"Professor, may I have a word?" I asked, as the other speakers, having received their answers, departed.
Professor Flitwick turned to me, and his face immediately lit up with his usual, genuinely joyful smile. His eyes glinted with interest.
"Of course, of course, Mr. Malfoy!" he squeaked, stepping towards me. "A question about the material? Or perhaps you've finally decided to try that modified Everte spell? I was just about to suggest it!"
He was full of anticipation. He expected a conversation about magic, about the things that truly ignited his soul. In his world, in the school, there was no room for school squabbles — only the magical arts. In his eyes, I was a true genius of magic, and he was always happy to spend time enlightening me on something. For this, I genuinely respected him, but, alas, this time the question was different.
I shook my head slightly, feigning a mix of embarrassment and determination on my face.
"Not exactly, Professor. It's… something else. Yesterday, after classes, an unpleasant incident occurred in the Slytherin common room. Mr. Torbin Rookwood from the sixth year made insulting remarks about me and my house. In the heat of the moment, I… challenged him to an official duel. To first blood."
The effect was instantaneous. The joyful anticipation on Flitwick's face evaporated.
"O-oh," he drew out with genuine dismay and concern. "Mr. Malfoy… Arcturus. This is… this is a very serious step. And very dangerous. A sixth year against a third year… I cannot allow such an unequal confrontation in an official duel within the school walls! It's dangerous for you."
He fidgeted on his stack of books, clearly distressed.
"I understand your concerns, Professor. And believe me, I would have tried to avoid this outcome until the last moment. But this is not just a sparring match or a school brawl. He publicly insulted me. As the heir of my family, I cannot let that pass unanswered. A duel to first blood is the minimal possible satisfaction in such a situation. I'm not demanding a lethal duel."
"I thought you were coming with something… different," he added with genuine disappointment.
I looked him straight in the eyes, trying to appear not as a bully, but as a man cornered by circumstances and duty.
"You know me, Professor. You know I don't seek conflict. But you also know that I'm decent at dueling. I certainly won't get hurt, you know that yourself."
Flitwick shook his head, looking at me with an expression that mixed disappointment, worry, and a drop of respect for my persistence.
"Oh, youth… oh, pride…" he sighed. "You have chosen a difficult and not the wisest path, Mr. Malfoy. And I, as the head of the club, should probably try to talk you out of it. But…" he paused, sighing heavily. "If you've decided, then I suppose I have nothing more to say. What time did you schedule the duel?"
"An hour before dinner, Professor."
Flitwick nodded, already resigned to the inevitable. His professional nature took over.
"Very well. I will be there as the arbiter. And I will ensure everything is done according to the rules. To first blood means to first blood. I will not allow any 'accidental' serious injuries. You understand that, don't you?"
"Absolutely, Professor. And thank you," I inclined my head slightly. "I apologize for disappointing you with the topic of our conversation."
"Don't thank me," Flitwick grumbled, gathering his scrolls. "Better take care of yourself. And try not to lose to someone who has studied magic for six years instead of three," he added sternly.
I nodded and turned to leave. The conversation went exactly as I had calculated: at the time of our discussion, there were still several classmates lingering in the classroom, pretending to rummage through their bags. They heard everything, and soon the duel time would reach the challenged party. In my emotional outburst, I had forgotten to specify the time.
By evening, I was sure the whole of Hogwarts would be talking about the duel between third-year Malfoy and sixth-year Rookwood in the Dueling Club hall. Just in case, about fifteen minutes before the duel, Caden Fletcher would inform the second duelist of the time… just in case it "accidentally" didn't reach him. Fletcher had, one might say, long since become my reliable go-to errand boy.
It seemed I could breathe a sigh of relief for now, as everything was going according to plan. It was a pity that I had disappointed Flitwick. He had always seen in me only a person seeking to master magic, to delve deeper, to become someone who wields magic, not just wave a wand thoughtlessly.
***
POV. Adrian Vance.
The Head Boy was now in the Dueling Club hall, which was buzzing like a disturbed beehive. Adrian Vance stood among his fellow Ravenclaws, away from the duelists, so as not to spoil his neutral image in the eyes of the other students. From where he stood, he had a good view of the platform and both opposing sides. He behaved impeccably neutrally, showing everyone his good-natured and honest face. But it was a lie; inside, thoughts raged that he carefully, with the painstaking effort of a schemer, suppressed.
In Vance's life, everything had turned upside down quickly. Just six days ago, he had been leading to the Headmaster's tower the one he hated for no good reason — Malfoy. Sometimes it happens that a person just causes disgust, and that's it. And with this pup, there were even some reasons. He had accompanied the guilty party to a conversation with the Headmaster, from which, he thought, he would never recover.
Back then, every word Vance had tossed over his shoulder was saturated with feigned superiority, which he didn't even try to hide. He thought he was putting an insolent upstart from a noble house in his place. That his plan — through McGonagall, to use that whole ridiculous room affair to tweak the nose of someone who considered himself old enough and thought such behavior was permitted — was working. Malfoy was supposed to get what was coming to him, and Vance, the noble and just Head Boy, would emerge from this story with an even more impeccable reputation.
Instead, he got a disgruntled Malfoy, who, knowing all those responsible, had already begun to retaliate against everyone. Even back then, as he was escorting Malfoy from the Dueling Club meeting, Arcturus had very transparently indicated that he would be waiting for his enemies. Yes, indeed, he hadn't even been allowed into the Headmaster's office.
And it was then that Vance began to understand that he had simply given in to his emotions. From that moment, he started to analyze the motive for his actions.
He began to doubt the logic of his actions. Lying in bed at night, staring into the darkness, he suddenly realized clearly that he had been living in a school paradigm all this time. Undoubtedly, he planned his future, but he seemed to have forgotten that being the most important among students at school did not mean that this status would carry over into adult life.
In all these school squabbles, he simply forgot that in reality, one's surname matters a great deal, and that this is normal. And here he was, a man who had spent so much effort to build up as many connections as possible to use them in the future, at the end of his school life, deciding to spoil relations with the still young heir of the wealthiest family in Magical Britain.
Malfoy had explained this in a few words wrapped in hints. He gave a promise to return to everyone what they deserved, and such a promise was not made by a frightened boy, but by the heir of the House of Malfoy. Yes, at school he was just a third-year, but in a few decades he would become the next Lord Malfoy, and if he really held a grudge, he would most likely keep his word when they had all long forgotten that they allowed themselves to consider themselves above him, the heir of the House of Malfoy.
Yes, Edrian Vance had done a lot of thinking these days. He turned the situation over and over, examining it from different angles, like a chess player calculating a game. And he came to a conclusion and a decision that infuriated him but was the only correct way out.
He simply needed to distance himself from everything and live the ordinary life of a Head Boy, without any intrigues or setups. Ordinary neutrality, which he always showed to everyone at school but almost never adhered to.
Here, at school, he could put in more effort and cause more trouble for Malfoy. But because of his personal animosity towards Arcturus Malfoy himself, was it worth ruining future relations with him? The Head Boy knew that it was not.
He had made a mistake. A global and fundamental mistake.
Envy is a bad advisor. And he had allowed himself to envy, allowed himself to look at a thirteen-year-old boy and think: "Why does everything come so easily to him? Why do I have to scratch and claw for every crumb of influence, build complex schemes, humiliate myself before others, while he was just born and is already closer to the goal?"
It infuriated him, it caused animosity, but this was the next Lucius Malfoy. And considering the influence the third-year's father wielded, Arcturus Malfoy could ruin his career in the future, and therefore his life. School was just the beginning, and a quarrel with a future lord could erase his future.
The confidence of a vengeful person who was aware of his future position in society shook Vance and reminded him that in six months he would enter the adult world, where there would be no status or influence of the Head Boy.
He had already tried to soothe his wounded pride, knowing that Rookwood and Farmus could, through his ideas, seriously shake the position of this… this upstart. And now he was reaping the fruits of his own stupidity.
Yes, Malfoy by birthright would have enormous power, but even if it was infuriating, one had to accept reality. So the Head Boy decided that he needed to get out of the game. Then the news came. News that Malfoy had challenged Rookwood to a duel to first blood for insulting him.
That morning, from Rookwood and Crone themselves, he learned that immediately after the challenge, they had gotten a taste of Merula Snyde. Vance knew Snyde — she was feared even in her own house. The fact that Malfoy had managed to get her on his side spoke more about him than any duel.
Merula Snyde, back in her fifth year, had smeared seventh-years across the walls in training sparring matches. And she was now acting as his second.
"What did he promise her?" Vance wondered, while simultaneously convincing himself that he was definitely out of the coalition of Malfoy-dislikers. And he needed to show it quickly.
The state of his former ally, who would soon step onto the platform, was so-so. Rookwood, whom Vance knew as a sturdy, confident wizard, looked sleep-deprived and disheveled this morning. Slightly paler than usual, a bit more nervous, with shadows under his eyes. The dishevelment was due to him being lucky that Merula Snyde had gone easy on them.
Of course, as soon as they woke up, these two had performed a cleansing ritual, but who knew what Merula had done to them to ensure his charge would win today.
Rookwood and Crone thirsted for revenge for Answorth. Farmus, the former Gryffindor prefect, hated Malfoy with a kind of fanaticism because he had been fooled. Higgs blindly followed Farmus. Together, they represented a force — serious enough to cause trouble for anyone.
But in the future, Malfoy was far more dangerous, so let those who had real motivation continue to fight Malfoy, and he would quietly watch. Maybe even reconcile with Malfoy somehow, just in case; losing loyalty to the coalition, although a pity, was preferable.
The decision hadn't come immediately. It had built slowly, through doubts. Neutrality — that's what he chose.
But then everything changed again, because shortly before entering this hall, a third-year Slytherin had approached him. Cassius Warrington, it seemed. Without a trace of servility, he informed him that his friend wanted to talk to him tonight, immediately after the duel. He didn't mention who his friend was, but it was obvious to Vance.
"He made the first move himself. Already sent his man to me. So he also… so he needs me? Or does he not need me, but the absence of enmity?"
***
The Dueling Club hall, a stern, elongated room with high vaulted ceilings, was today more crowded than even on Saturdays. And all the other platforms, except the central one, were empty of duelists. The central platform was bounded by a barely visible silver line, which was actually a chain of finely inscribed runes, and the light emanated from the pulsating protective charms on the platform, currently operating in passive mode.
Around, crowded near the platform, or sitting on benches rising in tiers to the walls, half the school had already gathered. More precisely, those older than second year who weren't currently occupied with anything. After all, some had classes now, and not everyone was free enough to come and mill about here. After all, I wasn't some seventh-year Wood or Merula, whose duels everyone would flock to.
Also, some professors were present. For example, the DADA professor and our Head of House, Snape.
Flitwick stood on a Transfigured platform near our platform. Next to him, Madam Pomfrey stood frozen; her presence was mandatory, as a healer was highly desirable for any serious duel within the school walls, and outside the castle as well. Her face expressed sternness mixed with disapproval. Although, it seemed… it was just a duel.
I now stood near my edge of the platform, feeling anticipation. On the other side of the platform, Torbin Rookwood was shifting nervously. His face was slightly paler than usual, and shadows lay under his eyes — apparently, a night of nightmares and insomnia had taken its toll. Well, that and Merula's abruptness.
Next to him, slightly behind, stood Crone. His left eye twitched with alarming regularity. Crone was acting as his second. Ah… I hope the curse's effect gives them many more nights of sound, quality sleep.
As my second, I chose Merula Snyde, or rather, she chose me. She literally insisted that I had to appoint her as my second. And I didn't mind. She now stood with a smirking face, and that look of hers — appraising and eager for a good fight — was fitting. Probably, their duel would have looked more logical, considering the age difference between Torbin and me, but today, the fight awaited only me. Next to her, literally vibrating with impatience, stood Esmeralda Mirk. Her disheveled dark hair, which she didn't particularly try to style, always added charm to her gothic look. And in her eyes burned that same dangerous glint for which even in our house she was considered hopelessly unhinged.
No joke, but by her behavior, thoughts, and even actions, she proved that she was a one hundred percent sadist, wanting to kill someone and then dismember them. Or vice versa. Yeah… I hoped she behaved herself well enough… but in any case, I wouldn't want to end up in a sorry state with only her around. Ah, what is the school thinking…
"Arcturus," she whispered, leaning forward and tugging at my robe sleeve. "Promise you'll tear him to pieces! You know… I came here today to see blood. Lots of blood! For him to crawl around this platform begging for mercy in a pool of his own blood!"
You hear her words, then look at this joyful and even somewhat sweet smile… it's dissonant.
I allowed the corners of my lips to lift slightly, without turning my head.
"Why would I want to kill Rookwood? Death is an end, and I didn't go to all that trouble yesterday for nothing."
Merula rolled her eyes but remained silent. The proto-goth, however, pouted her lips, showing her clear disappointment at my words.
"Why are you even asking?" she genuinely didn't understand. "He's finished anyway. After such a disgrace, he'll be nothing! So let him at least die beautifully! Or…" her eyes suddenly gleamed with a new, even crazier idea. "Or maybe you want to hurt him very badly. Very, very badly! And for that…" she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "…I could kiss you. You do like me, don't you? You like beautiful and slightly cruel girls, right?"
I barely suppressed the urge to laugh. But somehow, I was used to her being a crazy maniac. Still, one shouldn't think she was stupid… this was merely the image of a model serial killer, designed to confuse the naive.
"I'll think about your offer, Esmeralda. But actually, you should be the one earning a kiss from me."
Merula couldn't help herself.
"Of course, Prince of Slytherin, after all," she commented sarcastically, not looking at us. "He only accepts things that meet his high standards!"
Esmeralda immediately chimed in with a venomous tone:
"Well, I've seen him sneaking glances at you sometimes… when you were in interesting poses."
I coughed into my fist. The conversation was heading in a dangerous direction, but what could I do! Adolescent age… things happen… and she often attended our training sessions with Merula, as the best and only friend of the most dangerous witch.
"I saw it all. Don't deny it. So, will you cut him into little pieces after all? Please…"
Flitwick raised his wand, calling for silence. The murmur of voices around instantly ceased.
"That's it, I've got to go!" I said, quickly hopping onto the platform.
"Duelists, to your positions!" Flitwick's voice sounded unexpectedly authoritative, filling the hall with a sense of ceremony, perhaps? In short, he sounded very confident, clearly experienced in such matters.
Rookwood also stepped onto his side of the platform. I tried to catch his eye, but he kept looking away, only occasionally throwing me malicious and wary glances. Hmm… interesting…