Hogwarts – Great Hall – 12:47 PM
Status: Cleared for Combat
Mood: Yu-Gi-Oh Meets Mythbusters Meets Magical WWE With a Side of Chaos Cake
It took precisely ten minutes, one hyperactive half-giant, and three professors who clearly lived for this kind of nonsense to transform the Great Hall into what could only be described as the magical equivalent of a Super Bowl halftime show.
The tables? Vanished. The floor? Reinforced with glittering shield wards that shimmered like heatwaves. Floating brass torches circled overhead, burning green and gold and humming with theatrical flair.
Professor Flitwick zoomed about like a caffeinated sugar glider, layering dueling enchantments with such joy that even the suits of armor were clapping. "Spectator safety barriers in place! Hex reflectors tuned! Anti-vaporization net — just in case!"
"Padding near the edge zones!" Professor Sprout called out, waving a clump of moss like a proud aunt showing off her knitting. "You know, for when someone gets launched across the room."
Professor McGonagall conjured bleachers with a series of no-nonsense wand flicks that could have taken out a basilisk. She looked simultaneously dignified and like she was secretly placing a bet.
Speaking of which—
Fred and George had hijacked the Ravenclaw table, slapped a banner over it that read BETTING BOOTH OF CHAOS, and enchanted a chalkboard that updated odds in real time.
"Two-to-one Malfoy cries like a Victorian damsel," Fred called, adjusting his Weasley-red bowtie.
"Five-to-one Harry commits a minor war crime using stationery," George added.
Dean, tossing a Galleon onto the board: "Ten on the war crime!"
Seamus: "Twenty on the crying!"
Lavender: "Is it too late to bet on Potter summoning another phoenix?"
Angelina Johnson, already seated in the front row like she was at a championship boxing match, snorted. "That boy's about to reinvent dueling. I can feel it."
Alicia Spinnet, sipping pumpkin juice like it was vintage wine: "At this point, I'm just here for the chaos and cheekbones."
Katie Bell: "And the biceps. Don't forget the biceps."
Over in the Slytherin corner, Draco Malfoy was still pretending he wasn't spiraling into an existential crisis.
"He's not even using a wand," Draco scoffed, glancing toward Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy, who were clustered around him like emotional support ferrets.
"He's doing... card tricks," Pansy whispered, voice tight with disbelief and mild panic.
Crabbe scratched his head. "That's not normal, right?"
Draco puffed up like an angry soufflé. "He's bluffing. Playing cards aren't weapons."
Which was right about when Harry Potter flicked his wrist and sent a glowing card zipping through the air with the precision of a sniper owl. It embedded itself in a stone column with a metallic thunk that echoed.
The rune on the card flared electric blue.
Fizzled.
Popped.
Left a small scorch mark that spelled Oops.
"He's not bluffing," Pansy squeaked.
Goyle made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper.
Jim, inside Harry's head, was practically foaming with excitement.
"THIS IS IT. THIS IS MY BROADWAY DEBUT. I WANT FOG MACHINES. PYROTECHNICS. MAYBE A LASER PENGUIN."
Harry smirked. "Focus, Jim. No penguins."
"BUT THE DRAMA! THE FLARE! THE RAVENCLAW WHO JUST BET HER ENTIRE LUNCH ON YOU CONJURING A FLOCK OF METALLIC DOVES!"
Across the platform, Harry shuffled his deck of cards with the smoothness of someone who could have singlehandedly bankrupted Las Vegas. Each card had a faint shimmer to it—runes carved not just in Elder Futhark, but also in Greek and Norse sigils.
Professor Babbling practically teleported to the platform's edge. "Those are Ancient Runes! Not standard school issue!"
Harry flashed a grin. "Custom loadout. Remy taught me the card stuff. I just... made them magical."
"Remy?"
"Remy LeBeau. Cool Cajun with cooler hands."
He held up a card. Algiz. Wings in motion. Protective velocity.
Babbling blinked. "You're a first year?"
Harry shrugged. "In body. Mentally? Somewhere between 'experienced warrior monk' and 'guy who Googled magic theory at 3 a.m. while eating cereal over a forge.'"
Jim whispered again, like a toddler high on sherbet.
"AETHER IS DOING VICTORY SPIRALS OUTSIDE. YOU WANT ME TO TELL HIM TO SPELL HIS NAME WITH CLOUD RIBBONS?"
Harry: "No. Not unless he uses the proper calligraphy this time."
At the center of the Great Hall, Professor Flitwick floated midair like a game show host with tenure.
"Participants to the platform! Wands at the ready or, in Mr. Potter's case... spell-enhanced playing cards."
Draco strutted forward, jaw set like he was auditioning for a wizarding boy band.
Harry strolled up with the confidence of a guy who had nothing to prove but wanted to anyway.
"You're going to regret this," Draco hissed.
"I've regretted breakfast burritos more than you," Harry replied.
Draco snarled. "No wand? Really?"
Harry spread the cards with a fan flourish. Runes glowed. Magic crackled. Somewhere, thunder rumbled.
Jim supplied the dramatic narration.
"AND LO, DRACO MALFOY STEPPED INTO THE ARENA, ARMED WITH SNEERS AND DADDY ISSUES. BEHOLD! THE CHAOS MONKEY KING WITH HIS DECK OF DOOM APPROACHETH!"
Ron leaned over to Hermione in the crowd. "Five Sickles say Malfoy pees himself."
Hermione: "Ten if Harry makes a pun while doing it."
Neville: "I'm betting on spontaneous hair loss."
Susan Bones, adjusting her red-framed glasses: "I just want to see if the cards explode."
Tracey Davis: "I just want to marry whoever wins."
Daphne Greengrass: "That's fair."
Fred: "Last chance to bet! Ten-to-one that Harry summons a squirrel army."
George: "Five-to-one that Jim starts singing ABBA."
Jim: "MAMA MIA, HERE I GO AGAIN—"
Flitwick raised both hands, voice magically amplified.
"Duelers, salute!"
Harry flicked a card in salute. Draco looked like he was reconsidering his entire life.
Jim whispered, "IT'S GO TIME. POKER NIGHT MEETS PARTHENON. WELCOME TO THE MAIN EVENT, BABY!"
—
Hogwarts – Great Hall – 12:51 PM
Status: Duel in Progress
Mood: One-Part Marvel, Two-Parts Myth, All-Out Magical Mayhem
Professor Flitwick hovered just above the dueling platform, robes fluttering like he was two seconds away from breaking into jazz hands. His wand sparkled like it had been dipped in fairy lights and glitter.
"On my mark!" he trilled, voice amplified across the entire hall. "Duelers ready?"
Draco Malfoy nodded stiffly, his grip on his wand tight enough to qualify as wand abuse. He struck a dramatic pose he probably thought screamed noble duelist but honestly looked more like someone had hit pause on a fainting Victorian goose.
Harry?
Harry Potter just spun a glowing rune card between his fingers like a Vegas magician who moonlighted as a chaos god. His smirk had the casual chill of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and planned to enjoy every second of it.
Above, Aether zipped lazy figure-eights through the air like a caffeinated marshmallow cloud trailing Lisa Frank sparkles. Meanwhile, in Harry's head...
Jim, a.k.a. Riyu Jingu Bang, magical murder stick and part-time stand-up comic, was in full sports commentator mode.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO THE MAIN EVENT! IN THE LEFT CORNER: DRACO 'PRISSY FERRET' MALFOY, WHO'S GOT MORE DADDY ISSUES THAN A SOAP OPERA MARATHON! AND IN THE RIGHT: THE CHAOS MONKEY KING HIMSELF, SLINGER OF SPELL-CARDS, SON OF LOKI AND ARTEMIS, THE CARDIAC ARREST IN CARD FORM: HARRY THE FREAKIN' POTTER!"
Harry, deadpan: "Jim. Hype mode. Dial it down before you start speaking in all caps."
"TOO LATE. I'M CAPSLOCKING MY EMOTIONS. ALSO AETHER BROUGHT SPARKLERS!"
BOOM.
Right on cue, a Catherine wheel exploded behind Harry, showering the air with glittering green-and-gold sparks.
Draco flinched. Hard. "What the bloody—?!"
Flitwick beamed like he was living his best magical life. "BEGIN!"
ROUND ONE: GAMBITS & GLITTER BOMBS
Harry moved like someone had replaced his spine with elastic and his blood with espresso. The card he threw whistled through the air with a sound halfway between whoosh and your doom approaches.
It glowed purple. It crackled. It sang.
It hit Draco's shield with a soft pop. And then—
GLITTER. EVERYWHERE.
A cloud of hot pink fog enveloped the Slytherin, and when it cleared, Draco was sporting a handlebar glitter mustache and tiny neon wings on his back.
Jim, losing what was left of his sanity: **"AND THAT'S A DIRECT HIT! FIRST BLOOD TO HARRY 'THE GLITTERBOMBER' POTTER! LOOK AT MALFOY! HE LOOKS LIKE A DISGRUNTLED FAIRY DRAG QUEEN WHO GOT LOST ON THE WAY TO A PRIDE PARADE!"
"What did you even say?!" Draco screeched.
Harry tilted his head, Cajun drawl thick enough to fry beignets in. "Cher, I told ya—you steppin' inta da ring wit da Monkey King. Shoulda brought backup an' a parachute."
Draco blinked. "...Is he speaking Mermish?"
Flitwick, to everyone's shock, cleared his throat. "For the record, Mr. Potter just told Mr. Malfoy, and I quote: 'You duel like a Crup with a buttered wand.'"
Hermione's jaw dropped. "Professor Flitwick speaks Cajun?"
McGonagall: "He once toured with a jazz ensemble in New Orleans."
Sprout: "He played the jazz flute! Gorgeous technique. I knitted him a scarf."
Back on the platform, Harry tossed another card. This one flared icy blue.
"Let's see if ya can dance, sugar puff," Harry muttered.
BOOM. The card detonated like a fizzy soda bomb at Draco's feet, unleashing a geyser of ice-cold sparkling water.
Draco shrieked and began skating involuntarily across the dueling stage like a terrified flamingo on frozen butter.
Pansy: "HE'S SKATING! LIKE A BABY HIPPO!"
Fred: "FIVE POINTS FOR THE DOUBLE TWIRL, FERRET!"
George: "SIX IF HE FACEPLANTS!"
Faceplant: engaged.
Katie Bell winced. "That's gonna leave a bruise."
Alicia Spinnet, sipping juice: "On his arse and his pride."
Jim, shrieking in Harry's mind: **"THE ICE HAS BEEN BROKEN! MALFOY GOES DOWN HARDER THAN A FIZZING WHIZBEE IN A DRAGON'S GULLET! I HAVEN'T SEEN A SLIDE THAT BAD SINCE MOANING MYRTLE TRIED ICE SKATING!"
Draco gasped, dripping wet and covered in more shame than spell residue. "This isn't dueling! This is a circus!"
Harry snapped his fingers. A golden-glowing card flicked skyward and exploded in a massive illusion of a monkey-headed dragon roaring above the stage.
Aether, being a dramatic little show-off, spiraled perfectly through the dragon's mouth.
Harry shrugged. "What can I say? Big Top's in town."
Flitwick, practically giggling, raised both hands. "End of Round One! Point to Mr. Potter!"
Pandemonium. Gryffindors erupted into cheers. Ravenclaws whistled. Hufflepuffs passed around snacks. Two Slytherins tried to clap discreetly before Pansy hexed their knees.
Ron yelled, "BEST. CLASS. EVER!"
Neville high-fived Susan. Daphne smirked. Tracey clutched her notebook like she was ready to draft a fanfic.
Hermione nudged Harry as he passed by. "You know there's going to be an inquiry, right?"
Harry winked. "Only if they survive Round Two."
Jim, whispering like a deranged prophet: "NEXT TIME ON DRACO VS. THE DEMIGOD: WILL MALFOY LEARN TO DUEL OR JUST FILE A RESTRAINING ORDER? WILL AETHER LEARN TO SPELL 'VICTORY' IN SPARKLES? WILL HARRY UNLEASH THE CARD OF DOOM OR THE CARD OF 'SWEET MERLIN, WHAT IS THAT THING'? FIND OUT SOON!"
—
Hogwarts – Great Hall – 12:58 PM
Status: Round Two — GOING FULL MAYHEM
Mood: Imagine if Cirque du Soleil had a baby with a Marvel boss battle, then set it to a jazz remix of "O Fortuna" featuring spontaneous cloud choreography and banana-based warfare
Professor Flitwick was positively vibrating mid-air, twirling like a jazzed-up top in high tide. Blue sparks danced at his wand's tip like the beat had dropped at a magical rave.
"Round Two!" he squeaked gleefully. "Prepare yourselves for The Rune-astic Rampage of Rhythmic Ruination!"
Draco Malfoy, wet, glittery, barefoot, and officially on edge, snarled with the drama of a boy who'd just been roasted on every possible level. "This time, Potter, I'm not holding back!"
Harry rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. The rune card between his fingers pulsed crimson and gold. He tilted his head, that smirking, emerald-eyed storm in a teenager's body.
"Oh, mon pauvre petit chat," Harry drawled in that syrup-thick Cajun tone that could fry gators. "You think you done seen chaos? I ain't even started stirrin' da gumbo."
Jim, aka Riyu Jingu Bang, exploded in Harry's head like a confetti cannon of drama and extra.
"AND HE'S BACK IN THE KITCHEN, LADIES AND GENTS! STIRRIN' CHAOS STEW WITH A RUNE-SOAKED LADLE OF LEGEND! THIS ISN'T A DUEL—THIS IS A LOUISIANA CRAWFISH BOIL HOSTED BY LOKI AND DJ KHALED!"
Flitwick casually tossed a translator bubble into the air. "This one might need advanced parsing," he muttered. "Pretty sure Mr. Potter just called Mr. Malfoy a soggy kitten with daddy issues and a tragic wand grip."
Draco yelled, "Colloshoo!"
Harry ducked with the grace of a ballet dancer dodging taxes, the spell missing him by inches.
"You missin' more shots than a troll tryin' to read Shakespeare," Harry fired back, voice casual and deadly.
The rune card in his hand? He didn't aim it at Draco.
He aimed it behind him.
Ping. Wall. Ping. Torch bracket. Ping. Floorboard. Ping. Under Draco's armpit.
BOOM.
A confetti cannon erupted in neon green. Shaped like howlers. Screaming "YA BURNT!"
Draco shrieked like someone had transfigured his socks into spiders.
Jim, louder than ever:
"TRICK SHOT! RICOCHET OF THE GODS! CALL ESPN! CALL THE MINISTRY! CALL YOUR MOTHER, 'CAUSE YOU'RE NOT COMING HOME WITHOUT GLITTER ON YOUR SOUL!"
Harry leaned on his wand like it was a mic stand. "Y'got a spell in that wand, Malfoy, or it just compensatin' for your lack o' personality?"
"Serpensortia!" Draco howled.
A snake launched from his wand.
Aether, Harry's miniature flying cloud, inhaled it like popcorn. Poof. Gone.
The cloud burped. Loudly. Then spun a happy loop in mid-air.
"Good boy," Harry said and flicked a levitating marshmallow skyward. Aether caught it and puffed sparkles in delight.
Fred leaned toward George. "I want a cloud."
"We had a cloud," George sighed. "You gave it sentience. It joined a circus in Prague."
Angelina Johnson, arms folded, deadpanned, "This is better than Quidditch."
"I know," Katie Bell whispered, eyes wide. "And I've ridden a rogue Bludger."
Draco tried again. "Expulso!"
Harry pulled two rune cards from his coat and clapped them together like cymbals.
CLANG.
The spell bounced off the rune shield and detonated directly beneath Draco's feet. His shoes flew off with comedic timing so precise it probably made time magic jealous.
He landed on his back with a pitiful wheeze.
Jim shrieked:
"WE HAVE LOST FOOTWEAR! CODE FLIP-FLOP! I REPEAT—WE HAVE A SOCK SITUATION ON AISLE DRACO!"
Flitwick, trying and failing not to laugh, waved his wand again. "I believe Mr. Potter's spell combination translates to… 'Your spell's so weak, it couldn't stir tea in a storm without a house-elf holding its hand.'"
"Merci, professeur," Harry replied with a smooth grin.
Then he tossed a red-glowing rune card into the air.
It burst like a firework.
And out of it came—
Tiny. Flying. Golden. Monkeys. On scooters.
Yes. Scooters.
They zoomed around Draco, flinging enchanted banana peels like they were Mario Kart veterans.
Tracey Davis stood up, arms flailing. "OH MY GOD, IT'S MARIO KART—BUT MAGICAL!"
Draco flailed. "You lunatic! This is not regulated dueling!"
"Lancer de Singe Sacré," Harry said smoothly. "Custom card. Patent pending."
Jim wheezed in Harry's mind like a dying kazoo.
"I CAN'T—I'M GONNA HYPERVAPORATE—BANANA PEELS OF DESTINY! SCOOTERS OF JUSTICE! THIS ISN'T A SPELL, THIS IS A LIFESTYLE!"
Ron roared with laughter. "This is the best thing I've ever seen, and I once watched Fred polyjuice into McGonagall."
McGonagall, stern from her seat: "And that was not approved extracurricular magic, Mr. Weasley."
Fred stood and bowed. "Art, Professor. That was performance art."
George: "Like this duel."
Alicia Spinnet had given up pretending to take notes. She was sketching the scooter monkeys on her napkin.
Daphne Greengrass popped her lip gloss compact open. "I don't even care that he's winning. That was iconic. Like, legendary. Olympic chaos."
Susan Bones, half-swooning: "He's going on my Chocolate Frog card. I'll forge the vote if I have to."
Hermione muttered, "This breaks seventeen bylaws of magical conduct… and somehow also Newton's third law."
Flitwick was giggling as he raised his wand. "End of Round Two! Point to Mr. Potter!"
Aether detonated another firework.
"TOUCHE, BABY," it read, in rainbow glitter.
Fred and George collapsed into each other in laughter. Katie threw both hands in the air. Angelina chanted "MVP! MVP!" like they were at the World Cup.
Neville high-fived Ron with the force of a minor earthquake.
Hannah Abbott was blinking tears away while Tracey Davis was aggressively writing fanfic in the margins of her Transfiguration notes.
Harry blew a kiss to the crowd. Then winked at Draco.
Draco, now fully shoeless, banana-scented, and emotionally destabilized, was crouched on the ground like a man questioning every decision that had led to this moment.
Aether hovered above him. Spelled out the word "Oops" in sparkles.
Jim, whispering like he was narrating the end of an Oscar movie:
"AND THUS ENDS ROUND TWO OF THE CHAOS DUEL OF DESTINY. TWO ROUNDS. ZERO MERCY. ONE MONKEY KING IN A GRYFFINDOR TIE, LEAVING TRAUMA, SPARKLES, AND SLAPPED PRIDE IN HIS WAKE. NEXT UP: ROUND THREE—THE APOCALYPTIC ARCANA ASSAULT! SPOILERS: IT HAS FIRE, FLAMING LEMURS, AND PROBABLY A MUSICAL NUMBER."
—
Hogwarts – Great Hall – 1:09 PM
Status: ROUND THREE — THE APOCALYPTIC ARCANA ASSAULT
Mood: Like Ragnarok crashed a Broadway musical starring Dionysus, Artemis, Loki, and the ghost of Freddie Mercury
The Great Hall was no longer just a hall. It was an event. The enchanted ceiling had completely lost its mind, painting itself in raging constellations, crackling lightning shaped like ancient runes, and one rogue cloud that looked suspiciously like Loki winking.
Professor Flitwick floated back onto the platform like a game show host who'd recently discovered espresso.
"Welcome to the FINAL ROUND: THE APOCALYPTIC ARCANA ASSAULT!" he shouted, arms raised. "Sponsored by rune-based mayhem, glitter-based vengeance, and at least fourteen violations of magical ethical conduct!"
The crowd lost it.
Aether, Harry Potter's enchanted cloud and general chaos gremlin, morphed into a floating speaker system and began blaring Bohemian Rhapsody in thunderclaps. Every note hit with dramatic flair.
Draco Malfoy stood on the opposite end of the platform, shoeless, twitchy, and looking like a discount Bond villain whose plan had gone very sideways.
"I swear to Merlin, Potter," Draco snarled. "If you summon one more lemur, I will file an official complaint."
Harry Potter — coat flared, emerald eyes glowing like radioactive envy, hair tousled in divine wind, voice steeped in that buttery Cajun charm — just smirked.
"Aw, cher," he drawled. "You think lemurs were my final act? Mon dieu, we just gettin' to the chorus."
Jim — Riyu Jingu Bang, the enchanted staff inside Harry's head and general agent of dramatics — exploded into telepathic commentary.
"OH LAWD. HE SAID THE CHORUS. THIS ISN'T A DUEL ANYMORE, THIS IS THE FINAL BATTLE IN A MUSICAL NOBODY WAS READY FOR. HE'S CHANNELING LOKI, ARTEMIS, AND ALL OF BROADWAY IN ONE MOVE. SOMEBODY FETCH ME A FAN — AND I DON'T MEAN A MAGICAL ONE, I MEAN A LITERAL CHURCH LADY FAN, BECAUSE I AM SWEATING SPIRITUAL GLITTER."
"Incarcerous!" Draco shouted, sending ropes hurtling at Harry.
Snap.
Aether morphed into a tornado of fluff and obliterated the ropes in a heartbeat. He did a backflip. In midair. With jazz hands.
"Good boy," Harry said, flicking him a peanut.
Fred Weasley stood. "THAT CLOUD IS A LEGEND. I AM ADOPTING HIM."
"We already had a cloud," George replied. "You gave it sentience, and it became Minister of Weather in Brazil."
Draco, now done with words, fired off a triple combo: "Confringo! Expulso! Bombarda!"
The platform detonated in a volcano of smoke and glitter. Chaos. Silence.
Then:
"You missin' more shots than a drunken Kneazle on roller skates," Harry called, voice echoing through the smoke.
The smoke parted.
Harry was upside-down. Floating. Balanced on a rune circle that pulsed like it had a heartbeat.
In each hand, he held a rune card glowing in colors that hadn't been discovered yet. One shimmered moonlight, one sparked with stardust, and the third oozed sass.
Jim screamed into Harry's brain:
"WE'RE DOING IT! TRIPLE ARCANA COMBO — LOKI'S MADNESS, ARTEMIS'S WRATH, AND CAJUN FLARE! THIS MOVE HAS A NAME. THIS MOVE IS A WHOLE MYTHOLOGY. THIS MOVE SHOULD BE TAUGHT IN RELIGIOUS STUDIES, BABY!"
Harry clapped the cards together mid-spin.
Lightning. Wind. Magic.
From above: FIRE.
FLAMING. LEMURS.
They descended like furious disco gods, armor glinting, moped-engines revving, each one dual-wielding wands and attitude.
Tracey Davis screamed, "I AM NOT EMOTIONALLY PREPARED FOR THIS!"
Hermione: "This breaks so many magical treaties. I am both horrified and kind of impressed."
Daphne fanned herself with her Charms notes. "He could conquer a kingdom. With lemurs. I'd follow him."
Draco, wide-eyed: "PROTEGO!"
A lemur screamed back, "NOPE!"
Then launched a fireball that spelled "OUCHIE" on impact.
"Lemur Legion of Loki," Harry explained as he floated down like the dramatic icon he was. "Only summoned when you petty and blessed by chaos."
Ron choked on laughter. "That lemur has a tiny Slytherin flag and it's BOOING DRACO."
Neville added, "That one just threw a hairbrush at him! Where did it get a hairbrush?!"
Draco hit the floor, again, shielding his head from flaming lemurs tossing enchanted paintballs labeled: "Discount Blonde," "Cursed Nepo Baby," and "Victim of Sassquatch."
Jim sounded like he was hyperventilating inside Harry's brain: "WE'VE CROSSED THE THRESHOLD, PEOPLE! THIS ISN'T A DUEL, IT'S A MYTHOLOGICAL K-DRAMA STARRING A FLYING TEEN GOD WITH ISSUES AND STYLE. SOMEBODY FETCH ME A CROWN AND A JUKEBOX. THIS IS HISTORY."
Flitwick, in full tears, declared, "Final round... to Mr. Potter."
BOOM.
Aether detonated a final firework, spelling in cursive glitter: TOUCHE, LOSER.
Fred passed out from laughing. George dabbed at his eyes with a Gryffindor flag. Katie was sobbing into Alicia's shoulder. Angelina was chanting, "DEITY! DEITY! DEITY!"
Draco was curled on the floor in fetal position, whispering, "Why lemurs?"
Flitwick looked at the ceiling as the enchanted banner unfurled:
ALL HAIL THE MONKEY KING.
Ron grinned. "Mate, you just broke Hogwarts."
Harry bowed with a flourish. "Nah, cher. I renovated it."
Jim: "AND THAT'S THE GAME, FOLKS. HARRY POTTER: MONKEY KING. LOKI'S HEIR. RUNE-SLINGIN' SAVAGE. CONQUEROR OF MALFOY. LONG MAY HE SPARKLE."
Final Score:
Draco Malfoy – 0
Harry "Monkey King" Potter – 3
Emotional Damage – Yes
Lemurs – Gloriously Flammable
Jim – Ascended to Glitter-Based Nirvana
—
Hogwarts — Great Hall — Moments After THE APOCALYPTIC ARCANA ASSAULT
The glitter fallout was still drifting down like a galactic disco snowstorm, sticking to robes, hair, and way too many shocked expressions. Somewhere, Fred Weasley was howling with laughter, his face practically glowing from Gryffindor pride (or the glitter paintball wounds).
Fred wiped tears from his eyes, barely able to breathe through his chuckles. "George! George, listen — this is exactly the stuff Hogwarts history teachers will milk to put students to sleep. Except now, it's actually gonna keep them awake. I promise."
George, waving a soggy, glitter-covered Gryffindor banner like it was a flag of glorious victory (or just a mop for the mess), nodded solemnly. "We need Professor Flitwick to write a lesson plan. Something like 'Summoning Flaming Lemurs and Other Ways to Completely Annihilate Your Enemies in Style.' Because this? This was art."
Meanwhile, in the corner of the hall that resembled a paintball battlefield more than a school, Draco Malfoy was crumpled on the floor, glitter bruises painting his pale skin like a bad abstract mural. His voice was a shaky mix of rage, betrayal, and existential despair:
"Why... lemurs? Why me?" He sounded like he'd just realized the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin by mistake. Again.
Nearby, hovering with what can only be described as cloud confidence, Aether—the enchanted fluff-ball and Harry's chaos sidekick—buzzed in that annoying-but-endearing way that only sentient weather can:
"Note to self: flaming lemurs? 10/10. Instant emotional meltdown. Future social events? Mandatory."
Harry, still glowing faintly with the leftover mojo from his triple-arcana triple-threat combo (think Loki's mischief mixed with Artemis's wrath, with a splash of Deadpool's charm), leaned casually on the platform edge. His emerald eyes with silver flecks sparkled like a disco ball, and his tousled hair looked like it had survived a hurricane—because, well, it had.
Hermione, looking like she'd just stepped off a Harvard campus instead of a warzone, adjusted her robes and let out a long-suffering sigh.
"Harry," she said, voice equal parts exasperated and amused, "can you please drop the Cajun accent? You sound like you're narrating a swamp adventure rather than defending Hogwarts."
Harry grinned, flashing that mischievous, I'm-about-to-make-it-worse smile.
"Aw, Hermione, cher, dat accent's part of what makes me… me. Like my wand, my cards, and, of course, this here cloud of chaos." He nodded toward Aether, who puffed up proudly and did a little spin. "But for you, I'll try. No promises, though."
Ron elbowed Neville, loud enough for half the hall to hear. "I gotta admit, he's kinda right — the accent's more 'lost tourist in the bayou' than 'swamp king.' But those flaming lemurs? Total game changer."
Neville nodded solemnly, holding a soggy charm book. "Seriously, I'm just impressed the lemurs can fly better than Draco right now."
Tracey Davis, wide-eyed like she'd just seen a unicorn with a flamethrower, tugged Hermione's sleeve. "Is it legal to have flaming lemurs flying around indoors? This feels like a major safety hazard."
Hermione deadpanned, eyes narrowing. "It's Hogwarts. We have banshees in the library and a ghost who's basically a sarcastic YouTube commentator. This is Tuesday."
Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet giggled nearby, watching Angelina Johnson doing her best high priestess impression, chanting "Deity! Deity! Deity!" like she was summoning the entire Greek pantheon to join the party.
Fred caught Harry's eye and grinned wide. "Monkey King, next time you wanna show off, maybe give us a heads-up. Some of us need glitter shields or, y'know, actual armor."
Harry winked, eyes flashing with pure mischief. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, a party ain't a party 'til someone's been doused by a flaming lemur with sass and a vendetta."
Draco groaned, dragging himself up from the floor, glitter streaked across his face like war paint (if war paint meant "I just got roasted by monkey magic"). "I swear, Potter... you'll regret this."
Fred and George exchanged a knowing glance, smirking like they'd just watched their favorite soap opera unfold live.
"Malfoy," George said, voice dripping with mock sympathy, "you're already regretting. But hey, look on the bright side — you've got yourself an exclusive fan club of pyromaniac lemurs. That's gotta count for something, right?"
Hermione shot Harry a pointed look, hands on hips. "Seriously, put down the Cajun accent and the lemur summoning before you start a full-blown magical war."
Harry shrugged, emerald eyes gleaming with pure cheek. "No promises, Hermione. But maybe next round? Jazz hands."
Jim—aka Riyu Jingu Bang, Harry's ever-chatty, ridiculously dramatic enchanted staff, currently booming through Harry's mind with all the manic energy of a Jim Carrey monologue—let loose:
"YEEAAHH, BABY! THE JAZZ HANDS ARE COMING. BROADWAY'S FURY MEETS CAJUN FLARE! IT'S LIKE 'WICKED' CRASHED 'DANCES WITH WOLVES' IN A VOLCANO OF SPARKLES! THIS ISN'T A DUEL, IT'S AN EPIC! SOMEONE GET ME A CROWN AND A JUKEBOX—'CAUSE WE'RE MAKING MAGICAL HISTORY!"
Aether did a triumphant loop-de-loop and buzzed happily: "10/10 good boy. Would float again."
The entire hall erupted—half in cheers, half in groans (mostly from professors who'd just mentally scheduled 'staff meeting to explain flaming lemurs').
And somewhere off to the side, McGonagall appeared, eyebrow raised so high it nearly left orbit.
"Potter," she drawled in that icy Maggie Smith tone, "your extracurricular activities are beginning to make the Ministry's paperwork look pleasant. Consider this a formal warning... and perhaps invest in some flame retardant robes."
Harry flashed a cheeky grin, eyes still sparkling like a Cajun Mardi Gras parade.
"Ma'am, I'm just renovating Hogwarts. One flaming lemur at a time."
—
Hogwarts – Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom – Post-Duel Chaos + 7 Minutes
Status: One Very Confused Professor, One Incredibly Snarky Dark Lord, and Way Too Much Glitter
Professor Quirinus Quirrell sat at his desk with the dazed, slightly traumatized look of someone who'd just watched Les Misérables performed by caffeinated pixies — backwards. His fingers drummed nervously against a stack of ungraded first-year essays, and his turban, as usual, sat slightly crooked, like it too had given up on life.
Then came the hiss.
"Quirrell."
The voice slithered into his skull like cold soup down the back of his neck. Not spoken. Transmitted. Through their lovely little timeshare arrangement — otherwise known as Headspace: Dark Lord Edition.
"Quirrell," the voice repeated, lower, silkier, and somehow laced with condescension so sharp it could peel potatoes. "What in the sacred name of Salazar's sodding spleen just happened out there?"
Quirrell jumped. "Er—yes, my Lord. I… I believe you saw it?"
"Saw it?" came the reply, now laced with disbelief and mild indignation. "I am under a turban, Quirinus. You think I have a front-row seat in here? My entire visual feed depends on you. And you kept blinking during the lemur barrage."
Quirrell flinched. "There were a lot of lemurs, my Lord."
"I noticed." A pause. "Are you telling me Potter — Potter, the infant I tried to kill with the power of cosmic obliteration — just summoned flaming lemurs on flying mopeds... using rune cards?"
Quirrell nodded miserably. "They were also wearing armor. Tiny... enchanted... armor."
The turban was silent. Like the calm before a sarcastic thunderstorm.
Then, slowly, "Quirrell, I have been in exile. I have seen horrors. I have shared consciousness with snakes. But nothing—nothing—has prepared me for the words 'Potter summoned lemur cavalry.' Explain. Immediately."
Quirrell swallowed. "He—he was dueling Draco Malfoy, my Lord."
"Yes, I saw the tantrum. Rather like watching a ferret try to fence."
"He used something called the Apocalyptic Arcana Assault," Quirrell continued, voice rising an octave. "It involved—well, runes, glitter, divine lightning, and then one of the lemurs hit Draco with a paintball that said 'Mama's Boy.' In Helvetica."
"...Helvetica?" Voldemort deadpanned.
"Yes, sir. Sans-serif. Very crisp."
A long pause. A metaphorical eyebrow arched.
"And Lucius had such hopes for that boy."
Through Quirrell's panicked mind, Voldemort sifted and sorted like a very snarky Google search engine. Visions danced across their shared subconscious: Harry, upside-down in midair, golden-eyed and rune-drunk, clapping magical cards together like a gambler at the apocalypse.
"Interesting..." Voldemort murmured.
Quirrell dared a question. "You're not... mad, my Lord?"
"Oh, I'm furious. But also intrigued. Potter is no longer just a child. He's a force. And those rune cards—ancient magic, divine magic. Something between Loki's handbook and Artemis's bad mood. That wasn't Hogwarts-standard spellwork. That was... curated chaos."
He leaned in mentally, voice now cool and calculating.
"Which means someone trained him. Someone outside the Ministry's leash. Outside my radar."
Quirrell shivered. "D-do you think he's dangerous, my Lord?"
"He conjured flaming lemurs with attitude problems and bohemian choreography, Quirrell. He's not dangerous. He's inspirationally terrifying."
Voldemort's voice dropped to a thoughtful purr.
"I planned for a prophecy. A child. A wand duel. But this... this is something else entirely. Not a warrior. A wild card."
Quirrell felt the temperature in the room drop three degrees as Voldemort's voice slithered lower.
"We must observe him carefully. Study his spells. Learn the origin of those runes. And above all, Quirrell—"
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Do. Not. Blink. The next time he unleashes glitter warfare, I want every frame. Got it?"
Quirrell nodded violently.
"Good." A beat. Then— "Now go drink some tea or something. You look like a nervous scone."
And with that, the voice in his head went quiet.
Quirrell sat in silence for a long moment.
Then, with a weary sigh, he muttered, "You know, when I took this job, I thought the worst thing I'd have to deal with was Peeves throwing toilets. But no. I get rune cards, divine lemurs, and a Dark Lord with commentary notes."
From deep within the turban came the faintest whisper of a chuckle.
"Get used to it, Quirrell. Class is only just beginning."
---
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