In the blink of an eye, it was Friday. Tomorrow, Gryffindor would be playing against Hufflepuff.
This last-minute change of opponent was far too sudden and could be said to have completely thrown Oliver Wood's prior plans into disarray.
Hufflepuff and Slytherin were two teams with entirely different styles, so both offensive and defensive strategies needed to be adjusted accordingly.
Previously, all of Gryffindor's training had been aimed at Slytherin. With the opponent suddenly changed, all that targeted training had become useless.
This temporary switch didn't just upset the Gryffindor players—Eda, who had been dragged along to the training ground as well, was equally unhappy.
This year's cold air arrived earlier than usual, and torrential rain struck Hogwarts ahead of schedule. It could be said that Gryffindor's training this year was carried out entirely amid raging winds and heavy rain. Every time the team got soaked, Eda got soaked along with them.
Although Eda used magic to block the rain and to maintain her body temperature so she wouldn't feel too cold, the strong winds and heavy rain outdoors were still deeply uncomfortable.
Endure it for a moment and things seem calm; take a step back and the more you think about it, the angrier you get. Why should she be out there being battered by wind and rain while the Slytherins could hide indoors in warmth, mocking Gryffindor as a bunch of idiots?
On Friday morning, Draco Malfoy's affected performance only added fuel to the fire.
The rain was pouring heavily that day, and the Great Hall looked especially dim, rivaling the underground classrooms. The Slytherin players all wore schadenfreude-filled expressions, with Malfoy looking the most pleased of all.
"Ah, if only my arm could feel a bit better!" he sighed, as the howling wind battered against the windows outside.
Looking at this smug group of Slytherins, Eda often wanted to ask them what, exactly, they thought nobility was.
In Eda's understanding, truly noble people wouldn't stoop to such despicable behavior, nor would they fake injuries to avoid a match and flee on the eve of battle. Or was it that, in their eyes, only bloodline counted as noble, and everything else could simply be ignored?
Did that mean that if Malfoy family blood were injected into a toad, that toad would become noble as well?
Eda suddenly felt that her dearly departed father had been truly wise. Thank goodness he had made her a half-blood witch. If she were also pure-blooded, standing in the same circle as people like this, Eda would want nothing more than to dig a hole and bury herself in it.
She couldn't afford to lose that kind of face.
It was almost time for class, and the students began leaving the Great Hall one after another. Eda also stood up and blended into the flow of students. Of course she was going to class—but that was just incidental. What she really wanted to do was expose a fake.
Eda was a Gryffindor prefect and a student representative; she had to set an example, so she couldn't just beat someone up. But that didn't stop her from calling out a fraud.
When she exposed Lockhart last year, Eda hadn't lifted a finger from start to finish.
Naturally, the twins followed Eda, acting as her escorts. Eda didn't even need to say anything—one glance from her, and the twins knew exactly what kind of mischief was brewing in her mind.
At this moment, the smug Malfoy was completely unaware of what was coming. He had no idea that the big bad boss had already reached out her claws toward him.
The crowd of students moved toward the exit of the Great Hall. Suddenly, a cry of "Ouch!" rang out from the crowd. Everyone then saw Eda rubbing her shoulder with an utterly "innocent" expression, as if she had been bumped into.
The person who had bumped into Eda also looked innocent. Draco Malfoy wasn't just innocent—he was utterly baffled. He had been walking along just fine when someone suddenly blocked his way and refused to let him pass. Did they really think young master Malfoy was someone to be pushed around?
But before Malfoy could unleash his young master temper, he saw that the ones blocking him were the Weasley twins. No need to ask—wherever the twins were, Twist was usually nearby. Malfoy turned his head and immediately saw Eda rubbing her shoulder.
What was going on?
Malfoy really didn't understand it at all. He genuinely couldn't figure out why the twins were stopping him. Young Master Malfoy was still too inexperienced—he hadn't seen the dangers of the real world yet and didn't even know what "staging an accident" was.
Malfoy tried to leave, but Fred and George wouldn't let him. Crabbe and Goyle, his two loyal lackeys, stepped forward to shield Malfoy, only to have their path blocked by Eda.
"You bump into someone and just leave without apologizing?" Fred asked with a frown. "Didn't your family teach you basic manners?"
Malfoy was so angry he almost laughed. When had he ever bumped into anyone? He said, "Move aside, Weasley. I didn't bump into anyone. I'm going to class."
"Everyone come take a look! Malfoy bumped into someone and won't admit it," George shouted loudly. "Just like a rich stuck-up prat—so arrogant. He hits someone and that's it, nothing happens."
George's voice was loud on purpose; he wanted to blow the whole thing up so that all the students near the entrance could hear it.
The students who had been heading to class began to slow down. There was still some time before lessons started—more than enough to watch a bit of drama.
"I'll say it again, I did not bump into Twist," Malfoy said. "Stop blaming everything on me!"
Did Malfoy bump into Eda? Of course not. The two had only brushed past each other; Malfoy hadn't even touched the hem of Eda's robes.
Although no one saw exactly what happened, everyone chose to believe Eda and the twins.
After all, compared to Eda and the twins, Malfoy's reputation was far worse—not by just a little.
This wasn't just how Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw saw it—even within Slytherin itself, people thought the same way. If given a choice, Slytherin would rather trade Malfoy for Eda.
After all, with Eda's fiercely protective nature toward her own people, wouldn't Slytherin take off immediately? If it weren't for the Malfoy family's money, would Draco Malfoy really still have Slytherin's support?
What Slytherin overlooked, however, was one thing: Eda did protect her own, but not unconditionally. What's more, someone like Malfoy was beyond saving—even if Eda wanted to protect him, she wouldn't be able to.
If beating up Draco Malfoy carried no consequences, the line of people waiting to do it would stretch from the Great Hall all the way to the school gates.
And among those in line, there would be no shortage of Slytherin students—Malfoy's many infuriating actions had done plenty to drag Slytherin's name through the mud.
"Forget it, Fred, George," Eda said, still rubbing her shoulder. "I'll apologize to our 'Young Master Malfoy' instead. What if he goes and tells Mr. Malfoy?"
The students were stunned by Eda's words. Eda, who feared neither Purebloods nor Dumbledore and even dared to talk back to Snape—was she backing down?
Backing down was impossible. Everything that had been done was already out in the open; playing pitiful or pretending to be weak wouldn't work anymore. All that was left was to get by with biting sarcasm.
"If Mr. Malfoy gets angry, he'll take this all the way to the Ministry of Magic," Eda continued. "Then the Ministry officials will chop my head off and put it on display, just like the hippogriff Buckbeak."
"Mr. Malfoy won't care about who's right or wrong," she added. "After all, his brain can't hold that much information."
When it came to sarcasm, Eda only ever acknowledged two people in her life—one was the Potions professor Snape, and the other was her grandmother, Vinda Rosier. Everyone else wasn't worth mentioning.
Whispers rose from the onlookers. Even though so much time had passed, the moment the hippogriff was mentioned, people still looked down on Malfoy's conduct.
After all, it had clearly been Malfoy himself who hadn't listened in class and insisted on showing off, ended up getting himself hurt, and yet in the end, all the blame was placed on Hagrid and Buckbeak.
In this teaching accident, both sides bore responsibility, but Malfoy shoved all the blame onto Hagrid. That was what really made people look down on him—he had no sense of responsibility at all, and he relied on power and status to bully others.
The social structure of the wizarding world was much like that of the Muggle world, a pyramid shape. Only a few people stood at the top, while far more were powerless and without influence, like Hagrid. They deeply empathized with what Hagrid had gone through.
That wave of outrageous behavior earned Malfoy quite a few enemies at school. It was just that no one could really do anything to him, so there were no extreme reactions. And Malfoy, accustomed to throwing his weight around, never noticed these invisible changes at all.
Today, Eda brought up the issue once again and even "put herself in harm's way," effectively providing everyone with a grand stage for venting.
Very quickly, shouts rose from around the entrance of the Great Hall, and Malfoy instantly became like a rat crossing the street, with everyone calling for his downfall.
Malfoy's face turned blotchy, red and white patches alternating, an ugly sight to behold. Pansy Parkinson tried to speak up for him, but the moment she opened her mouth, she was drowned out by curses.
Adding fuel to the fire was also something Eda excelled at. She continued, "Actually, it's nothing serious. We're all used to roughhousing and taking a beating, but Young Master Malfoy isn't. He's far too delicate—can't be touched."
A dainty young girl claimed she was used to being knocked around, thick-skinned and tough; meanwhile, a boy was described as so pampered and precious that he couldn't be hit or scolded.
Those words were vicious—just short of slapping a dress straight onto Malfoy's face.
People often do reckless things in moments of impulse. At this very moment, Draco Malfoy was exactly like that; it was as if a string in his mind had snapped.
People also often forget many things they should be mindful of when acting on impulse, expressing their emotions through instinctive actions or words. Draco Malfoy was exactly like that at this moment—he had already forgotten that he was supposed to keep faking his injury.
Ashamed and furious, Draco Malfoy wanted to teach Eda a lesson. He lunged forward in anger and shoved Eda hard!
But Eda, who had been pushed, didn't move an inch. She even brushed off her clothes with obvious disdain, while Malfoy—the one who had done the pushing—ended up falling flat onto the ground.
A smug smile appeared on Eda's face.
She looked at Malfoy's arm, which was wrapped in bandages, and said, "Isn't your arm injured? Where exactly is the injury? When you pushed me just now, I couldn't tell you were injured at all!"
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