of course. You were counting on it happening this year, but they gave it to that… that worm."
He was silent for a couple of seconds, then nodded.
"Yes. And if your plan works, it will be perfect. But tell me honestly: what's the personal gain for you?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?" I raised an eyebrow.
He smiled — almost lazily, but with that icy glint that always appeared when he sensed an opportunity.
"So, you've decided I will become prefect and be loyal to you?"
"I've decided you are suitable. The rest is another matter."
"In return, you get… what exactly?" he cautiously clarified.
I paused, letting the phrase hang in the air.
"You. In my debt. You will turn a blind eye to certain things, as you are doing now. And Slytherin needs someone who will tighten discipline."
He laughed quietly, almost soundlessly.
"Alright. Let's say I agree. Today, I'll talk to Snape. But if your plan doesn't work…"
"It will work," I interrupted. "You'll just say what I told you, meaning 'the truth.' Well, almost the truth."
He stood up, straightened his robes, and turned towards the door.
"Amazing how you always make others do all the work while looking impeccably innocent. It's good you're only a second-year for now."
"It's just talent," I replied with a nasty smirk. "Not everyone has it."
He turned around, held my gaze for a moment, nodded, and headed for the common room exit. After all, he's too disciplined — even about meals, as there were still about forty minutes left until the end of lunch, and he clearly went to eat. I should eat too, but I needed to think.
I was left alone, looking now at the fire in the fireplace, now at the reflection of darkness beyond the glass. Everything was falling into place. Too smoothly, perhaps, and that was slightly troubling.
But if you're going to play a game where everyone counts their steps, it's better to be the one who has counted the most.
Unsworth is in absolute defeat: he will lose his position, is already disgraced before the whole school, and Miss Selwyn will do her best to ensure the engagement isn't finalized. Oh yes, Sophia Selwyn… We got along perfectly so far, and when I found out about the impending engagement, which she disagreed with, through certain people, it wasn't hard to talk to her and gain another debtor.
Her father is a tough man, but despite his firm stance, he respects strength and reputation. Given the different social standings between the Selwyns and Unsworths, Sophia will be able to break this ice, and then her father won't finalize the engagement. The girl was already cold towards him before the engagement talk, and after her father's words and our agreement, she literally began to hate Unsworth, unwilling to sacrifice the only free choice every person has.
Say what you will, but I managed not only to gain her as a debtor but also to help a person. And here, dissonance arises, because I'm not sentimental, but I suddenly realized that the same fate awaits me. Perhaps Father has already arranged something with someone? Or will arrange it a bit later?
A marriage of convenience… I've long understood that for all the blessings I received simply by being born into this family, I must sacrifice at least this. But I couldn't accept a reality where someone would restrict me. Isn't that what I'm doing everything for? To be above everyone and have absolute freedom of action? Or, on the contrary, am I trapping myself in a semblance of freedom…
But I truly want to have the right to choose in this matter; it's too important for me…
Such thoughts troubled me, especially intensifying on rainy days. But that's still okay. Another matter is that I couldn't extract any benefit from Farmus's removal from the prefect position — and that was sure to happen, especially after numerous complaints to Snape from my classmates. Of course, the complaints were from Slytherin second- and first-years, and I arranged it all. But I'm sure Snape will dump all this on McGonagall at a critical moment — perhaps he's doing it right now.
In general, I'm 95% sure both these individuals will lose their prefect positions today. If I had more acquaintances in Gryffindor, I'd try to pull off the same there, but firstly, there are few, and secondly, Gryffs don't like cooperating with snakes in such dubious matters.
But anyway, I'll gain a lot from all this. Besides the obvious benefits, I acquired something irreplaceable — authority. I showed the right people that I, a mere second-year, can remove any prefect for the slightest grievances. Foley knows this, and he will definitely be well-disposed towards me when he becomes prefect. And he will become one.
What will Sophia Selwyn do as prefect? During the conversation with Snape, after Foley's account, she will also mention that he is well-suited for the role. So, once Foley replaces Unsworth, I'll have two prefects who owe me and will cover for me in any situation. Plus, the growing respect in our mini-council of second-years. And overall, the entire Slytherin second year now understands what we did and how we achieved it. I'm sure someone will blab, and soon all who need to know will know whose handiwork this is. On one hand, then everyone will know who's involved, but on the other, every Hogwarts student will have to reckon with me.