Chapter 49: I mean, All of you here are trash!

Flint never expected that Harry was just as eager to teach this group of Slytherins a lesson.

Arrogant, self-important, and smug...

Ha! You lot think you’re worthy?

You’re a disgrace to the Slytherins of a hundred years ago!

With quick reflexes, Harry used his wand to deflect the curse, swiftly following up with an Expelliarmus.

It was a subtle technique—while it appeared as if Harry merely used his wand to parry, it was actually a Protego.

“Non-verbal spellcasting?” The onlookers were stunned.

No one had anticipated that Harry would be capable of such an advanced skill—something typically reserved for adult wizards.

“What are you standing around for?” Flint roared. Even without a wand, he still had his proud, strong physique.

After all, the Potter kid was just a scrawny little first-year—if Flint could just get close enough, everything would be fine!

But he had barely taken two steps when his body suddenly floated into the air, completely out of his control.

“Expelliarmus!”

Ron’s wand shot out a beam of light, successfully disarming the upperclassman who had his wand pointed at Harry from behind.

The wand spun through the air and landed in Ron’s hand. Behind him, Seamus and Neville let out cheers of excitement.

“Merlin’s beard, Ron! How did you do that?” Neville whispered urgently, a mix of awe and envy in his voice.

“Harry taught me,” Ron said smugly.

“Ronald!” Hermione hissed sharply. “Can you focus on the fight, for heaven’s sake? We’re still under attack!”

Ron jolted back to his senses, scrambling to dodge a curse fired by one of the older students.

He was just a first-year—he hadn’t even learned the Protego spell yet.

Not that it was entirely his fault. In truth, in the current British wizarding world, many adult wizards—Aurors included—couldn’t properly cast Protego.

It was laughable—almost as ridiculous as a U.S. police officer showing up without a gun.

Unfortunately, Neville wasn’t so lucky. A curse hit him squarely, his body stiffening as he collapsed to the floor with a loud thud.

“Oh, poor Neville,” Ron muttered nervously, retaliating with another disarming spell and knocking yet another wand into his own hand.

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Never mind that their opponents were fifth-years—honestly, their magical skill was abysmal.

The trio hadn’t even practiced combat coordination before, yet with Harry’s experience on their side, dealing with these fifth-years was a walk in the park.

Within minutes, the fifth-years had all been soundly defeated.

Harry’s emotions were complicated. He wasn’t happy about this outcome.

Seriously, what had happened to Hogwarts?

Fifth-years who couldn’t even cast a proper Protego, let alone stand up to a bunch of first-years?

Were fifth-years always this pathetic?

Harry thought back to his own fifth year—back then, he’d been able to take on three Ashwinders single-handedly and come out on top.

Compared to these fifth-years, he was leagues ahead.

“Finite!” Harry cast a counter-spell on Neville, helping him back to his feet.

Neville groaned, rubbing the sore spot on his head where it had hit the floor. “Ron, why didn’t you warn me?”

“Mate, it all happened so fast,” Ron said apologetically. “I didn’t think the curse would hit you.”

“Potter! Put us down!” Flint’s voice rang out angrily.

“Oh, my apologies,” Harry said breezily, “I didn’t realize Slytherins were so fragile.”

Seven fifth-year Slytherins had come forward to defend Pansy. Now, two of them were floating helplessly in the air, and five were lying flat on the ground.

“Apologize to Hermione,” Harry demanded.

“Over my dead body!” Flint snarled from mid-air. “I’ll never apologize to that filthy little Mudblood!”

Harry’s expression went cold.

With a flick of his wand, Flint came crashing to the ground with a thud.

“I said, apologize.”

Harry’s wand moved again, and Flint cried out in shock as his knees buckled, forcing him into a kneeling position.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Harry said dryly, shaking his head. “From your behavior, it’s easy to tell what kind of family raised you.”

“How dare you insult the Flint family! You’ll pay for that, Potter!” Flint spat, his face contorted in rage.

“Oh, does that bother you?” Harry leaned closer, his voice low and full of scorn. “Funny how you didn’t consider the consequences when you insulted others. Let’s face it—it takes a trash wizard family to raise a trash wizard like you...”

“Stop it!”

A clear, authoritative voice cut through the crowd, silencing Harry mid-sentence.

The onlookers parted to make way for the Slytherin prefect, Gemma Farley, who approached with a stack of books in her arms.

“What is going on here?” Prefect Farley demanded sharply, scanning the scene.

“Miss Farley, it’s like this…”

Several Slytherin students hurried forward, eager to tell their version of the story, heavily embellished in their favor.

“Flint, Bole, Derrick!” Farley’s voice rang with anger. “You’re telling me that you fifth-years were defeated by three first-years from Gryffindor?”

“Look at you, Flint! You’ve brought shame to your family!” she snapped.

“Miss Farley, Potter insulted my family—”

“Silence!” Farley cut him off coldly. “You brought this on yourself! Who do you think you are, using that word? Slytherin will lose ten points because of your outburst!”

“And you, Miss Parkinson,” she added, “will also lose ten points!”

Prefects had the authority to deduct points from students as punishment for breaking rules.

The Slytherins were stunned. None of them had expected their own prefect to dock points from Slytherin.

Whose side was she on, anyway?

But Gemma knew she had no choice. If it had just been a scuffle among younger students, that was one thing. But fifth-years bullying first-years? If the professors found out, it would take far more than twenty points to smooth things over.

Not to mention, Marcus Flint and Pansy Parkinson had openly used the word “Mudblood” to insult a Gryffindor student. That was a serious offense.

“You are a fair prefect,” Harry said politely, giving Farley a small, formal bow. “If there’s nothing else, we’ll be on our way.”

“Hold it right there, Mr. Potter.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Is there something else?”

Farley stepped forward, her black hair swaying gently in the breeze.

“I challenge you to a wizard’s duel,” she said firmly.

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