From the moment Malfoy's insult rang out to the moment Annie slapped him, everything happened so suddenly.
The son of the team's financial backer had been hit. By all rights, the Slytherin players should have jumped in to kick Malfoy while he was down.
Well... not Malfoy, of course.
But in the end, they held back. Annie's declaration, "My brother is William Stark," may have sounded arrogant, but it worked as a deterrent.
After all, there was a reason why Draco constantly name-dropped his father.
Fight back?
Impossible! Not in this lifetime!
She was William Stark's sister—who'd dare take that risk?
Anyone who thought William was just coasting by at Hogwarts was dead wrong.
Though his influence wasn't as astronomical as Dumbledore's, it was undeniable.
Being a top student was the least of it. William had captured a Death Eater who had attacked the Ministry of Magic, making him the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin.
He had also publicly slain a Basilisk with his own hands.
There was no way to fake those achievements!
Even Professor Snape had repeatedly warned his Slytherin students not to mess with that troublemaker Stark.
And just a few months ago, William had absolutely destroyed the Slytherin Quidditch team in a match.
Did anyone really think they hadn't tried to foul him during the game?
Of course they had—but William's fouls were far craftier and more devastating, as if he'd been playing professional Quidditch for over a decade.
A few well-placed elbows from him had nearly crippled the Slytherin players who tried to take him down.
There was no winning against him, no escaping. Who would be foolish enough to provoke his sister?
Only Malfoy, that reckless fool, would dare use the word Mudblood so flippantly.
Honestly, he deserved the slap.
But Malfoy's two lackeys were a different matter.
Crabbe and Goyle might have been Slytherins, but they lacked any semblance of cunning. Instead, they were astonishingly dim-witted.
To put it bluntly: they were idiots.
Their fathers had drilled one thing into their heads from a young age: When you see Draco, you lick his boots—no questions asked.
And so, they charged at Annie.
Hermione didn't fully understand the meaning of the word Mudblood, but that didn't stop her from noticing Crabbe and Goyle rushing forward.
She took a step forward, raised her wand, and gripped it steadily in her hand.
"Impedimenta!"
A beam of light shot out and struck Goyle just two steps away from Annie. He came to an abrupt halt and then collapsed to the ground.
It was as if an invisible wall had sprung up between him and Annie.
Annie, nimble as ever, ducked under Crabbe's punch.
Hermione flicked her wand again, and Crabbe was hoisted upside-down into the air.
Malfoy pulled out his wand and shouted, "Tarantallegra!"
But Hermione was too quick. Before the incantation had fully left his mouth, she yelled, "Expelliarmus!"
A flash of scarlet light streaked through the air. Malfoy was blasted backward, crashing into a Quidditch goalpost before crumpling onto the grass.
The entire sequence took less than ten seconds, and Hermione had single-handedly taken down three opponents.
Everyone was stunned.
Was this really Hermione?
Did someone mix up the script?
This is way too out of character, isn't it?
Could it be William in disguise with Polyjuice Potion?
Though wands hadn't initially been involved, now that a fight had broken out, the Slytherins weren't going to stand idly by.
Several of them drew their wands and aimed at Hermione. After all, she wasn't Stark's sister—there was no reason to hold back.
Stark couldn't have that many sisters, right?
But Hermione's combat experience was too vast—or rather, the two-hour nightly duels with William had honed her skill to a razor edge.
From the initial pain...
The soreness that made her unable to walk...
To the exhaustion that left her collapsing into bed, drenched in sweat...
To the point where she began looking forward to each session with eager anticipation and a sense of fulfillment...
William had shaped Hermione into a true witch.
She knew better than to try and deflect a flurry of spells head-on. It was the most foolish way to fight. Instead, she spun her wand and pointed it at herself.
"Levicorpus!"
If Professor Flitwick had been there, he might have been momentarily bewildered—Hermione's combat style was strikingly similar to William's.
Hermione was now suspended in midair, upside-down. Every spell aimed at her missed entirely.
Her wand moved once more, and thin, invisible ropes shot out like vipers from the grass, coiling around the Slytherin students' legs.
With a sharp tug, the ropes yanked them off their feet, sending them sprawling to the ground.
Flint lay there, playing dead. He let out a barely audible sigh, as if realizing they'd provoked something monstrous.
This time...
They'd made complete fools of themselves.
Should we report this to Professor Snape?
But...
How do we even explain it?
That we got beaten up by a second-year Muggle-born witch?
And that it was one against seven?
This is impossible...
…
Meanwhile, William, Cedric, and Cho crossed the grassy field and arrived at Hagrid's hut.
Hagrid was sitting inside, engrossed in a book.
Wait a minute... Hagrids reading?
The last time he'd read anything, it had been A Comprehensive Guide to English Dragon Breeding. And before that, it had been Techniques for Neutering Three-Headed Dogs.
Whenever Hagrid read a book, it usually ended with him adopting some dangerous creature as his new "child."
"Hi, Hagrid! What are you reading?" Cho asked, peering through the window.
"Ah—nothin' special. Just some light readin' about philosophy an' life," Hagrid stammered, hastily shoving the book under his bed.
"Hagrid, what book is it?"
The three of them entered the hut.
Cho adopted a sugary-sweet tone.
"You didn't adopt another magical creature, did you? All your little friends are so... cute. Can we see it?" she coaxed.
"Yeh really think so?" Hagrid chuckled. "But no, no critters this time."
He had an air of secrecy about him.
"I'll show yeh—but don't tell anyone," Hagrid said nervously.
They all nodded eagerly.
Hagrid went to the door, tossed Fang outside to keep watch, and shut the door firmly behind him.
Then he pulled out the book. The title read: The Noble Art of Beast-Taming.
"Hagrid, are you planning to become a professor?" Cedric asked, puzzled.
"Not really," Hagrid replied, opening the book.
"Professor Kettleburn was talkin' to me the other day. He's sad 'cause all his critters have passed away. Doesn't want to teach anymore—he's thinkin' of retirin'. Asked if I'd be interested."
"Is Professor Kettleburn really retiring?" William raised an eyebrow.
Wait...
A sudden thought struck William. Professor Trelawney's prophecy!
If Hogwarts was cursed so that two professors had to leave this year, Lockhart was definitely out next year.
And if Kettleburn retired... that would be two departures.
Could Trelawney have foreseen this?
Or did she just have inside information and deliberately make her prediction seem ominous?
This Divination professor... she might really be onto something.
No wonder Dumbledore had been keeping her around like a pampered daughter for thirteen years.
Turns out it wasn't "pampering", it was more like...pinning down talent.