The next morning, Gryffindor common room.
Neville was awakened by the urgent, piercing alarm clock. His sleep had never been as good as his classmates', and as soon as the alarm rang, he jolted upright.
Then, he looked left and right.
Ron lay on his bed, scratching his stomach, muttering something: "Snape, I'm a prefect—Slytherin, points deducted!!"
Seamus had already kicked his quilt off the bed and seemed to be sleeping soundly.
"Good, I didn't disturb them."
Neville breathed a sigh of relief and reluctantly moved to the edge of the bed. As soon as his foot went down, there was a tragic croak.
"Trevor, you're back!" Neville joyfully picked up the huge toad and stroked it twice.
If Neville cared about anyone most in this school, Trevor would definitely be first.
He then placed it on the bedside cabinet: "I have to go."
"Croak—"
The sun had not yet risen. Neville checked the time, quickly put on his clothes, and then walked out of the common room with a nervous heart.
The Fat Lady was disturbed in her sleep but was not angry; she was just very surprised by Neville's actions.
"If there's another attack in the school, I'll tell the teachers about it immediately," the painted lady guarding the Gryffindor common room muttered.
On his way downstairs, Neville was very nervous.
He had little confidence, and in fact—he somewhat regretted agreeing so readily yesterday.
It wasn't that he hadn't trained before. When he was still at home, Uncle Algie often gave him "special training" to stimulate his Wizard abilities.
For example, continuous running, or waving a torch around him, threatening to burn his hair, and so on.
It wasn't until one time when he was "accidentally" dropped from an upstairs window by his uncle, and he bounced like a rubber ball into the flowerbed during that incident, formally proving that he was not a Squib.
Only then did these trainings come to an end.
Soon, he arrived on the second floor and started walking downstairs.
At the same time, he heard a familiar, affected voice,
"If he comes, I'll count it as him winning—"
Just then, Draco, who was speaking, also saw him on the stairs.
"Harry, I'm not late, am I?" Neville said, quickly jogging downstairs.
Harry shook his head: "We just arrived too."
Then, he turned his head and looked at Draco with a half-smile: "You were saying."
"He wins half," Draco's mouth twitched.
"What about the other half?" Harry asked.
Behind them, a yawning Crabbe and Goyle were also very curious.
"If he can get through today's training, he wins the other half," Draco's lips curled in disdain as he looked at Neville: "Good luck."
"Heh heh." Harry chuckled exasperatedly, then looked at Neville: "Don't mind him, let's go."
Neville nodded, then followed the others to the outdoor lawn.
It was only early January, and there was still a lot of unthawed snow by the wall. Every breath of air carried frost.
Then, he saw Harry and the others doing strange movements.
"What is this?"
"Warm-up," Draco explained: "Just learn it, or else your legs will cramp later, and it'll hurt so much you'll cry."
Neville nodded and awkwardly followed the others' movements.
Then, the morning run began.
Although he didn't know why, being a Wizard, he had to do these things, he still obediently followed along. But soon, his body couldn't keep up. His legs felt sore and weak, and he felt sticky with sweat under his thick clothes. His face was probably redder than the midday sun would be today.
"On your left."
A figure quickly passed him.
"Don't mind him, he's not right in the head. The first time he ran, he tried to compete and ended up cramping. Now he's deliberately trying to make you experience the taste of cramping," Harry said quickly, lowering his speed, then rapidly ran forward again.
"On your left!"
Unfortunately, Draco's scheme ultimately failed.
It wasn't that Neville had no temper, but rather, his body was indeed a bit too flabby.
What was a warm-up for the others already made Neville feel like his heart was about to burst out of his chest, and he was drenched in sweat.
He could only lie weakly on the dew-covered grass, feeling not cold, but refreshed.
In a trance, bathed in the morning light rising from the east, he seemed to see a figure sitting on the rain eaves of a third-floor window, with white hair and an extremely aged face. He was wrapped in a black robe, his gaze as sharp as an eagle's.
He looked down at them with disdain.
"This is…"
Neville rubbed his eyes, and when he looked again, the person had disappeared, replaced by Harry's face.
"Are you okay? If not, you can just watch us practice first."
"Yes!" Neville pushed the recent incident to the back of his mind. Although he had never responded to any of Draco's previous words, he had already accepted this ambiguous challenge in his heart.
Of course, only in his heart.
As a professional "loser," he was used to not speaking about anything concerning himself, lest he invite ridicule.
"Then stand up." Harry extended a hand and pulled Neville up.
"Get your wand out, and get ready," Harry said.
"How are we fighting today?" Draco said. He had spent a lot of thought last night, devising a combo, and was eager to show certain people what he could do.
"Hmm, let's see Neville. Who do you want to pick as your opponent?" Harry said.
Neville unhesitatingly pointed at Draco.
"Got guts." Draco's lips curled up, accepting Neville's challenge.
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged glances and voluntarily moved aside.
Soon, Neville and Draco turned their backs to each other and walked to opposite sides, while Harry acted as the starter, counting down for them.
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
The next moment, as soon as Neville turned around, he heard Draco's incantation begin.
"Petrificus Totalus."
Then, Neville's body crashed to the ground.
Everyone was shocked by this scene. How… how could this be? There wasn't even time to react and dodge to the side.
And Neville himself was ashamed of his performance; he even wanted to burrow into the ground like an ant and disappear quickly.
Suddenly, an old, disdainful voice sounded in his ear.
"Indeed, just as I surmised at first glance, a pure waste."
"I'm not—" Neville wanted to respond but was bound by the spell and couldn't speak at all.
"You're not?" the voice asked in confusion, which immediately startled Neville.
"You think that in your heart, but what comes out of your mouth is either silence or cowardly words like 'You're right,'" the voice continued.
"Didn't you just feel relieved in your heart that all your choices were correct?"
"Relieved that you didn't argue with that pretentious classmate, otherwise you might be mocked now."
"Relieved that your initial thought of not entering that competition was the correct choice, and you're thinking of going to cross your name off in a moment. Otherwise, you'd only make a fool of yourself if you actually went on stage."
"If you don't even have the guts to speak your true thoughts, if you're not trash, then who is? If I were your elder, I would truly be ashamed of your existence, believe me."
Neville's heart instantly felt like it had fallen into an ice cave. Who was speaking, and how could they even know the fleeting thoughts in his mind??
"That's not true." Neville was instantly enraged by these words.
"Then win for me to see." The voice carried a sneer: "Win for me to see, and I'll believe you."
At the same time, Harry also lifted the Petrificus Totalus from Neville.
"Neville, how are you? Do you want to rest first?" Harry said.
"No." Neville shook his head, looking stubbornly at Draco: "Again, please?"
"Are you sure?" Draco was a little confused, then shrugged: "Alright, that one doesn't count."
Harry hesitated and nodded, scrutinizing Neville up and down. He was panting heavily, looking extremely angry.
Was he so angry because he was defeated in one move??
No, that's not right. Neville didn't seem like such a competitive person. Honestly, Harry was surprised enough to see Neville wanting to secretly sign up for the dueling competition, and now, after being defeated in one move, he could still feel such competitiveness.
It just felt a bit off.
Could this be Neville's hidden Gryffindor power??
"Alright, then I'll give you the signal," Harry said.
Soon, Neville and Draco's second confrontation began again with Harry's countdown.
"Petrificus Totalus—"
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