Draco once again launched a preemptive strike. However, this time, the spell's landing point was not directly behind him, but rather skewed to the left, exactly one body length away.
"This is my keen dueling intuition—ignorant Longbottom!!"
However, Neville's dodging direction was the other side, completely unrelated to the Petrificus Totalus's landing point.
But precisely because of this, Draco was even more excited.
His combo was just like this.
Use the first spell to force the opponent's position, then follow up with a second simple spell to control the opponent.
He couldn't yet continuously use two spells with high intensity.
So the second spell was an extremely simple Transfiguration—it only needed to be cast at the grass underfoot.
At this moment, Neville was feeling relieved to have dodged Draco's Petrificus Totalus, and at the same time, he was waving his wand.
"Stupefy—"
Just as he was incanting, thorns suddenly sprouted from the grass beneath his feet, and one even wrapped around his wrist.
His wand-waving trajectory was interrupted, and sparks flew from the tip of his wand.
"Got him!" Draco was overjoyed. He gripped his wand with a backhand motion, and the transfigured thorns pulled Neville's wrist, constantly tightening.
The thorns even had barbs, pricking Neville and making him wince in pain, feeling like a drilling agony.
Indeed, if it doesn't work, it just doesn't work. It's not something that can be changed just by getting angry…
"Why aren't you waving your wand?" The voice appeared in confusion.
"It hurts," Neville responded.
However, the very next moment he responded, his brain suddenly felt hot. No, to be precise—it was anger.
Not his anger, but the anger of the old voice's owner.
"You don't wave your wand just because it hurts?"
"You're hopeless. I'm telling you, Dumbledore and Jones can't save you either. You'll be like this your whole life." The voice sneered, then quickly disappeared.
Truly disappeared, Neville could feel it, that person wouldn't speak again.
Being sneered at and ridiculed like this would make anyone angry.
At the very least, he had to fight back and not lose again without even casting a spell.
And this time, Neville forcefully raised his hand, blood trickling from his wrist where the thorns had cut him.
Across from him, Draco's expression darkened, and he gritted his teeth: "Longbottom, surrender, it's not necessary."
Neville didn't answer him, only wanting to raise his wand and cast a spell.
His wrist throbbed with intense pain, his fingers trembled, and his wand consequently wavered.
In his mind, he kept urging himself, grip tighter, grip even tighter—
The next moment, the thorns snapped, and Neville seized that fleeting opportunity.
"Petrificus Totalus—"
Draco was already near exhaustion. He tried to dodge, but his legs were still hit by Neville's spell.
A stiff sensation spread rapidly from his feet throughout his body.
In an instant, he fell to the ground.
Neville was the same, clutching his blood-stained wrist, collapsing in pain. His wand, too, was too heavy to hold after casting the spell and fell to the ground.
"You don't wave your wand just because it hurts?" The voice kept echoing in his ears.
"Come out!" Neville shouted.
Harry, who had just lifted the Petrificus Totalus from Draco, turned around in surprise to look at Neville.
"I waved my wand, I won!!" Neville said, tears streaming from his eyes.
"I didn't lose, I'm not that useless…" he whispered, his voice choked with sobs.
Harry looked around in confusion. Soon, he saw two people standing in the distance, on the Castle corridor.
From their figures, one was Uncle Howl, and the other, he had never seen before.
Harry let out a long breath. Although he didn't know what had happened, if Uncle Howl was there, then everything was fine.
Meanwhile, Howl looked at Neville, who was half-kneeling on the ground.
"You came so early just to do these things? To disturb the children's activities here?" he said.
"I just felt like it," Grindelwald chuckled.
Actually, he came so early entirely to… to see more, to see what his living environment was like, to see the traces he left here…
But the more he looked, two emotions constantly intertwined in his mind.
One was—this place looks pretty good.
The other was—why is it so good?
"Bear with me, I haven't communicated with anyone for fifty years. In prison, the House-elf who brought food didn't even dare to make eye contact with me, hmm… though it couldn't anyway," Grindelwald said.
'It'?" Howl's eyebrow twitched.
That pronoun was indeed quite Grindelwald.
But ultimately better than Lord Voldemort. Perhaps in Lord Voldemort's view, most Wizards could only be referred to as "it."
"Then why don't you bother someone else, Draco? I think that guy would definitely be to your taste, at least better than Longbottom."
"No fun," Grindelwald shook his head.
"Although he's also useless, he's not quite a waste.
Making good dishes with good ingredients isn't called being a chef, only being able to cook.
Only the most skilled chefs can make a perfect meal from imperfect ingredients."
Howl was a little surprised. He felt a strange sense of competitiveness?
As for who it was directed at…
"I thought you were just trying to ignite his fighting spirit…"
"No, I truly think he's a waste."
Young shoots tasting fresh, American comic fanfiction, promising future.
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