CHAPTER 20: A TEST OF STRENGTH
Draco Malfoy cleared his throat deliberately, drawing the attention of his allies as Harry Potter exited the Great Hall. Potter had arrived late, exhaustion evident in the dark bags under his eyes, but he wore a broad grin that sparked murmurs and speculative titters among the scattered students. Draco noted the usual crowd around Potter—Hermione Granger, who seemed uncharacteristically close to him, and the ever-hungry Ron Weasley stuffing his face with food. To Draco's amusement, Potter ate just as heartily, his bloated state making Draco's task seem slightly easier.
Draco's allies filed out of the Great Hall one by one, leaving a bewildered Gregory Goyle alone at the table. Marcus Flint had insisted that Goyle be left behind, and Draco didn't see any reason to argue this time. This wasn't about petty rivalries or schoolyard pranks. This was a job—an assignment ordered and paid for, and Draco had to keep his ego in check.
Marcus Flint led the group, his heavy footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as they followed Potter. Usually, Flint wasn't part of their 'security missions,' but this was no ordinary assignment. The client had paid handsomely, and Potter was a different kind of target. Draco had his doubts about the press's glorified accounts of Potter's heroics. His father had been a Death Eater, and Draco knew firsthand that Potter wasn't quite the invincible figure the media portrayed him to be. Potter was powerful, yes, but three against one, including Flint, a seventh-year with considerable strength, was an advantage Draco wasn't going to waste.
As they approached a particularly dark and chilly part of the castle, known among the students as Dead Hogwarts, Flint signaled for them to prepare. Dead Hogwarts was an area seldom frequented, its corridors shrouded in darkness and dust, with the occasional eerie ghost drifting by. It was a place avoided by most, reserved for clandestine meetings and unsanctioned activities.
Draco and his companions followed Flint's lead, their steps muffled by the thick, aged carpet. They turned the corner just as Potter did, moving with practiced stealth. The maze-like passages of Hogwarts twisted and turned, and Dead Hogwarts provided the perfect cover for their intentions.
Potter was oblivious to the danger closing in behind him. He rounded another corner, his footsteps echoing faintly. Draco felt a surge of anticipation mixed with a hint of nervousness. This was a high-stakes operation, and everything had to go according to plan.
Flint held up a hand, signaling the group to halt. They paused in the shadows, Draco's breath coming in shallow bursts as he peered around the corner. Potter continued down the dimly lit corridor, his back to them, unaware of the impending confrontation.
Draco's heart raced as he prepared for the next phase of their plan. This was the moment they had been waiting for. Potter was about to find out that there was more lurking in the dark corners of Hogwarts than just its ghosts.
"Hello, gentlemen," Potter's voice cut through the darkness, cool and composed. He stood in the dim light, wand raised, a smirk playing on his pale lips as if he were casually greeting friends rather than preparing for a confrontation.
"Potter," Flint spat, his voice low and menacing.
"What's this all about?" Potter inquired, his tone almost casual as if he were genuinely curious.
"Sending a message," Crabbe grunted from behind Flint. "Stay away from Greengrass."
"Ah, and here comes the 'Or else?' is that right?" Potter's smile widened, a trace of amusement in his eyes as he leaned casually against the wall, unperturbed.
"That's right," Flint growled, his hand tightening around his wand. The group spread out, forming a loose circle around Potter, cutting off any potential escape routes.
"Before we do this," Potter said, cracking his shoulder and stretching as if preparing for a workout. "I want you to know that even after this fight ends badly for you, I won't hold any ill will toward you. I'll still accept your support when the time comes to submit. Keep working, keep getting more powerful, and you'll find you don't need to follow your fathers if you don't want to."
"Potter," Draco found himself saying, his voice edged with frustration. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Harry's smile remained, a haunting reminder of the Witch Weekly cover. "You'll understand when the time comes."
"Stop the mind games, Potter," Flint snarled, his patience wearing thin. "Crucio!"
A burst of red light shot from Flint's wand, arcing toward Potter. In a fluid motion, Potter spun on his heels, evading the curse with an elegant pirouette. The spell's light collided with Crabbe instead, who let out a bone-chilling scream as he convulsed on the ground, writhing in agony.
"Oh," Harry said, putting a hand to his mouth in mock horror. "How unfortunate." His voice dripped with insincerity as he glanced over his shoulder at the writhing Crabbe.
Flint's face twisted with rage as he ended the Cruciatus Curse, but the damage was done. Crabbe lay twitching and moaning on the floor, his body spasming from the residual effects of the curse.
Draco clenched his jaw, feeling a mix of anger and determination. He refocused his efforts on his transfiguration. Sweat trickled down his brow as he completed the complex spell. The vines, once spiders, began to sprout from the stone floor, twisting and curling with an almost organic life.
The green tendrils surged upward, snaking around Potter's feet and climbing up his legs. Draco's heart pounded as he watched the vines constrict, hoping to immobilize Potter and give them the upper hand. It was a difficult transformation, but one he had mastered through years of practice. Family magic, he reminded himself, a skill that proved his worth beyond his father's expectations.
Potter glanced down at the encroaching vines, his expression shifting to one of mild surprise. With a casual flick of his wand, he sent a gust of wind that blew the vines away, but Draco was already preparing for the next phase of their attack. The weight of the moment pressed heavily on him; their success or failure hinged on his actions.
"Draco!" Potter's voice rang out with unrestrained delight, as he deflected a curse from Flint with ease. "That's your daddy's magic!"
Draco's eyes narrowed with both irritation and confusion. "Surrender, and maybe we won't snap your wand, Potter." How did Potter know about the Malfoy Vines? The vines continued to grow, wrapping around Potter's legs and climbing up his torso. Yet Flint's curses were still failing to land. Crabbe, meanwhile, was foaming at the mouth on the floor, his body twitching uncontrollably.
"I'm not French, Draco," Potter said, his tone mockingly chastising. He muttered an incantation, and a golden-tinged shield materialized in front of him, deflecting Flint's spells. "Ooh, that was a nasty spell, Marcus. The book you learned that from is quite illegal, you know?"
Flint's face was flushed with anger as he hurled curse after curse, each one splashing harmlessly against Potter's shield. "Impressive power, but you're not quite fully developed yet," Harry said casually, rubbing the back of his head as if pondering a minor inconvenience. "Although, now I think about it, neither am I."
Draco was astounded. Potter remained completely stationary, his shield effortlessly absorbing both his and Flint's attacks. It was a display of magical prowess that seemed to defy all logic. The vines were now creeping up Potter's sides, and Draco hoped they would soon restrict his arms, but the shield continued to protect him.
"Now," Potter continued, still lecturing as the vines began to encase his arms. "Draco, your vines are a beautiful magic. Something your family acquired from South Africa, back in the day, I believe? They have two main flaws. One, of course, they don't cause harm. They hold me, but they don't actually hurt me or prevent me from performing magic. And two, they are fundamentally runic-based intent magic. You envision the effect, draw the runes for nature, and—well, bondage."
Harry chuckled, a flush creeping up his face. "Sorry, Draco. You'd probably rather not know. But here's a bit of history. Your family's spell was based on a famous Zulu witch named Liyana. History tells us she was a bit of a dominatrix, or as close as they had back then. A siren who practiced a form of sex-based magic, similar to some traditions seen in India centuries earlier. Still with me?"
Flint was livid, his face red with rage. "Shut the fuck up, Potter! Die, you stupid fucking cunt!"
"Rude," Harry said, shaking his head with mock disapproval. With a flick of his wand, he cast a Silencing Charm on Flint. "Now, Draco, back to Liyana. She was a formidable figure. She'd seduce invading British soldiers, take them to bed, and then bind them up, crushing their heads between her thighs. She'd impale them on pikes in the morning, their genitals severed, their faces smeared with their own... well, you get the idea. A bit too kinky for my taste, even. She became a symbol of resistance, amassing a following, a cult of sorts. And that cult, Liyana's lusty witches, passed on her magic until the British conquest, which likely involved your colonial great-grandfather. Somehow, Grandpappy Malfoy got hold of the magic, and that's how you know it. Don't ask why I know all this—that's a strange memory for everyone involved."
Draco's eyes widened in a mix of shock and fury. Potter's nonchalant recounting of such a brutal history, combined with his effortless display of magical superiority, was deeply infuriating. As the vines tightened around Potter, Draco steeled himself for the final stages of their plan, hoping that the ancient magic of his family would be enough to turn the tide in their favor.
Yet, the thought of dropping his wand and fleeing crossed his mind. Would Potter let him escape? The vines were so close to fully ensnaring Potter now. Draco didn't even consider unsilencing Flint; it seemed pointless. His desperation mounted as the situation became increasingly dire.
Potter shook his finger in mock reproach. "Now, the reason I'm telling you this story is because the vines have a second flaw, rooted in their sex-based origin. You see, these Zulu witches, once they'd ensnared a man, they never let him go—that's the part of the legend that's well-known. But they also used these same vines with their beloved partners. So, they enchanted the vines to only dissipate when touched by drops of female arousal, allowing them to be used in their personal lives. It's a bit crazy, right? Just like British witches who use Morgana's magic for all sorts of things, these Zulu witches relied on their matriarchal, feminine magic to power their own."
Potter's grin was infuriatingly smug. "I know, it sounds unhygienic. A bit embarrassing, really. But, Vincent, Marcus, Draco, the truth is," Harry's grin widened as he casually wiped his hands along the vines, "I haven't washed my hands since I fucked your mother."
The vines reacted instantly. They hissed and retreated, vanishing into the stones of the floor. Potter, now free, cast a single spell that sent Flint crashing into the wall, his head cracking against the cold stone with a sickening thud. Another incantation ensnared Crabbe, lifting him upside down and binding him tightly.
Draco was left alone, his heart pounding as he tried to move away. But the weight of Potter's gaze was unbearable. As Potter's eyes met his, Draco was struck with a sudden, intense headache. A vivid flash of memory assaulted him—Tracey Davis's stern face, her instruction to ensure Potter stayed away from Daphne.
Potter's smirk widened as he saw Draco's struggle. With a casual flick of his wand, he cast a simple Stunning Spell. Draco's world went black as he collapsed, his body hitting the cold stone floor with a heavy thud.
Draco's unconscious form lay on the floor as Potter approached, his expression one of triumph mixed with a touch of pity. He stood over Draco, who was sprawled out and unmoving, a testament to the effectiveness of his spell.
Potter took a deep breath, surveying the aftermath of their confrontation. Flint's groans echoed off the walls, and Crabbe's muffled protests came from his upside-down position. Harry felt a brief pang of regret for the rough handling, but the mission had been clear. He had to demonstrate his superiority and send a message.
Turning his attention to Flint and Crabbe, Potter muttered, "Let's see how you handle a little taste of what you tried to serve me." He cast a series of immobilization spells, ensuring that neither Flint nor Crabbe could move. Their muffled curses and struggles were ineffectual against the powerful enchantments.
Potter then turned his focus back to Draco, who was beginning to stir. He bent down, crouching beside Draco's prone form, and whispered, "Draco, you've got a choice. You can keep playing these games, or you can step up and actually make a difference. You've got potential, but this… this isn't the way."
As Draco's eyes fluttered open, he looked up at Potter with a mix of fear and defiance. Potter's gaze was unwavering, filled with a mixture of challenge and understanding.
"Get up," Potter said softly but firmly. "Get up and think about what you really want. This—" he gestured to the defeated figures of Flint and Crabbe—"isn't what you should be aiming for. You're better than this. But if you insist on playing games, don't expect me to hold back next time."
Draco struggled to his feet, his head pounding and his vision blurry. The weight of Potter's words and the memory of his encounter with Tracey pressed heavily on him. Potter's words were a challenge, an invitation to reconsider his path.
Potter stood up, brushing off his robes. "I'll leave you to think. You've got a lot to figure out." With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the deserted corridor.
As Potter's figure disappeared around the corner, Draco slumped against the wall, trying to gather his thoughts. The aftermath of their confrontation left him reeling—Potter's power, his unexpected kindness, and the realization of how easily things had gone awry.
Flint and Crabbe were still bound and immobilized, their struggles gradually subsiding as they exhausted their energy. Draco knew he would have to deal with them later, but for now, he needed to confront the turmoil within himself. The path he had been treading seemed increasingly uncertain, and Potter's challenge had left him questioning his choices and his future.
In the silence of the cold corridor, Draco resolved to seek answers and reassess his position. Potter had made it clear that there were consequences to his actions, and Draco was left to grapple with the weight of his own decisions and the direction they would lead him.
Harry took a measured sip of Pepper-up Potion, the steam rising from his ears and curling in the dimly lit corridor. He didn't need the entire vial, but Narcissa's ordeal had drained him, and he needed a boost to deal with Daphne. Tracey's blunder had complicated things, and he had little faith that Daphne was aware of the misstep. She wouldn't have trusted Draco and his cronies to handle him, not after witnessing his skills firsthand. Regardless, Daphne would be the one to pay for it. It was a perfect opportunity to leverage her situation.
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