Hogwarts: Third Dark Lord

To everyone's astonishment, Cedric, a mere second-year Hufflepuff, easily disarmed Waylin, sending his wand flying across the room.

"Blimey, when did you become so formidable? Back when you dueled Cassandra, it was neck and neck, and you didn't seem nearly this fast with your spells!" exclaimed Wentworth, his disbelief evident as he stared at his friend.

Cedric chuckled modestly and explained, "My spellcasting has always been at this level. During my duel with Cassandra, I held back and adjusted my spell speed and magical output to match what I was capable of as a first-year—out of consideration for her being a new student."

Hearing Cedric's explanation, Wentworth silently gave him a thumbs up.

Meanwhile, Waylin, whose wand had just been knocked away by Cedric, alternated between red and white in fury. He spat out bitterly, "You Hufflepuffs really think that just because you outnumber us, Slytherin will cower before you? We Slytherins—"

Before Weylin could finish, a sharp whistle from Kirk interrupted him.

"Waylin, you're no longer a Slytherin prefect! You don't represent Slytherin anymore! Don't believe me? Look behind you!"

At Kirk's taunt, Waylin turned to look behind him. Sure enough, the Slytherins who had been standing around him earlier had quietly stepped back after Cedric disarmed him, clearly unwilling to be dragged into the fray.

Waylin now stood alone at the Slytherin table, isolated and without the support he once commanded.

"If I were you, Waylin," Kirk said slyly, "I'd apologize to Cassandra, slink back to the dormitory, and save myself further humiliation. After all, you were once a Slytherin prefect. How embarrassing it must be to be disarmed in front of everyone like this!"

Waylin gulped nervously but forced himself to retort, "Kirk, this is a Slytherin matter between me and Cassandra. It's none of Hufflepuff's business! Stay out of it!"

Kirk tapped his prefect badge with a smirk. "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not speaking to you as a Hufflepuff student—I'm addressing you as a Hogwarts prefect."

Waylin found himself at a loss for words. Glancing around, he noticed that every Slytherin he made eye contact with quickly averted their gaze. He finally realized he was completely on his own.

Yet, apologizing to a first-year like Cassandra was something he simply couldn't bring himself to do. His face contorted in fury as he glared at the Hufflepuff table before fixing his gaze on Cassandra, who remained seated. In the next instant—

"Pfft!"

Waylin spat toward Cassandra. Without waiting to see the outcome, he turned to walk away.

Kirk's mocking grin vanished, replaced by an icy glare. Cedric, wand still trained on Waylin, hesitated, unsure how to react. The spit flew toward Cassandra, and Waylin's retreating figure began to blend into the crowd of Slytherins.

"Levicorpus!"

A spell shot through the air. Suddenly, Waylin was hoisted upside-down, hanging in midair alongside the trajectory of his own spit—which ended up landing squarely on his face.

A collective gasp erupted from the crowd. Every student watched in stunned amazement as Waylin dangled head down, feet up, his own spit smeared across his face.

"Let me down! What did you do to me? You can't do this! Put me down this instant!" Waylin's voice was shrill as he squirmed in midair, unable to free himself from the spell's invisible grip.

Students flocked to the scene, including several Ravenclaws armed with parchment and quills, eagerly jotting down notes while pointing at Waylin. They seemed fascinated by the unfamiliar spell.

All eyes turned toward the caster of the spell—Wentworth, who calmly lowered his wand. Cedric and Green, standing on either side of him, stared in disbelief.

"The magic in that spell… It's at least fourth- or fifth-year level!" Cedric exclaimed, the shock evident in his voice.

Wentworth quickly waved off the compliment. "No, no, no. It's mostly my wand—it's got some unique properties that amplify spell power. That's why it seems stronger than it is."

Cedric nodded, though he still seemed skeptical.

Meanwhile, Waylin's cries echoed through the hall. "Wentworth! You had no right to do this! Let me down! You're breaking the rules!"

Wentworth stood up, strolling toward Waylin with an air of exaggerated politeness. Bowing deeply, he said, "I truly apologize, Senior Waylin. It was an accident! I saw a spitball about to land and, wanting to keep our Great Hall clean, tried to levitate it away in the spirit of teamwork and hygiene. But alas, I'm just a first-year. My control isn't great, and I accidentally overpowered the spell. My sincerest apologies!"

Wentworth's courteous demeanor sent chills down the spines of those watching. Everyone knew he was lying, but no one seemed inclined to challenge him on it.

Waylin, still hanging upside-down, finally caved. Though his mind was racing with insults for Wentworth, he forced himself to say aloud, "Alright, Wentworth, spitting was wrong. I admit it. Now can you let me down?"

"As much as I'd love to help, Senior Waylin," Wentworth replied innocently, "this spell is a bit tricky—it requires a counter-spell to undo."

A nearby Ravenclaw's eyes lit up. "Really? A spell that needs a specific counter-spell? Those are so rare!"

"Finite Incantatem!" another Ravenclaw tried, but to no avail. This only drew more Ravenclaws into the group, all eager to study the mysterious magic.

Before Waylin could demand anything further, Wentworth added with a sheepish grin, "I'm sorry, Senior Waylin, but I haven't learned the counter-spell yet…"

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