It all made sense instantly. Wood let out a derisive laugh. "Bought your way in, did you? Figures. Slytherin really is going downhill."
Malfoy's pale face flushed with anger, "I'd be Seeker even without the brooms! These were just gifts for my teammates."
Annoying as it was, there was some truth to that. Malfoy's small build and quick reflexes did suit a Seeker. He had loved flying since he was little, and while he wasn't on Harry's level, he was still one of the more talented flyers in Slytherin.
Neither side was willing to back down, and the tension thickened.
Then a crisp voice rang out from the entrance to the pitch.
"First come, first served---it should be 'Gryffindor's turn."
Flint spun around irritably, but when he saw who it was, his face faltered. He swallowed his temper.
"Granger, we applied to Professor Snape on the very first day of term. His approval is the earliest one."
At once, the Slytherins-including Malfoy took a step back, leaving Flint to deal with Hermione alone. He silently cursed his cowardly teammates. If it were anyone else, he'd have insulted them six ways from Sunday. But this was Morningstar's people. Insult her, and he'd end up in the hospital wing by nightfall, and not even Snape could protect him.
After all, Morningstar was a notary Slytherin too, and when it came to internal disputes, even the most biased Head of House was powerless.
"I applied the first day as well," Wood said stubbornly, pulling out McGonagall's signed note. Sure enough, both permissions were dated the same day.
"Then perhaps each House could take half a day?" Hermione suggested cautiously. She had gotten up too early, and didn't find Lucifer at breakfast, so she texted him with the use of 'enchanted paper duck', taking location, she wandered to the Quidditch grounds, and now had stumbled 'across the argument!'
At first she'd thought it was just Slytherin being unreasonable, but after hearing both sides, it was clear they each had a claim. She couldn't, in good conscience, simply side with 'Gryffindor.'
But neither Wood nor Flint was willing to compromise.
"Seriously, what's all the noise about?" Lucifer was just two or three footsteps back as he came rubbing both eyes, somehow not purely in a state of mental wakiness.
After Hermione explained, he chuckled, "That's easy enough to settle. No need for a 'theatrical' display of your brooms."
"How?" both sides demanded.
"You duel for it," Lucifer said lightly "Winner takes the pitch."
"A duel?'" Everyone turned to look at him, wondering if he had completely lost his mind.
Even a one-on-one fight was a serious violation of school rules. Just last year, Malfoy and Harry had brawled, and both Houses had suffered for it.
And now he was suggesting both entire teams go at it? If that happened, wouldn't both Heads of House be furious enough to burst?
"Morningstar, do you have any other 'ideas?" Flint, though secretly intimidated, wasn't about to back down in front of everyone. "What, you expect us to fight a bunch of girls and a bunch of skinny beanpoles? And if we break them, are we supposed to pay compensation? I don't do losing deals."
Wood immediately shot back, "A 'gorilla' swinging a broomstick thinks he's a wizard? Anyone who's taken Care of Magical Creatures can handle you."
"You wanna say that again?" Flint roared.
"Gladly. Gorilla."
"Since you all refuse, that leaves only one other option." Lucifer sighed, as if this was all so tiresome. "We let Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape duel it out. After all, this whole mess started because of 'them.' Whoever wins, their note stands."
The crowd stared at him as if they had just seen a ghost.
Even Hermione found this idea absurd. She tugged at Lucifer's sleeve, thinking if she needed to drop a bucket of cold water using her wand, trying to stop him, but it was too late.
Lucifer raised his wand to the sky. Two sharp cracks split the air as twin birds burst from his wand tip and flew straight toward the castle.
"Morningstar..." Malfoy swallowed hard, "What did you just do?"
"Oh, nothing much. Just invited both professors to come 'join us."
The Slytherins were speechless, while Gryffindors shivered at the thought.
Their Head of House was not like Snape, who could shamelessly wriggle out of anything. 'No-once' McGonagall arrived, whether they were right or wrong, things would escalate, and tempers would flare.
But since Lucifer had already summoned them, leaving now would look cowardly, and staying felt dangerous. So they could only shuffle awkwardly in place, waiting for the professors to arrive.
The Weasley twins gave him mournful looks. They had once shared meals with him---how could he betray them like this?
"..." Hermione who at least some input as to why things had escalated to this level of a duel, 'Lucifer's sleep got ruined, he is probably going to make Gryffindor' suffer....'
In less than ten minutes, both Heads of House strode grim-faced onto the Quidditch pitch.
Professor McGonagall was clearly fresh out of bed; she hadn't even put on her pointed hat. Her voice was sharp with outrage: "What is going on here? I gave you permission to use the pitch for training, not for fighting!"
"Professor, we haven't fought yet," Lucifer reminded her.
"Mr. Morningstar, I am well 'aware," She snapped, glaring at him.
"If you insist on an explanation, then let me give it. It's simple, really. Both Slytherin and Gryffindor have notes granting... today's use of the pitch, and neither side wants to give it up."
"So I suggested a solution: either the two teams duel for it, or the two professors. That way, whoever wins, their note is valid."
"Utter nonsense!" McGonagall almost thought she had misheard, "It's just a pitch! Why not divide the time-one House trains in the morning, the other in the afternoon? Why must it escalate to a 'duel?' Mr. Morningstar, dueling is no child's game. If someone gets hurt, who is to bear responsibility?"
The twins exchanged glances with Hermione and nearly burst out laughing.
No wonder they called her "Little McGonagall"---Hermione's solution was exactly the same as the professor's.
"Professor McGonagall is quite right."
Snape had already seen through the boy's ploy. His voice oozed with an infuriating drawl, "Such a brutal method... one wonders how 'your mind conjured' it. True, I could heal any injuries the students sustained with ease... But tell me how shall I mend the 'psychological' trauma of the Gryffindor students?"
McGonagall's expression sharpened at once. 'What did that bat mean by that? Psychological trauma of the Gryffindor students? Was he implyingmy students would be crushed by his?'
The very idea was infuriating. Her Quidditch players bristled with outrage, ready to leap into battle.
Fred shouted, "Professor Snape, better worry about your own lot. I'd hate to see your babies go home bawling to mummy and daddy!"
"Oh yes, yes'," Snape replied airily, clearly not listening, "I admire your courage, Morningstar. But don't summon teachers for every little dispute. As if this could ever actually come to a 'duel."
"Professor McGonagall," he went on, "let Gryffindor have the pitch this morning, and Slytherin in afternoon. Does that sound 'agreeable?"
"No!" Angelina Johnson shoved past Oliver qood, her fiery temper exploding, "We need the entire day to train. Duel! We'll settle this with a 'duel-right here, right now!"
Lucifer spread his hands innocently, "Professors, see? Negotiation doesn't work."
'You little-!' Snape grounded his teeth. Morningstar was truly a born Slytherin snake, never missing a chance to needle him.
McGonagall drew a deep breath. "Severus, the fault here lies with us. We failed to 'communicate' in advance, and so our schedules overlapped. Since students refuse to compromise, then let them resolve it themselves. We shall act as 'referees' to ensure no one suffers serious injury."
The old lioness's temper had flared. Her usual composure came from years of discipline and experience, but when pressed, she was still the same fiery Gryffindor who had once cracked her ribs and given herself a concussion in a Quidditch crash.
"If you 'insist," Snape said at last, pretending reluctance. "Seven players each, best of seven matches. Whoever wins secures full use of the pitch for the day."
No one objected. Both teams glared murderously across the field.
The Quidditch pitch had transformed into an arena. The only spectators were Lucifer, Hermione, and Colin.
Oh---and also Usagi, who had come to watch the show. The moment Colin spotted it, he swung his camera toward Lucifer instead, snapping picture after picture.
He even threw him one of Lee Jordan's signature hand signs.
The flashbulb never stopped going off. Lucifer figured Colin must spend every bit of pocket money he had on film.
"Your arsehole stirred all this up on purpose!" Hermione was fuming as she rubbed her bum at the cool surface, 'glaring at him!'
"Of course," Lucifer admitted calmly. "What's the harm? A little excitement to start the morning. Wizards live by the wand anyway...And believe me---even if this were solved peacefully today, the next time these two Houses meet on pitch, they'll go at each 'other even harder... dirtier."
Hermione couldn't refute him. Last year, the two teams had nearly beaten each other senseless---if Harry hadn't caught the Snitch at lightning speed, someone would definitely have ended up in the hospital.
"So you're that sure Slytherin will win?" She asked, refusing to give in.
Lucifer didn't answer at first, but when he saw her dangling her nose over the neck with an open mouth, showing her from teeth, he laughed with thinly veiled glee, "Relax, with just that lot from Gryffindor? Even if 'Merlin... himself' blessed them, they wouldn't win."
"Wood and Johnson are good students, and the twins know plenty of spells. 'Don't underestimate Gryffindor so much!" Hermione argued, her voice tight with indignation.
Lucifer gave her a knowing glance and said nothing more. 'Naïve little lioness', his eyes seemed to say. Soon, reality would show her the truth.
The rules were explained quickly, and the first duel began.
As team captains, Flint and Wood were the first to face off.
Oliver immediately shot an attack spell, but he hadn't noticed Flint muttering the incantation for a Shield Charm while bowing. The moment Wood's spell bounced harmlessly away, his mind went blank.
What now? The enemy had a Shield Charm, should he still keep attacking?
His hesitation was 'fatal'. Flint didn't wait for him to recover. He shouted two of his best-practiced spells in quick succession.
Wood's legs began to jerk uncontrollably in a ridiculous tap dance, and then an invisible rope wrapped around his throat, slamming him hard to the ground.
Flint strode forward, yanked Wood's wand from his grasp, and gave it a triumphant wave before smugly straightening up.
"That 'ended quickly," Snape remarked with mock surprise.
Professor McGonagall's face was stormy as she dispelled the curses. Wood staggered to his feet, coughing, head hung low. If the floor had a crack big enough, he would have crawled into it without hesitation.
The shame was unbearable.
"Oliver, I'll avenge you," Angelina Johnson declared, stepping out with determination blazing in her eyes. She had spirit--but reality was cruel.
Her opponent, Blatch Drask, was a seventh-year who had once challenged the Prefect. He might have lost that duel, but his skill was undeniable.... Against him, Angelina had no chance. She had zero experience in actual dueling. He defeated her easily.
Two losses in a row. The Gryffindor players already felt their 'confidence crumbling----'
They had always clashed with Slytherin on Quidditch pitch, but this---this was their 'firsttrue face-to-face' magical duel.
How had they lost so miserably?
"We'll go!" Fred and George stepped forward, stopping the two remaining girls. But the outcome was no better. The twins had plenty of tricks and cunning ideas---if this had been an ambush or a prank, their opponents wouldn't stand a chance.
But in a straightforward duel? They were quickly beaten.
By now, Professor McGonagall's expression could only be described as spectacular. The colors flashing across her face could have opened a dye shop. Her students--'her best students'---four matches, four humiliating defeats.
The humiliation cut deeper than losing a hundred house points... or even three hundred?!
"Looks like 'luck' is on our side today," Snape said, his tone smooth and full of satisfaction. His normally gloomy face was lit with rare cheer, "Flint, well done. Though remember, they are classmates. Best not to be too harsh..."
'Slash!' Another knife twisted in McGonagall's heart.
"Well? Why are you still standing here? You're wasting others' training time. Back to the castle, and finish 'your homework!" she barked furiously. Her voice cracked with frustration, her figure trembling with suppressed anger.
Wood and others shuffled away with their heads bowed, even the twins stripped of their usual mischief.
"Potter," Malfoy muttered as Harry passed by, "you got 'lucky' this time. Otherwise, I'd have beaten you to the ground."
Harry shot him a sharp glare, "A coward who runs from a duel doesn't deserve to talk tough."
Malfoy's face froze. Harry's mood instantly improved, and he jogged forward to catch up with the others.
"Severus, your students performed 'admirably," McGonagall forced herself to say through gritted teeth, before turning and leaving. Her retreating figure looked weighed down, almost desolate.
She could tolerate mischievous students. She could even tolerate the less intelligent ones--differences in talent were natural.
Not every witch or wizard could be a prodigy. But Wood, Angelina, the Weasley twins---'were they unintelligent?' Of course not. Other than Percy and a few exceptions, they were the finest Gryffindor had.
And still, they had been utterly, hopelessly defeated. Was this... proof that her teaching could not measure up to Snape's?
"Professor McGonagall..." Hermione's chest tightened painfully as she watched her Head of House leave.
"Hermione, this is actually a good thing," Lucifer said quietly. Even he hadn't expected the defeat to be so absolute. He had hoped Gryffindor might at least win a round. But since the disaster had already unfolded, it was up to him to soothe the young witch before she burst into tears.
The girl brought him food.
In a soft voice, he explained, "Professor McGonagall's teaching is beyond question.... But she protects her 'studentstoo much'. Think about it---you've been here for over a year now. Have you ever had any real combat practice?"
Hermione shook her head honestly. 'Practice? There were barely any places in Hogwarts where students were even allowed to cast spells. Everyone... just crammed before exams, grateful simply to pass!'
"Slytherin is different," Lucifer said seriously, "Snape doesn't care about the inner workings of his House anymore. If they want higher standing, 'they must prove' themselves with real skill, real power."
"The gap you saw today wasn't in talent. It was in experience. Flint, for example---he's been acting as Avery's sparring partner for an entire year. Even a fool would eventually develop a set of dueling tactics from that."
"And Wood? And the others? Calling them 'academic duelists' would be too generous. They have no strategy, no concept of combat--just mindlessly firing spells like children."
Hermione fell into deep thought, the sting of defeat dawning on her in full. After mulling over a few minutes, she became uninterested in such analysis, girl was mostly here to see Lucifer fly on a broomstick, and that obviously didn't happen.
She drifted away to find Colin and asked him to make her extra prints of the photos he had snapped of Lucifer.
Tilting her head back, gazing up at the boy. In her eyes, he shone with 'light!'
After chasing Gryffindor off the field, the Slytherin Quidditch team was naturally brimming with energy.
They zoomed through the air on their brand-new Nimbus brooms, flying at breakneck speed, performing dangerous stunts as a warm-up before diving into their training.
But unlike any other house, Slytherin's practice included something special-physical combat.
Apart from Malfoy, every Slytherin player was tall and broad-shouldered, Lucifer had given public a new idea.
"Do you know what the Mamba Mentality is? Use those big elbows of yours to strike fear into your opponents...." That single phrase was like unlocking Flint's hidden potential.
An 'elbow jab-small, subtle, nearly impossible for the referee to notice, yet devastatingly painful if it landed. It was the perfect weapon in Quidditch. From that day, Flint looked at Lucifer with newfound respect, even inviting him to join the team, if Snape ever allowed.
He, of course, refused without hesitation. That belonged to Gryffindor, he has a sudden desire playing a couple of matches, enjoying the thrill, which might just disappear without him even knowing.
Also, in a way, Quidditch was 'boring'. 'Weekly practice' was a waste of time---he'd rather spend those hours listening to Hermione narrating stories of 'Journey to the West.'
The sight of a bunch of burly boys grappling together on broomsticks wasn't particularly appealing, so he led Hermione away from the Quidditch pitch to give him a lap pillow.
xxxxxxx
Ron had a slug problem, and he puked one in the Black Lake with a look of disgust, as he tried to practice the curse, but it reflected back on him.
....
Harry waited until he was out of sight before pulling Ron up to Hagrid's door.
A group of two knocked urgently in the evening, and Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy but his expression softened and brightened when he saw who it was, "Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me---come in, come in - thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again----Lucifer and Hermione are here too."
Harry supported Ron over the threshold into one-roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in the other.
.....Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry was explaining as he lowered Ron into a chair.
"Better out than in," Hagrid said cheerfully, plunking a large copper basin in front of him, "Get 'em all up, Ron...."
Lucifer was standing near the wall, leaning up against it, he came here on a certain witch's request to see Hagrid after their intimate scenes.
"Well, I don't think... there's anything to do except wait for it to stop."
Hermione said, glancing over at him. She then watched Ron heave up another slug, "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand..."
Hagrid was bustling around making them tea, and his Boarhound, Fang, was resting his head on Harry's lap, slobbering all over him.
"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked as he scratched Fang's ears.
"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," he growled, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot, "like I don't know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."
Lucifer knew it wasn't like Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts teacher and was eyeing him carefully.
That prompted Hermione to ask something, "Why did Professor Dumbledore hire him? Was it because he was the best man for the job?" Her tone made it sound like she couldn't believe that was the case.
"He was the 'on'y man' for the job," Hagrid said, offering the three of them a plate of treacle toffee while Ron coughed and belched up slugs with squelchy sounds, "an' I mean the on'y one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. A lot of 'em say it's cursed or jinxed or somethin'. No one's lasted long fer a while now, see. So tell me..."
Hagrid said, jerking his head at Ron, "Who was he tryin' ter curse?"
"A rock, and it backfired." Harry informed Hagrid, being a chatter mouth like always, this was too funny, but he had to be a good mate.
"It was bald, I thought I struck a bloody mirror," Ron said hoarsely before having to cough up another slug.
1 Extra Chapter = 100 Power Stone's!
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Author's Note
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It is also mentioned in the bio.
Bonus Up to Chapter 115 has already been posted there.
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