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Chapter 651: Why Did You Have to Provoke Him?
🕑 Added 2025-03-23 14:01:01 +0000 UTCFeeling the cold steel of the handsword pressed against his head, Montague felt as though a bucket of icy water had been dumped over him. A chill swept from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.
The sensation immediately sobered him, and memories of Kyle’s formidable battle records came flooding back, along with the opponent’s near-legendary status as one of the best in the school. Montague was struck by a crushing realization: approaching Kyle to provoke him had been a colossal mistake.
Sure, he might have stood a chance in a straightforward fistfight, but in a battle involving magic? Even ten of him combined wouldn’t be a match for Kyle. Still, one question lingered—why was Kyle so bold as to use magic here, right outside Professor Umbridge’s office? Did he have no fear of punishment? And such dangerous magic at that.
As Montague wrestled with his thoughts, a sudden, excited shout shattered the tense silence in the corridor.
“Hey, this feels great!” The animated suit of armor bounced on its feet, its helmeted head swiveling wildly. “How about again? How about again?”
“Of course,” Kyle replied casually, tapping his wand. The armor raised its sword-wielding arm once more.
The other students, frozen until now, finally snapped out of their daze.
“Ah!” Millicent’s piercing scream echoed through the corridor, drawing the attention of Professor Umbridge, who was still in her office.
“What is going on out here?” she demanded, flinging open the door. “Keep quiet!”
“Professor!” Montague shouted, his voice tinged with desperation, as though he’d just spotted a lifeline. “It’s Kyle... He tried to kill me!”
“Nonsense. Kyle would never do such a thing!” Umbridge snapped.
“It’s true!” Montague insisted, gesturing wildly at the armor. “Look, he did this!”
Umbridge frowned as her gaze landed on the suit of armor, its hands gripping a raised sword. While she didn’t believe for a second that Kyle would actually kill Montague at Hogwarts, the scene before her was unsettling enough to warrant concern.
“I demand an explanation.”
“Apologies, Professor,” Kyle said smoothly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Mr. Montague appeared to be questioning your decisions and was unwilling to follow my commands. I thought it necessary to demonstrate what I’m capable of.”
“Questioning me?” Umbridge turned her stern gaze on Montague. “Is that true?”
“I… I didn’t…” Montague stammered, shaking his head frantically. But the guilt in his eyes betrayed him, and Umbridge was quick to notice.
“Don’t take things too far,” she said, casting a warning glance at Kyle. “I don’t want to see anyone sent to the Hospital Wing.”
“Of course, Professor. I know my limits,” Kyle replied with a polite nod. With a wave of his wand, he commanded the armor to return to its original position and simultaneously pocketed his wand.
Umbridge seemed satisfied with this, nodding approvingly before retreating back into her office.
“So that’s it?” Montague muttered, still frozen in place, his mind struggling to process what had just transpired. Magic in the corridors? Damaging castle property? Nearly killing someone? And not even a reprimand? Even Professor Snape would at least hand out a verbal scolding in such a scenario.
The office door closed with a decisive thud, and silence descended over the corridor once more.
Whether it was the sting of perceived injustice or the humiliation of losing face, rage bubbled up within Montague. Without thinking, he drew his wand, ready to cast a Jinx at Kyle. But just as he began to chant the incantation, an image flashed vividly in his mind—last year’s Tournament of Champions. He remembered Kyle’s flame spell, the one that had effortlessly burned through half the maze.
His resolve evaporated instantly, his courage replaced with cold fear. When Kyle turned to face him, Montague instinctively bolted.
“This is... a diversion?” Kyle blinked, lowering his wand. He had been ready to cast a Disarming Charm, but it seemed unnecessary now.
“Stop!” The suit of armor, however, was less forgiving. “Stop, brat, come back here!” it bellowed, its voice reverberating through the corridor.
At that, Montague only ran faster.
“This coward…” the armor growled in frustration, then swiveled its head toward Millicent. “How about someone else? I think it’d be good to chop her up.”
Millicent, pale and trembling, stared at the glinting two-handed sword in the armor’s grasp and looked ready to faint from sheer terror.
Kyle, however, paid her no attention. With Montague gone, he turned on his heel and headed toward the stairs without a word.
If this had been any other matter, Kyle would have shrugged off Montague’s antics, letting him stir up trouble elsewhere. That approach would’ve been simpler, sparing Kyle the effort of dealing with him directly while leaving Montague to face the consequences of his own failure. A neat solution with little effort required.
But this wasn’t just any other matter.
The Room of Requirement, while secure, wasn’t entirely impervious to discovery. The DA’s membership had swelled to over seventy students, and Kyle couldn’t guarantee that every one of them was genuinely committed to learning magic. The possibility of a traitor, someone willing to inform on them, loomed uncomfortably large. If exposed, they’d be in serious trouble. Leaving things to the Slytherins was simply too risky.
The simplest way to handle Slytherin interference was to assert dominance—showing them just how vast the power gap was between them. After what had just transpired, Kyle was confident they wouldn’t try anything further.
Even so, Cedric would need to be informed. There was always the chance Umbridge had recruited someone else without their knowledge, and vigilance was paramount.
With this thought in mind, Kyle quickened his pace toward the Hufflepuff common room.
“What a letdown, what a letdown!” the armor muttered, its voice tinged with disappointment. As it sulked, Peeves peeked out from behind a nearby wall, cursing under his breath. In a fit of mischief-fueled anger, the poltergeist hurled several water balloons in random directions before disappearing down the corridor.
Meanwhile, on the far side of the hall, Malfoy stood watching Montague flee down the stairs, not once looking back. A low chuckle escaped Malfoy’s lips, and an odd warmth spread through him, as if he’d just drunk a steaming mug of Butterbeer on a cold winter’s day. It was unexpectedly satisfying.
“That was terrifying... that Kyle,” Crabbe said shakily, still clutching his chest. “Draco, did you already know this was going to happen? Is that why you didn’t say anything?”
“What?” Malfoy replied, startled out of his thoughts.
“That Kyle would attack us directly and get away with it,” Crabbe clarified, his voice still quivering. “Without even being punished by Professor Umbridge.”
Malfoy hesitated for only a moment before clearing his throat and adopting a serious expression. “Of course. I already guessed that.”
Crabbe nodded in reluctant admiration. “Slytherin respects strength. I think that’s why Professor Umbridge chose Kyle to lead us. If he’s strong enough, I don’t care what house he’s in.”
“Unfortunately, that idiot Montague doesn’t understand,” Malfoy muttered, his eyes narrowing as he glanced toward the stairs where Montague had disappeared. “What did you say you did to him?”
The memory of Montague’s arrogance flashed in Malfoy’s mind, particularly his domineering attitude after being named Quidditch captain. Malfoy’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. Though they were in the same house and on the same team, their relationship had always been strained.
He vividly remembered the aftermath of their last match. Montague had berated him in front of the entire team, blaming Slytherin’s loss on Malfoy’s poor performance. To make matters worse, Montague had openly declared that Malfoy’s flying skills were inferior to Potter’s.
Malfoy had barely restrained himself then, his frustration held in check only by the presence of Madam Pomfrey nearby. Others could critique his flying, but comparing him unfavorably to Potter was unforgivable.
But now, seeing Montague’s humiliated retreat replayed in his mind, Malfoy’s irritation vanished like smoke. His mood lightened instantly.
“Let’s go,” he said with a wave of his hand, his tone unusually cheerful. “Yesterday, my father brought me a bag of high-end sweets. You can eat as much as you want.”
“Really? Draco…” Crabbe’s face lit up.
“Great!” Goyle added eagerly.
At the mention of food, both Crabbe and Goyle forgot all about Montague and the tense encounter. They followed Malfoy enthusiastically, leaving Pansy behind as she hurried over to console the still-terrified Millicent.
