The moment Draco heard the noise, he turned his head—only for a translucent phantom hand to clamp around his throat. He barely managed to force out a strangled "Ghk—!" before the hand yanked him clean off the ground and hurled him aside like something foul that didn't deserve to be touched.
THUD—
The dull crack of bone meeting stone echoed down the corridor.
The phantom hand faded, leaving Draco curled up at the base of the wall, coughing and choking, agony radiating across his back as he writhed and whimpered.
"Quietus!"
Rock flicked his wand, muting Draco's cries until they were barely a whisper.
"You dare hit Young Master Draco?!"
This time Crabbe and Goyle didn't stand around gawking. They charged like a pair of angry mountain trolls.
"Volaris!"
Handling the two human trolls was hardly a challenge.
Rock caught Goyle by the tie with another sweeping telekinetic spell and swung him straight into Crabbe. The two immediately toppled over each other in a clumsy embrace.
Only after dealing with them did Rock step over to Neville, canceling the spell on his legs.
"Neville, what happened?" Rock asked gently. "I heard Draco say something earlier—something that supposedly involved me?"
Neville had never seen Rock look like this—calm, cold, and frightening. It triggered an instinctive fear in him.
But then he remembered why he was here.
"I—I ran into them in the corridor," Neville stammered. "I was hiding, but then I heard them talking about you."
"They said that you…"
He trailed off. Draco's words had been too filthy to repeat—especially about Rock. Neville just couldn't make himself say them.
Rock understood immediately.
"He insulted me. So you rushed out to defend me, didn't you?"
The tone was so gentle it sounded like an adult speaking to a frightened child.
Neville blinked, then nodded.
Rock handed him a handkerchief to wipe the blood off his face. Then he stepped calmly toward Draco.
With a wave of his hand he lifted the Quietus charm. Draco was still howling—his mouth hadn't stopped throwing curses since the moment he hit the floor.
"Rock, you filthy freak! A stain on pure-blood families! I'll tell my father! I'll make sure you and that freak grandfather of yours get kicked out of Hogwarts!"
"Shut up!"
Neville snapped, his voice trembling with fury.
He couldn't believe Draco still dared talk like that—with Rock standing right there.
"It's alright, Neville," Rock murmured, though his voice was cold enough to frost glass.
Draco realized his voice was back. Ignoring the pain in his back, he glared up at Rock.
Rock stared down at him, expression unreadable.
"Malfoy, I could take what you just said as a direct provocation of the Scamander family."
His voice wasn't loud, but it was chilling.
Draco blinked, then snorted.
"Oh? Provocation? From the mighty Scamander family? What's left of it—one freak and a cripple? You think you can challenge the Malfoys?"
He jabbed a trembling finger at Rock, sneering.
"You're done for! I'll make sure you and that crippled old monstrosity of a grandfather get thrown out of school! Freak!"
Rock smiled—softly. Dangerously.
He didn't bother responding. He simply stood tall and lifted his wand.
"Get up. I'd like to believe the great Malfoy family doesn't raise cowards."
That wasn't the reaction Draco expected.
Rock wasn't raging. He wasn't threatening.
He looked calm. Controlled. Certain.
And that terrified Draco.
He realized—Rock wanted a duel.
"No! Why should I? You're not worthy!" Draco snapped, voice cracking.
Even Neville could see how panicked he was.
In the distance, Goyle and Crabbe exchanged a look, clutched their faces dramatically for one last second, then bolted.
Rock ignored them.
"Stand up. Raise your wand, Mr. Malfoy."
"No! I'm getting a professor—"
"Volaris!"
If you don't want dignity, I'll give you dignity.
WHAM—
A spectral hand seized Draco by the hair and slammed his forehead toward the floor.
His wand flew from his hand. His teeth rattled. His jaw ached.
Then, as if invisible strings had hooked onto his limbs, his legs began jerking wildly out of his control.
Neville's eyes went wide as saucers. Rock's spellwork was smooth, effortless—almost elegant.
"Mr. Scamander! Stop at once!"
Professor McGonagall's voice cracked through the chaos as she strode forward, robes billowing behind her.
Three professors approached together, and behind them a swarm of wide-eyed students. Two troll-shaped silhouettes—Crabbe and Goyle—cowered among them.
Snape glided forward like a giant, angry bat. His black eyes darted from the battered, sniffling Draco—now sporting a sizable lump on his head—to Rock.
McGonagall's face was stone. Her lips pressed into a thin, furious line.
Behind her, Flitwick looked nervous… though his eyes flashed with something like approval when he saw Draco's state and Rock's stance.
Snape swept in, dispelling the remaining jinx on Draco.
"A first-year Ravenclaw…" Snape hissed, "using forceful magic on another student. This goes far beyond childish scuffling."
"Scamander!" Snape snapped, whirling on Rock. "Lower your wand! I have never seen such a deliberate, targeted attack!"
Rock didn't flinch.
"I only targeted someone who said things he should never have said, Professor," he replied calmly.
"I believed it was better to stop an insult before it hurt someone I care about. At least my actions protected the person who needed defending."
The air froze.
Snape's face drained of color. His jaw clenched so hard it twitched.
For the first time, there was fear—real fear—in his eyes.
"Professor! Rock didn't do anything wrong!"
Neville stepped forward, pale but defiant, standing at Rock's side.