The next week, tensions between Draco Malfoy and Harry Weasley grew steadily worse. While Harry continued to thrive in Slytherin, earning respect from his peers and excelling in csses, Draco’s attempts to undermine him only seemed to highlight Harry’s strengths.
In the Slytherin common room one evening, Draco sat with Crabbe and Goyle, gring at Harry, who was seated with Bise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass. They were ughing about something Harry had said, their voices carrying through the room.
Draco clenched his jaw. How does he do it? he thought bitterly. He’s a Weasley—a blood traitor. He shouldn’t be this popur.
Draco couldn’t stand it any longer. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.
“Enjoying yourself, Weasley?” Draco sneered, walking over to Harry’s group.
Harry looked up, unfazed. “As a matter of fact, I am,” he replied calmly.
Draco’s lip curled. “Funny, considering how out of pce you are here. A Weasley in Slytherin—it’s ughable. You’re an embarrassment to this house.”
Bise raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, waiting to see how Harry would respond.
Harry stood slowly, meeting Draco’s gre head-on. “And yet, here I am. If I’m such an embarrassment, why don’t you do something about it?”
Draco blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Harry’s confidence. The room fell silent, every Slytherin watching the exchange with interest.
“Fine,” Draco said, recovering quickly. “How about a duel? Tomorrow night. Let’s see if you’re as impressive as everyone seems to think you are.”
Harry tilted his head slightly, considering. He had been practicing dueling spells in secret for years, thanks to Bill’s lessons and the occasional help from Fred and George. He wasn’t afraid of Draco—but he also knew that this was about more than just a duel. It was a test of his pce in Slytherin.
“Alright,” Harry said finally. “Tomorrow night, after dinner.”
As word of the duel spread, the atmosphere in Slytherin became charged with anticipation. Uppercssmen whispered among themselves, pcing bets on the outcome, while first-years specuted about who would win.
Bise and Daphne pulled Harry aside after Draco left.
“Are you sure about this?” Daphne asked, her brow furrowed.
Harry nodded. “I can handle him.”
Bise smirked. “Well, just so you know, Malfoy’s been taking private lessons from his father’s associates. He’s got a few tricks up his sleeve.”
“That’s fine,” Harry replied, his voice steady. “I’ve got a few tricks of my own.”
The following evening, the Slytherin common room was packed. Uppercssmen had cleared the center of the room, creating a makeshift dueling arena. Draco stood at one end, his wand already in hand, while Harry calmly took his pce at the other.
Cameron Bole, the seventh-year prefect, stepped forward to act as referee. “Alright, you know the rules. No spells that can cause permanent damage, and no hitting below the belt. First one to disarm or incapacitate their opponent wins. Ready?”
Draco sneered. “Ready.”
Harry nodded, his grip on his wand firm.
“Begin!” Bole decred, stepping back.
Draco struck first, sending a jet of red light toward Harry. Harry dodged easily, countering with a quick disarming spell that Draco narrowly avoided.
The duel escated quickly, with spells flying back and forth. Draco’s attacks were aggressive but cked finesse, while Harry’s movements were precise and controlled. It became clear to the onlookers that Harry had far more practice than anyone had expected.
Finally, Harry saw an opening. With a sharp flick of his wand, he cast Expelliarmus, sending Draco’s wand flying across the room.
The room erupted in cheers and appuse as Harry lowered his wand, breathing heavily but victorious.
Draco scrambled to retrieve his wand, his face red with humiliation. “This isn’t over, Weasley,” he spat before storming out of the room, Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind him.
Bise approached Harry, cpping him on the shoulder. “Not bad, Weasley. Not bad at all.”
Daphne smiled. “Looks like you’ve earned yourself even more respect.”
Harry nodded, his heart still racing. He knew this was just the beginning of his rivalry with Draco, but for now, he had proven himself.
Draco Malfoy sat in the Slytherin common room, brooding. His attempts to turn Harry Weasley into an outcast had failed spectacurly. Instead of isoting Harry, his efforts had only made the younger Weasley more respected and admired within Slytherin.
After the humiliating duel and countless failed schemes, Draco came to a reluctant conclusion: Harry Weasley wasn’t someone he could easily undermine. But there was another way—a better way—to hurt him.
“If I can’t get to him directly,” Draco thought with a sneer, “I’ll target the people he cares about.”
His mind immediately went to Ron Weasley. Unlike Harry, who was composed and intelligent, Ron was quick to anger, easy to provoke, and far less tactful. Draco grinned to himself, already imagining the ways he could exploit Ron’s temper.
The next morning, Draco’s focus shifted entirely to the Gryffindors. He watched Ron closely during breakfast, noting how easily the boy became flustered over the smallest inconveniences.
“Did you see how much jam he just spilled on his robes?” Draco whispered to Crabbe and Goyle, snickering.
Crabbe nodded eagerly. “He’s like a magnet for disasters.”
Draco smirked. “Perfect.”
During their first shared css of the day—Potions—Draco made his move.
As Professor Snape instructed the students to begin brewing their potions, Draco casually walked by Ron’s table, where he was partnered with Seamus Finnegan.
“Careful there, Weasley,” Draco drawled, loud enough for the entire css to hear. “Wouldn’t want you to accidentally blow up your cauldron. Oh wait, you probably can’t afford to repce it, can you?”
Ron’s face turned red as ughter rippled through the cssroom. “Shut up, Malfoy!”
Draco feigned innocence. “What? I’m just looking out for you. You should be thanking me.”
Over the next few days, Draco’s taunts grew more frequent. Whether it was in the hallways, the Great Hall, or during csses, he found ways to needle Ron about his family’s financial situation, his hand-me-down robes, or his ck of magical prowess.
“You know,” Draco said one afternoon, leaning against the wall near the Gryffindor common room entrance, “it must be exhausting having to live in Harry’s shadow all the time. First he’s a Slytherin, and now he’s probably doing better in his csses too. How does it feel to always be second best?”
Ron clenched his fists, gring at Draco. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Malfoy.”
Draco smirked. “Oh, but I do. It must be hard being the other Weasley. The one no one really notices.”
Harry, who had been approaching from the other end of the hallway, caught the tail end of the exchange. “Leave him alone, Malfoy,” he said firmly, stepping between them.
Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Defending your brother, are you? How noble. But don’t worry, Weasley - I’m sure Ron’s used to needing a savior by now.”
Later that evening, Harry sat in the Slytherin common room, mulling over Draco’s behavior. It was clear that Draco had shifted his attention to Ron, knowing that targeting Harry directly wasn’t working.
As much as Harry wanted to protect his brother, he also knew that Ron needed to learn how to handle Draco on his own. Ron’s temper was his greatest weakness, and Draco was exploiting it expertly.
Still, Harry couldn’t ignore the situation entirely.
The next time he met Ron in the library, he said, “You know Malfoy’s just trying to get under your skin, right? He’s doing it to get at me.”
Ron frowned. “Yeah, well, he’s doing a bloody good job of it. He’s such a git.”
Harry smiled faintly. “Ignore him. The more you react, the more he’ll keep at it. Trust me, he’s not worth it.”
Ron sighed but nodded reluctantly. “I’ll try.”
While Ron worked on keeping his temper in check, Harry began quietly observing Draco, looking for patterns in his behavior. If Draco thought he could target Ron without consequences, he was sorely mistaken.
Draco Malfoy’s life at Hogwarts took a sudden, unexpected turn. Pranks began targeting him almost daily, and they were far too intricate to be coincidental. From his robes turning neon pink during breakfast to his potions ingredients mysteriously disappearing during css, Draco found himself the center of a new kind of attention—humiliating and frustrating.
The Slytherin common room buzzed with rumors about the pranks, and the consensus was clear: Harry Weasley was too studious and composed to waste his time on such childish antics. The real culprits were elsewhere, and it wasn’t long before a name emerged—the Junior Marauders.
The name first surfaced in the Great Hall when Draco found his goblet of pumpkin juice inexplicably spouting water like a fountain. As he spluttered and yelled, Neville Longbottom walked by, muttering just loud enough for Draco to hear, “Looks like the Junior Marauders have struck again.”
Draco’s face turned red as ughter rippled through the Gryffindor table.
From that day on, the name spread like wildfire. The so-called Junior Marauders—consisting of Charlie Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom—took great delight in causing mayhem, particurly at Draco’s expense. Their pranks were clever, harmless, and maddeningly untraceable.
Professor Snape was livid. As the Head of Slytherin House, he was determined to put an end to the chaos, especially when it involved one of his own students. But no matter how hard he tried, he could find no concrete evidence linking the pranks to the Junior Marauders.
One afternoon, during Potions, Draco’s cauldron erupted in a shower of green sparks, coating him in a sticky, glittering goo. As the css erupted in ughter, Snape’s eyes narrowed on Charlie, Ron, and Neville, who were sitting together and whispering.
“Potter! Weasley! Longbottom!” Snape barked, his voice cutting through the ughter.
The three boys looked up, their expressions a perfect mixture of innocence and confusion.
“Yes, Professor?” Charlie said, his tone polite but with a hint of mischief.
Snape loomed over them, his bck robes billowing. “Do you have any idea who might be responsible for this... juvenile dispy?”
Ron shrugged. “No idea, sir. Maybe the ghost of one of the original Marauders?”
Neville tried to stifle a ugh, and Snape’s scowl deepened.
“Detention!” Snape snapped, his voice echoing through the dungeon. “All three of you. Tonight.”
The boys didn’t argue, but as they left the css, Harry noticed the glint of satisfaction in Charlie’s eyes.
Harry, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t help but admire the Junior Marauders’ ingenuity. Their pranks were well-timed and creative, and while he didn’t condone their antics, he also couldn’t deny that Draco deserved a taste of his own medicine.
One evening, as he sat in the Slytherin common room, Bise Zabini leaned over and said, “You know, Weasley, they’re all convinced you’re behind the pranks.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Me? Why would I waste my time on that?”
Bise smirked. “Exactly what I told them. Still, it’s entertaining to watch Malfoy squirm.”
The pranks continued, each more eborate than the st. Draco’s broomstick mysteriously floated away during Quidditch practice. His potions textbook turned into a toad during study hall. And one memorable morning, his hair was enchanted to spell out the words “Junior Marauders Rule” in glowing letters.
Despite Snape’s best efforts, the culprits remained elusive.
“I know it’s them,” Snape hissed to Professor McGonagall during one of their staff meetings. “Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom. They’re mocking the very foundation of this school!”
McGonagall pursed her lips, suppressing a smile. “Unless you have proof, Severus, there’s little we can do.”
Snape’s gre could have melted steel.
Draco’s breaking point came during dinner one evening. As he sat at the Slytherin table, his pte of roast chicken suddenly sprouted legs and began running across the table, clucking loudly. The entire hall erupted in ughter as Draco tried to catch it, his face a deep shade of red.
At the Gryffindor table, Charlie, Ron, and Neville exchanged knowing looks, their faces the picture of innocence.
“Junior Marauders strike again,” someone muttered, and the phrase was met with cheers and appuse.
Defeated and humiliated, Draco retreated to the Slytherin common room that night, vowing to change his approach. If I can’t beat them, he thought bitterly, I’ll find a way to outsmart them.
But deep down, he knew the Junior Marauders weren’t going to stop anytime soon—and that thought filled him with equal parts dread and determination.
For Harry, the entire ordeal served as a reminder of his family’s unwavering support. While he chose not to involve himself in the pranks directly, he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride watching his brother and friends stand up to Draco in their own mischievous way. The Junior Marauders were carving their own legacy, and Harry knew it was only the beginning.
Join here for more: Patreon(dot)com(ssh)Beuwulf
