A sudden, high-pitched shout sliced through the usual clatter and murmur of the Great Hall during the dinner hour. "Someone's dueling! Out by the lake!"
The collective attention of the student body snapped, and a wave of curiosity instantly overcame the lure of food. Albert, calmly nibbling a thick, homemade roast beef sandwich, followed the Weasley twins as they eagerly surged into the stream of students rushing toward the main entrance.
"What exactly is the nature of this current excitement?" Albert asked George, adjusting his grip on the sandwich.
"Some Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students are having it out on the lawn near the Black Lake," George reported breathlessly, already jostling for position.
Albert's internal clock immediately clicked. Truman. The duel with the Ravenclaw Prefect, Notch. It seemed the confrontation had been dramatically—and inconveniently for Notch—brought forward.
By the time the throng spilled onto the rain-dampened grounds, the main event was already a glorious mess. The crowd had formed a tight, noisy ring around the combatants, but the action was over.
Notch, the Ravenclaw prefect, was slowly staggering to his feet, his robes askew and a genuinely spectacular bruise already blossoming across his left cheekbone. Standing over him, the undisputed victor, was Gabriel Truman, chest heaving, his face a mask of furious, triumphant dignity.
The final, theatrical flourish was just concluding as Albert and his companions arrived. Truman, panting, held up a small, rectangular piece of card, shouting something that was lost to the surrounding noise, before bending down and, with a vicious finality, shoving the card directly into the prefect's surprised, slightly bleeding lip. Then, surrounded by a cheering group of Hufflepuffs, Truman marched away from the scene like a Roman general.
"What in the name of Beaters' bats happened here?" Fred gasped, absolutely thrilled. He immediately began pumping sources for information, piecing the story together from several excited witnesses.
The narrative was quickly solidified: Truman, acting with shocking speed, had been the aggressor, launching a spell right on the pre-arranged first count. It wasn't the expected heavy-duty hex; it was the swift, disarming Expelliarmus, followed instantly by a decisive Full Body-Bind Curse.
With Notch completely immobilized and helpless, Truman had pocketed his wand, eschewed any further magical offense, and closed the distance. The final insult was delivered by the old-fashioned, Muggle way: Truman used his fist to emphatically convey his argument.
He punctuated the final blow by reading the damning Chocolate Frog Card aloud—the one confirming Bridget Wenlock's undeniable Hufflepuff heritage—before literally stuffing the evidence into Notch's mouth.
The crowd's reaction was overwhelmingly skewed toward the victor. The sheer audacity of the move—an ambush orchestrated by a third-year—was excused, even celebrated.
"That's what he gets for being such a pompous, arrogant prat!" a senior Hufflepuff girl declared, shaking her fist with fervour. "He was bullying a younger student and trying to steal our famous arithmancer! He knew he was wrong but used his seniority to be cruel. A swollen face is a fair price for that kind of hubris!"
"The cheek of a fifth-year prefect challenging a third-year to a duel in the first place," someone else commented dismissively. "It was hardly a fair fight. If the Hufflepuff didn't fight dirty, he'd just be a practice dummy. I'd have done the same thing."
The overwhelming consensus was not that Truman was a cheat, but that Notch was an arrogant bully who had been put in his place. The fact that he was beaten by a non-magical strike only deepened the poetic irony.
Notch, finally released from the Petrificus Totalus by a passing student who knew the counter-curse, tore the damp Chocolate Frog Card from his mouth. His face was a hideous, contorted mask of fury and pain. "That contemptible, pathetic coward!" he roared, his voice thick with loathing. He immediately tore the card into tiny, ragged pieces.
It was utterly clear to Albert that the historical inaccuracy of Bridget Wenlock's House affiliation was now irrelevant. Notch was simply enraged that his dignity had been utterly dismantled by a younger student's strategic pragmatism.
He had sought to enforce his will through superior magical skill and had been defeated by superior tactics and sheer physical force. The taunts and suppressed laughter of the surrounding students only fueled his already volcanic temper.
Before the Ravenclaw prefect could unleash a retaliatory curse—or worse, attempt a dignity-restoring charge—Professor Flitwick, alerted by the sudden surge of students, hurried onto the lawn and whisked the furious, humiliated prefect away.
"That," Fred pronounced, his eyes sparkling with profound admiration, "will be the stuff of legend for the next five years. The day a third-year punched a prefect over an arithmancer. Pure, unadulterated genius."
"But I'm still curious about the timing," Albert mused, finally taking a large, satisfied bite of his sandwich. "Truman told me the duel was scheduled for the weekend. Why the sudden change?"
The twins and Lee Jordan turned to him, their excitement momentarily tempered by surprise. "You knew about it beforehand?" George challenged playfully. "Why didn't you mention it?"
"It was still days away," Albert said, shrugging dismissively. "I only saw Truman in the library yesterday, and he casually invited me to watch."
It was late Friday evening when Albert finally encountered Truman again, who seemed to have been waiting specifically for him near the library entrance.
"Albert! You were right! It was brilliant!" Truman's voice was barely contained, buzzing with manic energy and pride. "He was so surprised by the disarming spell, he just froze! I followed your advice exactly. Truth in the fist, right?"
"How did the sudden change in schedule happen?" Albert inquired, guiding Truman away from the watchful gaze of the library matron.
"Notch moved it up!" Truman explained, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I think he saw me practicing the Disarming Charm awkwardly in the corridor this morning—he probably thought I was terrible and decided to end it quickly before I got better! He insisted we do it immediately after dinner."
Albert smiled internally. Notch hadn't seen a threat; he'd seen an easy target, a chance for an immediate, definitive victory to restore his wounded pride. He'd fallen perfectly into the trap.
"And the consequences?" Albert asked, expecting the inevitable.
Truman beamed. "Notch got a week's detention from Professor Flitwick for being a prefect who encouraged fighting among younger students and generally acting beyond his authority. I was supposed to get the same—a week's detention for fighting. But Professor Sprout just gave me a warning for defending House honour, and a box of coconut ice cream! She was actually quite pleased!"
Truman reached into his robes and, with a flourish, produced two carefully wrapped coconut ice creams, slightly softened but still intact. "Here. You earned this. The strategy was worth more than a dozen curses."
Before Albert could fully thank him, Truman, still overly excited, began a detailed, booming account of the fistfight, punctuating his points with loud, unnecessary hand gestures.
A terrible, furious shriek echoed from the library entrance, and Madam Pince appeared, wielding her dreaded feather duster like a sword. "Out! Out of my sight, you disruptive menace!"
Truman, with a final, panicked wave, bolted down the corridor, leaving Albert standing alone, clutching the illicit snacks. Albert, under Madam Pince's icy, condemning stare, quickly and unobtrusively tucked the two coconut ice creams deep into his pocket, gave a polite nod, and retreated, narrowly escaping the librarian's wrath.
Albert found a quiet window ledge and peeled the wrapper from his coconut ice cream. It was intensely sweet, wonderfully cold, and rich with coconut flavour—a far superior indulgence to the ice mice sold at Honeydukes. The success of the mission, and the accompanying internal notifications, felt equally satisfying.
Enthusiastic Help (Completed)
Reward: 100 Experience Points, Gabriel Truman's Favorability +10.
Distant Victory (Completed)
Reward: 1,000 Experience Points, Skill Gained: Arithmancy (Rank 1), Gabriel Truman's Favorability +10.
Arithmancy (Rank 1). Perfect. The skill of the very witch Truman had fought to defend. The acquisition was both satisfyingly symbolic and strategically useful for Albert's long-term academic goals.
"Did you enjoy the spectacle, Albert?"
Albert turned. Isobel, the red-haired Ravenclaw prefect he had noticed earlier, was standing right behind him, her expression a mixture of acute observation and controlled annoyance.
"Good evening, Isobel," Albert greeted her easily, taking a small bite of the ice cream. "Are you here to congratulate me on a successful strategy, or to deduct points for associating with a rule-breaker?"
"Gabriel Truman claims he was merely looking for Notch to continue their argument," Isobel said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"But I saw the two of you talking yesterday. And this afternoon, I witnessed a perfectly timed Full Body-Bind Curse, followed by a surprisingly effective left hook. You seem to be the architect of this shameful, yet effective, piece of anarchy."
Albert held out the second, still-wrapped coconut ice cream. "Here. This stuff is good. A gift from Professor Sprout, actually. Apparently, she rewards acts of courage."
Isobel's gaze darted between the offered treat and Albert's unwavering gaze. "Are you attempting to bribe a prefect to ignore blatant rule-breaking?"
"If you insist on such a dramatic interpretation," Albert replied with a light shrug.
"I merely offered Truman a piece of advice applicable to many of life's complex situations. I simply told him, 'Never try to wake up someone who is pretending to be asleep, unless your fists are the alarm clock.' The truth, sometimes, requires a palpable demonstration."
He left the ice cream resting on the stone ledge and walked away, leaving the Ravenclaw prefect to ponder the implications of his cynical philosophy and the unexpected sweetness of Hufflepuff's reward.
Isobel stood there for a long moment, staring at the coconut ice cream. She understood the complexity of the situation: Truman had won a victory for his House, and the truth had been publicly validated, all while skirting the rules of a magical duel. The chaos was undeniable, but the underlying motivation—defending the honor of a brilliant but overlooked witch—was strangely pure.
She slowly picked up the wrapper, peeled it open, and took a cautious bite of the coconut ice cream. It was indeed excellent.
With Albert having gained a new skill and successfully orchestrated a strategic victory, and with the Ravenclaw prefect Isobel now aware of his influence, should we focus on Albert's progress with his Arithmancy skill, or the fallout from the fight with Professor Flitwick?