The word Mudblood is far from friendly. Severus Snape once hurled this insult at Lily Evans, the girl he loved, in a moment of wounded pride.
As a result, their friendship shattered beyond repair. Noah had no idea whether Snape had a lapse in judgment or just a complete lack of sense—who in their right mind would say such a thing to the person they cherished the most?
Of course, Snape paid the price. What could be more miserable than watching the person you love fall into the arms of the one you despise?
Mudblood—a slur meaning dirty blood—was the term some pure-blood wizards used to sneer at Muggle-borns.
Frankly, no well-educated person would use it. Noah couldn't help but think Draco Malfoy was not only prejudiced but downright ignorant. What was even more baffling was that Draco seemed to have forgotten that Noah himself was also Muggle-born.
"No wonder Kenn and the others are furious," Noah muttered. "The whole point of the Mage Alliance is to support each other, and this guy goes and stirs up trouble. What an idiot."
With that thought, Noah stood up and strode toward the Quidditch pitch.
It seemed Draco had conveniently ignored his previous warnings. Noah doubted Malfoy was unaware that Hermione was part of their group, yet he still had the audacity to spout such words. Well, in that case, Noah saw no reason to be polite.
No compromises.
"If only Hogwarts allowed Apparition… I wouldn't have to run all the way there." He sighed before smirking. "Well, I guess this is a good chance to try out some new spells."
Drawing his wand, he murmured a cryptic incantation under his breath. At once, a faint green aura shimmered around him.
This was wind elemental magic—a technique outside the Hogwarts curriculum.
Noah had been practicing it for a long time but had never dared to use it openly. Today, that changed.
A slight breeze swirled around his feet as his speed increased dramatically. With the wind at his back, he dashed forward at an almost unnatural pace, the thrill of it sending a rush of exhilaration through him.
Maybe he should start working on a flying spell next. Of course, true flight magic was advanced, but what if he combined the Levitation Charm with Wind Acceleration? It was definitely an idea worth testing.
Before he knew it, he had arrived.
The Quidditch pitch was packed. Not just with players from both teams but also students from various houses.
Clearly, they had followed Kenn and the others here. Noah wasn't surprised—he was used to drawing attention. Everywhere he walked, students would greet him in the corridors. His growing reputation, combined with his magical prowess, had naturally made him popular.
As he approached the center of the field, the crowd instinctively parted to let him through. Noah nodded his thanks as he passed, his gaze landing on the scene before him.
Two groups stood face to face, tension thick in the air. And in the middle of it all, Ron Weasley sat on the ground, retching up slugs.
"Noah, you're here?" Kenn turned, visibly relieved at his arrival.
To be honest, Kenn wasn't worried about a fair one-on-one duel. But with this many people involved, he was concerned—not for his safety, but for his own restraint. If he lost control, someone could end up seriously hurt, and that would cause a whole different set of problems.
"Yes," Noah nodded, his eyes scanning the Slytherin side.
His presence didn't go unnoticed. Many Slytherins swallowed nervously, recalling the last time Noah had demonstrated his magic—when he effortlessly petrified a swarm of attacking house-elves.
Draco, in particular, seemed to shrink behind his teammates.
Standing at the head of the Slytherin group was Marcus Flint, the team's captain. A seasoned sixth-year, he was a powerful student in his own right.
He had heard plenty about Noah—especially how he was supposedly skilled enough to skip ahead to fifth-year-level studies despite only being a second-year. Flint had initially dismissed those claims as exaggerations.
But after hearing about Noah's precise spellwork and raw magical ability, he wasn't so sure anymore.
Even so, he was a sixth-year. He wasn't about to be intimidated by some second-year kid.
"So, you're the famous Finnell," Flint said, sneering. "What are you even doing here? You're not a Quidditch player, and you're not even in Gryffindor."
Noah didn't bother wasting words. "Step aside, or take out your wand."
His tone was calm but firm, carrying an air of absolute authority.
Some of the surrounding students gasped.
Flint's eyes darkened. He was not used to being challenged—let alone by an underclassman.
"Oh? A second-year daring to talk to a sixth-year like that?" Flint scoffed. "You've got some nerve."
"You talk too much," Noah said flatly. "Last warning. Move or duel."
With that, he raised his wand and aimed it directly at Flint.
The crowd murmured excitedly.
Flint's face twisted with irritation.
A challenge. Publicly.
As the Slytherin captain, he couldn't let this stand.
"You asked for it!"
Flint tossed his broom to a teammate and swiftly drew his wand, ready to put this upstart in his place.
The duel was on.
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