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The razor-sharp wind blade from Sectumsempra was just inches away. But Augustus stayed calm, lifting his silver wand with one hand. Tiny sparks twinkled around the wand's tip, gradually forming a glowing six-pointed star. The silver hexagram floated in front of Augustus, shining with intense light.
The wind blade slammed into the six-pointed star mid-air, but instead of cutting through, it was absorbed completely. Not even a ripple was left behind.
"What the…?" Loki's expression finally changed. He hadn't expected Sectumsempra—a spell strong enough to rival an Unforgivable Curse—to be swallowed up so easily. And by some unknown spell no less.
The other hidden-level prefects didn't even flinch, like they'd long since gotten used to Augustus whipping out mysterious and unheard-of spells. Honestly, nobody could figure out where he was getting them all.
Even the prestigious Julius family couldn't possibly have this many rare spells up their sleeve. Augustus was basically rewriting everything wizards thought they knew about magic.
"I admit defeat. As agreed, I'll follow you from now on, Mr. Augustus. Please take care of me," Loki said sincerely.
He didn't seem bothered at all—in fact, he looked almost happy about it. Judging by the envious looks from the people around him, it was clear who really got the better deal here.
After all, aligning yourself with someone this powerful, who had access to so many mysterious spells, was a win no matter how you looked at it—whether for your family or for your own personal future.
"I hope you stick to your word—and work on your flaws," Augustus said, nodding at him. "If you keep using magic to hurt others for fun, I won't go easy on you next time."
And just like that, the duel was over. With help from the sixth-year hidden-level prefects, Loki smoothly took over as this year's first-year hidden-level prefect.
The next morning in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, under the magically enchanted ceiling (which today reflected a dull grey sky), the four House tables were packed with steaming bowls of porridge, plates of pickled herring, towering stacks of toast, and platters of eggs and bacon.
Augustus had just started sipping his porridge when a noisy commotion overhead made him look up. Hundreds of owls swooped into the hall, circling the tables and dropping off letters and packages into the chattering crowd.
One huge parcel thudded onto Neville's head, and another big grey one crashed straight into Hermione's teapot. Milk and feathers flew everywhere.
Augustus glanced toward the Gryffindor table. "Errol!" Ron shouted, grabbing the soggy owl by the claws and dragging it out. Errol collapsed on the table, legs stiff, beak still holding a soaking-wet red envelope.
"Oh no—" Ron groaned.
"He's okay, still alive," Hermione said, gently poking Errol with her fingertip.
"No—not him," Ron said, pointing at the envelope. Harry thought it looked like any regular letter, but Ron and Neville were staring at it like it might explode.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"A—A Howler," Ron said weakly. "It's from Mum."
"You'd better open it, Ron," Neville whispered, looking nervous. "It's worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once. I ignored it and… well…" He shivered. "It was awful."
"Hah! Never thought the Weasley family would be this entertaining—sending Howlers and all," Malfoy laughed mockingly.
"It's probably about the car yesterday," Augustus said calmly. "I'll admit, I had a part in that too."
Harry glanced at the envelope again. "What's a Howler?" he asked.
But Ron was completely focused on the envelope, which had started to smoke at the corners.
"Open it!" Neville hissed. "You've only got a few seconds...!"
Ron, hands shaking, carefully took the letter from Errol's beak and tore it open.
Neville clapped his hands over his ears, and Harry immediately understood why.
At first he thought something exploded. A deafening roar filled the hall, shaking dust loose from the ceiling.
"...Stole a car! If you get expelled, I won't be surprised one bit! Just wait till I get my hands on you! Did you even stop to think how your father and I felt when we saw the car was gone…?"
It was Mrs. Weasley's voice—only a hundred times louder than normal. The plates and spoons on the tables rattled with the force of it, and the echo off the stone walls was ear-splitting.
Everyone in the hall had turned to look at Ron, who had shrunk down in his seat, his face a glowing red.
"We got a letter from Dumbledore last night. Your father was mortified! After everything we've done to raise you—you pull something like this? You and Harry nearly got yourselves killed...!"
Harry flinched when his name was mentioned, pretending not to hear as Mrs. Weasley's voice practically pierced his eardrums.
"...So furious! Your father's job is on the line—all thanks to you! If you don't start behaving, we're coming to get you right away!"
Finally, the shouting stopped, though everyone's ears were still ringing. The red envelope fell from Ron's hands and burst into flames on the floor, curling up into ashes.
Harry and Ron just sat there, dazed, like they'd been hit by a tidal wave. A few people chuckled, and the room slowly returned to its normal hum of chatter.
"Well, I've gotta say," Augustus muttered, "the Weasley family's parenting methods are… questionable. That kind of public shaming can do serious damage to a kid."
"Who knows," Malfoy mumbled through a mouthful of pork pie, "Maybe Ron's thick skin means he doesn't even care."
"Draco," Lillian snapped, eyeing him with distaste, "Chew and swallow before you speak. That's literally the most basic table etiquette. Where did you even learn your manners?"
Malfoy's face instantly turned beet red. He normally loved correcting Crabbe and Goyle about dining etiquette, but now the tables had turned. And to make it worse, Goyle was grinning like a fool with his two front teeth sticking out after hearing Lillian's comment.
"Anyway," Malfoy said, trying to change the subject—clearly his favorite trick when things got awkward, "Harry and Ron are basically famous now.
Maybe the whole flying car thing was part of their big plan to boost the Boy Who Lived's fame. And hey, looks like it worked. The whole school's buzzing about the two car-riding celebrities."
"You got the number wrong," Augustus said with a slight smile, watching Malfoy squirm. "There were three of us."
Honestly, sometimes a wild flying car adventure wasn't a bad idea at all.
"....."