The second Alice's words set the entire Slytherin common room on fire (with most of them already pointing wands at her), Professor McGonagall shot up from her chair like a rocket, face purple, glaring daggers at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore raised a calm hand. "If anything goes south, I can pull little Miss Alice Norton out of the fire."
McGonagall ignored him and bolted for the door. Flitwick (short, but brimming with confidence) blocked her path.
"Listen, Minerva," he whispered. "Trust Dumbledore. And trust Alice. You're always griping about why she's not in Gryffindor—you adore the girl. Still don't believe in her?"
Snape's laser-focused stare on Dumbledore flicked to McGonagall.
McGonagall stomped her foot, stayed put, but didn't sit.
The portrait in the Headmaster's office (still live-streaming the Slytherin showdown) suddenly lost it. "Beautiful Petrificus Totalus! Doesn't even look like a first-year—Parkinson family's tutoring is top-notch!"
Then: "OH MY GOD, WHAT AM I SEEING?!"
Every professor and portrait in the office snapped to the shocked old head.
Dumbledore: "Headmaster Black, what happened?"
Black gawked at Dumbledore. "This Alice kid—really never touched magic before Hogwarts?"
McGonagall: "Obviously. Zero contact."
"Then this is insane. Her Protego is textbook—perfect! Albus, are first-years already learning Ironclad Shield charms these days?"
"Alice Norton just tanked over a dozen spells from Pansy Parkinson with Protego. That's first-year level??"
"And her footwork! Dodged the little stuff like a pro."
"Are you guys teaching combat movement now?"
Every eye in the room swiveled to Flitwick, who was rubbing his nose, looking way too pleased with himself.
Flitwick cleared his throat. "Alice is… gifted. She told me about her situation in Slytherin and asked for protective spells."
"I didn't plan to teach her Protego—it's advanced. But her talent? Her comprehension? I got carried away."
"McGonagall can back me up—she's a diamond in the rough."
McGonagall nodded. "As for the footwork—her butler told me her grandfather was from an ancient Eastern kingdom. Master swordsman. Passed the art to Alice."
"That's actually why I'm still salty the Hat put her in Slytherin."
"Hmph." Snape, arms crossed, cold-snorted.
The Sorting Hat, currently playing dead on Dumbledore's desk, stayed very still.
Headmaster Black kept raving about Alice's Protego mastery. Yeah, he was still side-eyeing the "not pure-blood" thing, but after the whole great-great-grandkid mess… eh, whatever.
He knew a grown wizard would shred that shield, but Alice had been at magic less than six months. Terrifying potential.
Suddenly, Dumbledore turned to Flitwick: "Besides Protego, what else did you teach her?"
Before Flitwick could answer, Black jumped in: "I got this. Expelliarmus, right?"
Flitwick gave a modest little smile. "Uh, just started. She's… still working on it."
Black barked a laugh. "Wrong. Her Expelliarmus is flawless."
"In fact—Pansy Parkinson's wand is now in Alice's hand. And she's holding it like a sword against Pansy's throat."
McGonagall beamed with pride but still screeched: "Dumbledore, aren't we stopping this?!"
Dumbledore stood, grinning like a proud grandpa. "Of course we are!"
...
Down in the common room, sweat beaded on Alice's forehead. The fight was real now.
But nobody noticed one tiny detail: the gap between her and Pansy was shrinking.
"If this is all you've got," Alice said, voice ice-calm, "then we're done here."
She thrust her wand forward and shouted: "Expelliarmus!"
Pansy never saw it coming. A scarlet streak blasted out—her wand flew from her grip, red light flashing, and landed in Alice's left hand.
At the exact same moment, the Soul Banner pulsed. A soul-shaking wave slammed into Pansy—she froze, mind blank, unable to react.
Alice closed the distance. Pansy's own wand—now a makeshift sword—pressed sharp against her throat.
The entire Slytherin common room went dead silent.
They'd been hyped for Pansy's killer Petrificus.
Then Alice's Protego shut it down.
The duel had been solid—Alice's footwork especially clean.
Everyone thought it'd drag into a stalemate.
Then—bam. One perfect Expelliarmus. Fight over. And she almost "executed" Pansy with her own wand.
Alice slid the wand into Pansy's robe pocket, looked at Gemma Farley, and smiled. "Looks like I win?"
Gemma nodded. "Yeah. You won. I'll keep my promise."
Alice's ears twitched—she caught a whispered spell.
"Locomotor Mortis." A white bolt shot at her back.
Sneak attack!
She spun, but too late—
"Finite Incantatem!"
The white light vanished mid-air.
The common room doors burst open. Five professors strode in. The kids posted as lookouts trailed behind, heads down.
Snape's face was thunder. The sneak attack embarrassed him. He roared: "Who fired that cowardly, disgraceful spell?!"
Alice saw the other professors smiling at her—she grinned back—then turned to her Head of House.
"Professor, we're done here. Sneak attacks? They'll never scare me."
"But let me say one more thing."
"Honor comes from conviction—not some pathetic bloodline. Slytherin should worship power, not empty pedigree!"
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Before anyone could blink, Dumbledore—eyes twinkling with pure affection—started applauding.
"Brilliant, child!"