CH62: Draco can’t refute
From the moment Harry stepped into the common room, they knew that today's confrontation would inevitably arise, sooner or later.
Yet, the skirmish far surpassed all their anticipations.
Indeed, Harry single-handedly navigated through most of the lower years without ever faltering.
"That's enough!" A female voice, amplified by a Sonorus, resounded through the room. In an instant, all eyes turned towards the source of the sound.
Even Harry, ever vigilant to any stray spell, glanced towards the disturbance.
Standing there was Gemma Farley, their prefect, with her shoulder-length blond hair and sharp cheekbones.
"Potter!! Are you intending to obliterate Slytherin first years?" Gemma's voice was tinged with hysteria.
Harry looked her with a mixture of anger and bewilderment.
He conceded that his sentiments towards Slytherin weren't entirely favorable. It wasn't what history had depicted, nor what books had described. Slytherin resembled a decaying tree or a murky pool of water—far from its former glory.
But thus far, he hadn't actively provoked anyone from Slytherin.
"What do you mean, 'obliterate Slytherin'?" Harry chuckled, readjusting his glasses, which had slipped during the skirmish.
"A phoenix rises from the ashes, doesn't it?" he remarked, a note of defiance in his voice.
"Big words!" Gemma's face flushed crimson as she brandished her wand, only to have her incantation disrupted once more by a dazzling burst of blue light.
It was then that Harry truly grasped the potency of wandless magic.
Unpredictable. Swift. Disruptive. Simply interrupting a spell was enough to render him nearly invincible in this tier of battle.
"Does anyone else wish to voice their opinions?" Harry scanned the room.
The bystanders, uninvolved in the skirmish, either laughed or shrugged indifferently.
"It seems the commotion has subsided," Harry sighed in relief before ascending the stairs to his dormitory. Yet, as he ascended, he crossed paths with Draco.
It was evident that Draco had witnessed the entire altercation.
Their gazes briefly locked, but neither acknowledged the other.
Back in the dormitory, Harry slumped wearily onto his bed, burying his face in his hands.
One question gnawed at him, replaying recent events in his mind. Finally, he rose with a sense of irritation, exiting the dormitory in search of Draco.
"I need your input. Two questions," Harry began.
Draco froze, incredulous. Harry Potter, who had just bested half of the junior class and all the prefects, was seeking his assistance.
Draco's expression twisted with disdain. "What could you possibly need from me?"
Ignoring Draco's attitude, Harry ushered him back into the dormitory and shut the door.
"What's your take?" Harry inquired.
Draco appeared perplexed. "My take on what?"
"Just... your thoughts." Harry amended his query. "Was I too harsh? Have I become a bully?"
Fatigue weighed heavily on him, uncertain if his actions had crossed a line. He didn't want to mirror Dudley, an insufferable brute who derived pleasure from tormenting others.
He sought an impartial opinion, and Draco, given their contentious history, seemed fitting.
"What constitutes bullying?" Draco countered, eyeing Harry warily.
Draco had never contemplated the concept of bullying. He might in fact not even understand what is bullying.
"Okay, be straightforward! Have I bullied them?" Harry's tone remained composed.
Draco's eyes widened in realization. "Are you insinuating that picking on the entire lower year, including Gemma Farley and the other fifth-year, constitutes bullying?!"
Draco's voice rose in agitation. "Potter, are you mistaken? Bullying typically involves an adult targeting a child or a stronger individual targeting a weaker one... Hold on—"
Abruptly, he seemed to grasp something elusive.
Why did he and Harry perceive things so differently?
Contemplating for a moment, Draco spoke hesitantly, "You don't... think they... from the outset..."
Observing Harry's sheepish demeanor, Draco's uncertainty grew. "You... you believed they were all... inferior?"
Harry scratched his head, conceding, "Well, yes. I suppose I did consider them rather... ordinary."
After more than a week, the memory that he and Hermione shared a compartment on the train had long dissipated from Draco's memory.
Draco gasped, pacing back and forth, muttering to himself, "Alright, splendid! Potter, splendid!"
"Let's cut to the chase!"
"Hah, finally, the illustrious Potter seeks my assistance. Should I be flattered, or do you still despise me?" Draco grinned.
He hadn't anticipated that the same person who had recently left him feeling utterly defeated would now turn to him for aid, asking questions.
At this moment, Draco felt an immense sense of elation, ranking it among the top moments of joy in his life.
"Hate you?" Harry regarded him with skepticism.
"Why would I... hate you?"
Harry couldn't fathom why he would harbor such animosity. What had he done to create such an impression?
Draco listened to Harry's words, stunned into silence for a moment before realizing his error.
Had he never been visible to Harry?!
"Let's stick to the point, shall we?"
"It doesn't count!" Draco retorted with a touch of annoyance. "Apart from Granger being berated by others and your reaction, everything else doesn't qualify as you bullying them!"
Given Hermione's conspicuous presence in class, Miss Granger's name had become ingrained in the minds of nearly the entire year group.
Harry looked at Draco. "There's no need to elaborate on that; you're absolutely correct! The term 'mudblood' is unacceptable, and Hermione is my friend."
"A mudblood is merely—"
Harry cut him off. "Malfoy, let's set aside your archaic and baseless pure-blood ideology for a moment and reconsider this term."
"Are pure-bloods inherently superior?" Harry fixed him with a disdainful gaze. "Any sensible person understands that wizarding ability transcends blood status!
The notion of pure-blood supremacy is nothing but a feeble attempt to bolster one's self-esteem.
If you truly wish to earn respect, demonstrate your worth through actions rather than incessantly boasting about your lineage!
Such behavior only invites disdain, akin to a pauper flaunting his poverty as if it were a badge of honor!"
"You!" Draco instinctively sought to retort, but his mind drew blanks, unable to muster any coherent arguments.
Harry stood up, opened the bedroom door, and departed.
His words echoed like a hammer striking Draco's consciousness. Draco sat on the bed, his thoughts in disarray.
The doctrine of pure-blood superiority had been deeply ingrained in his psyche. His father had indoctrinated him with these beliefs since childhood, and he had upheld them as gospel.
Yet, when tasked with finding valid arguments to support this ideology, Draco found himself at a loss.
What could he possibly say? What evidence existed to substantiate the theory of pure-blood supremacy?