Alice didn't buy for a second that Pansy had the guts to throw down on her own. The girl was just the pawn shoved forward by the thick, toxic cloud of pure-blood supremacy hanging over Slytherin.
Still, Alice wasn't about to sleep on this. They'd sparred the first day of school—Pansy knew what Alice could do. Stepping up anyway? Something was fishy. This wouldn't be a cakewalk.
The common room cleared a circle fast. A couple of kids posted up by the door—no professors allowed to sniff out an unsanctioned duel.
Alice just shrugged.
Pansy, smug as ever, brandished her wand across the makeshift arena. "Norton, I actually respect some of the stuff you've said—especially that night. But I don't buy your skill, and I hate that whole 'nothing fazes me' attitude."
"What makes you think you can talk to us like that? Muddy blood? Or some other trick?"
Alice wasn't here to debate blood politics, but curiosity got her. "What attitude exactly?"
Pansy shook her wand like a conductor's baton. "You think you're polite to everyone, like you'd never offend a soul."
"But you never noticed—your smile for us is the exact same one you give those filthy house-elves. It means you think we're on the same level as those disgusting creatures!"
"The very idea makes us sick!"
Oh. So that's how they saw her.
Alice rubbed her nose. Time to set the record straight. "Okay, I do need to clear one thing up—"
Pansy jabbed her wand forward. "What, now you're gonna say we're better than house-elves? Too late!"
"Everybody, Alice is backing down!"
Pansy cackled. A bunch of Slytherins laughed with her—pure-blood ego convinced any defense was groveling.
Goyle and Crabbe started to grin, but Draco's glare shut them up.
In the shadows, Theodore Nott muttered to a fourth-year, eyes flicking to Pansy with a smirk.
Marcus Flint whistled—until Gemma Farley's stare made him choke it off.
Alice wagged a finger at Pansy. "Two points."
"First: yeah, I do think you and house-elves are equals. Any living thing is. That's just me. You wanna cling to your dusty beliefs? Be my guest."
"Second: my smile for some of you is way colder than for the elves. Tsk—some of y'all are overrating yourselves."
The room exploded. Hardcore purists whipped out wands, tips glowing. They were done holding back.
Alice stared down every glowing tip, memorizing faces.
But not the whole house—some kids shifted, ready to jump in and stop their friends.
Civil war, Slytherin edition, one spark away.
The Soul Banner on her wrist burned hotter. If it went nuclear, she'd unleash its full intimidation aura on everyone.
"QUIET!"
Gemma Farley's voice boomed with a Sonorus charm, rattling eardrums and cooling the tension a notch.
She glared at Alice and Pansy dead center. "Wasn't this supposed to be a duel? Get on with it."
Pansy hadn't expected her bait to snowball. Panic flashed, but she raised her wand. "Starting now."
Alice lifted hers too, still needling Gemma. "Prefect, looks like even if I win, your 'protection' ain't worth much."
Gemma's face went stone-cold. "Win first. Then we'll see if my word means squat."
"Here's hoping."
Pansy's panic flipped to rage. "Focus on me, you—"
Battle?
Alice smirked. This'll be a stomp.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Pansy's spell shot out—full-body bind, not first-year curriculum. Pure-blood perks. Way tighter than her opening-day Tarantallegra, control dialed in. Someone had coached her hard.
But banking on that to beat Alice? Cute.
Alice flicked her wand. "Protego."
Invisible armor snapped up, eating the spell.
"That all you got? Duel's over, Pansy."
"If this is the best the Parkinson family can muster, aren't you embarrassed?"
Each jab hit like a dart. Pansy screamed and unleashed a barrage—stunners, jinxes, the works.
Alice held the shield, blocking clean, but sweat beaded. Okay, a little effort.
Meanwhile, the whole house had no clue five professors sat in the headmaster's office.
Dumbledore, McGonagall (Gryffindor), Snape (Slytherin), Flitwick (Ravenclaw), and Sprout (Hufflepuff) listened as a former Slytherin headmaster's portrait live-narrated the common-room chaos.
When "unsanctioned duel" hit the air, McGonagall's face went thundercloud. "Severus, aren't you stopping your students from this disaster?"
Snape glanced at stone-faced Dumbledore, lips twitching. "Headmaster's not worried. Why should I be?"
"Albus!" McGonagall shrilled.
Dumbledore just smiled. "Let's keep listening, Minerva. Shall we?"
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