Professor McGonagall raised her wand, preparing to use Prior Incantato to examine Devlin's spell usage throughout the day.
She waved her wand gently, reciting the spell:
"Prior Incantato!"
A faint blue light rippled through the air like a thin mist, enveloping Devlin's body. The light rotated slowly, forming a series of transparent images. Each one displayed a spell Devlin had used today.
The first image appeared.
Devlin was shown in the dormitory, gently waving his wand and chanting:
"Accio Elf!"
His toad suddenly leapt out from under the bed, landing in his hand.
Professor McGonagall nodded.
This was clearly a harmless summoning spell used to call his own pet toad.
The second image appeared.
It was from earlier that day. Devlin stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest when his flying broom suddenly went out of control, hurtling toward a large tree.
He quickly raised his wand and shouted:
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
A force lifted him up, gently placing him safely back on the ground.
"That's it! That's the spell he used to make me fly too!" Malfoy shouted, pointing at the illusion.
He looked eagerly at the final image, hoping it would show Devlin casting a spell on him.
But.
The last image showed Devlin under a tree, trying to repair his broken broom. He squatted down, touched the broom, and murmured:
"Reparo!"
However, nothing happened. The broom remained broken, its large crack untouched.
Devlin stood quietly, watching the images appear one by one. His heart was calm—almost bored.
After the final illusion faded, Professor McGonagall lowered her wand and turned to Devlin.
"Devlin," she said in her calm but firm voice, "these spells were all used in emergency situations. I see no evidence of misuse."
Devlin nodded, offering a slight smile.
"Yes, Professor. I was simply trying to ensure the safety of myself and my toad."
"It seems Mr. Alexander's spells did not violate any rules," McGonagall concluded, her tone final and authoritative.
Malfoy's face turned pale.
He had a bad feeling from the moment he made the accusation, but he never expected it to end this way.
Professor McGonagall turned toward Malfoy, her gaze cold as frost.
"Draco Malfoy," she said icily, "your behavior was extremely irresponsible. You not only made false accusations against a fellow student, but also disrupted the classroom's harmony."
Malfoy opened his mouth to defend himself.
But McGonagall cut him off sharply.
"I will not tolerate such conduct. Fifty points will be deducted from Slytherin. I hope you learn to respect your classmates."
The lawn fell into stunned silence.
Even among the Slytherins, only Malfoy's cronies supported him. The others glared at him with disappointment and anger.
Malfoy's face turned an ugly shade of red.
He lowered his head, unable to meet McGonagall's gaze.
Then, unexpectedly, Devlin stepped forward.
With calm composure, he extended a hand toward Malfoy.
"Why don't we shake hands and make peace?" he asked sincerely.
Professor McGonagall looked surprised. A faint smile of approval crossed her face.
The nearby Slytherins murmured to one another:
"That's true leadership."
"Yeah, Alexander's too generous. Even after being falsely accused, he's willing to forgive."
"Mark my words—he'll achieve great things. Not because of his family, but because of who he is."
"Right! He even knows Accio! That's supposed to be an upper-year spell. We can't even use Leviosa properly!"
At that moment, Devlin had won over every Slytherin nearby.
Through his skill, calm demeanor, and the unfortunate contrast with a certain spoiled pureblood, Devlin was becoming the de facto leader of the Slytherin first-years.
Malfoy, who should have held that role, now seemed like a petty joke.
Malfoy hesitated, surprised by Devlin's gesture.
He stared at the outstretched hand.
Everyone's eyes were on him.
Finally, he reached out.
Just as their hands were about to clasp, Devlin did something unexpected—he hugged Malfoy.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Even Malfoy stood frozen, stunned.
Devlin hugged him tightly and whispered:
"Not bad. You almost saw through me."
Malfoy's pupils shrank.
"But did you really think I wouldn't prepare for this?"
Devlin stepped back with a smile.
Malfoy stood motionless, as if struck by lightning.
He slowly raised his arm to point at Devlin, lips trembling, unable to form words.
"You…"
His voice cracked.
But no full sentence came out.
Devlin smirked, the corner of his mouth curling like a snake's grin.
Malfoy was terrified.
He realized something: he would never beat Devlin.
"I'll tell my dad! I'll get you expelled!" Malfoy suddenly shouted, his voice shrill and choked with tears.
His face flushed red, fists clenched tightly.
He was furious, humiliated, and on the verge of breaking down.
Devlin tilted his head slightly, amused.
So this was Malfoy's ultimate trump card—crying to daddy.
But now, Devlin wasn't the same as when he first arrived.
He had Snape's support.
He had Dumbledore's stamp of approval as a genius.
He wasn't afraid of school board threats anymore.
Calmly, with a mocking gleam in his eyes, Devlin said:
"Malfoy, you always try to solve problems this way."
He cracked his neck with a small twist, his smile fading.
His eyes locked on Malfoy's face—cold, sharp, penetrating.
"Then you better tell your dad to get ready. I'm not that easy to deal with."
Malfoy trembled visibly.