Chapter 102: Minor Conflict
The young witches and wizards gathered around him burst into laughter at the sight of his struggle, some of them nearly doubling over.
"You know," said a thin, pale blond boy, laughing the hardest of them all.
He suddenly put on a look of mock realization and spoke loudly, making sure everyone could hear.
"Maybe you don't know this, but Longbottom was once thought to be a Squib. His uncle used to hang him upside down out of a window and even threw him into a lake—just to see if any magic would show up. And even then, nothing happened."
He grinned maliciously.
"Until one time, his uncle dropped him straight out of a window. That's when it finally worked—he bounced like a spring. I've heard that story more times than I can count."
Then the boy narrowed his eyes, a vicious gleam flashing within them.
"But honestly, Longbottom, I think it would've been better if your magic had never awakened at all."
His smile turned cruel.
"That way, you wouldn't have ended up like your parents—driven mad by torture, locked away in St Mungo's, just wasting food."
"You're not allowed to talk about them!"
Even when Malfoy had mocked him publicly just moments earlier, Longbottom had merely flushed red and endured it in silence.
But the instant Malfoy mentioned his parents, something inside him snapped.
He didn't draw his wand.
Instead, he spun around, dropped his trunk, and lunged forward like an enraged lion, throwing himself straight at Malfoy.
"Don't—talk—about—my—parents!"
Slender and arrogant though he was, Malfoy stood no chance in close combat against Longbottom.
After all, the boy who would one day be hailed as a Gryffindor sword saint was no ordinary child.
Longbottom's eyes burned red as he swung his fists again and again, each punch landing with raw, unrestrained fury.
The first blow caught Malfoy square on the nose.
Blood instantly poured out, his nose twisting crooked to one side. It was as though a sauce shop had burst open—salt, sour, and spice spilling out all at once.
Malfoy couldn't take it anymore and began begging for mercy. At that point, the witches and wizards who had been laughing at Longbottom earlier all turned pale. They rushed forward in a panic, hands everywhere, finally dragging Longbottom off Malfoy.
Malfoy looked miserable, but in truth he'd only suffered superficial injuries.
Longbottom was shoved to the ground. Still unsatisfied, he scrambled back to his feet and tried to charge at Malfoy again.
But one man couldn't fight many. Before long, Longbottom was restrained.
"Hit him. Go on—hit him. If you break him, it's on me," Malfoy snarled viciously after downing a vial of potion, his injuries visibly improving as he pointed at Longbottom.
Just as their fists were about to come crashing down, they suddenly felt as though they'd punched an invisible wall.
Sharp pain shot through their knuckles.
Neville curled up, covering his head and squeezing his eyes shut. But the pain he expected never came. When he dared to open his eyes, he saw the boys who had been about to beat him now grimacing and shaking their hands—looking more hurt than he did.
Off to the side, Russell quietly lowered his wand. Unfortunately, his action hadn't gone unnoticed.
"So it was you," Malfoy sneered.
He immediately shifted targets, no longer bothering with Neville. After all, in full public view, they didn't dare use any truly vicious spells on him—and now they couldn't even hit him properly. There was no point continuing.
Malfoy stormed over with a group of boys in tow. But the moment he got a clear look at Russell's face, he stopped short.
His expression flickered uncertainly, and his eyes instinctively swept the area around Russell.
Malfoy felt uneasy.
Ever since Lucius had rushed him out of Diagon Alley last time, his father had warned him not to provoke that girl. Lucius had claimed it wasn't fear—that the Malfoys weren't afraid of the Addams—but that there was no need for conflict between pure-blood families.
Yet Malfoy could sense it: his father was wary of the Addams.
After all, that girl had knocked him flat with a single move, and once Lucius learned who she was, not only had he failed to seek revenge—he'd dragged Malfoy away immediately.
That alone spoke volumes.
Still, Lucius had only warned him about the Addams girl. He'd never said Russell was off-limits.
In Lucius's eyes, Russell was probably nothing more than a bodyguard assigned to Wednesday—like Crabbe or Goyle.
As long as they didn't touch Wednesday herself, the Addams family wouldn't intervene. That was experience talking.
Lucius had never bothered to properly investigate Russell—what he'd done the previous year, or who he truly was.
Or perhaps he simply didn't care.
After all, in his mind, Russell was nothing more than a Mudblood guard.
Not seeing Wednesday nearby, Malfoy's confidence immediately surged. He straightened his back, lifted his chin, and spoke arrogantly.
"You're standing up for that useless Longbottom? Fine. We'll settle old scores and new ones together. Your master isn't here right now—and we've got numbers."
He scanned the surrounding boys with smug satisfaction, puffed up like a peacock showing off its feathers.
Russell's expression turned strange.
Who gave him this confidence?
And master—was he talking about Wednesday?
Impressive, really. Such insight at such a young age.
When Russell had decided to help Longbottom earlier, he'd already sent Wednesday ahead to grab seats.
Malfoy's boldness came not only from her absence, but also from another assumption: he thought Russell was a first-year.
After all, bodyguards usually enrolled alongside their masters. Otherwise, by the time the master reached seventh year, the guard would've already graduated.
Back in Diagon Alley, Malfoy had only seen Wednesday act. By the time Russell disarmed Lucius, Malfoy had already been blissfully unconscious.
"What magic could a first-year possibly know?" Malfoy thought.
Today would be the day he got his revenge.
In his eagerness, he completely overlooked the magic Russell had just used on Longbottom—as if his memory had conveniently erased it.
Behind them, Longbottom straightened up. He knew Russell had helped him. Seeing Russell about to step into danger, he didn't hesitate, charging forward again despite himself.
"Damn Malfoy," Ron muttered under his breath.
"Mate, watch my trunk for me," he added, cracking his knuckles as he loosened up.
Just then, a voice rang out, drawing closer.
"Make way. What's blocking the path here?"
Percy pushed through the crowd of onlookers, his expression stern. His gaze passed straight over Russell and locked firmly onto Malfoy.
"Malfoy," Percy said coldly, "causing a disturbance in public before term's even started? Are you trying to earn detention already?"
As he spoke, Percy deliberately straightened his chest, making sure his prefect badge was clearly visible.