Hello there! In the end, it took more than a week for me to edit and revise this chapter, but what can I say? I just didn't feel like it. A tad late, perhaps, but here you have it. I hope you all do enjoy it, and if not, well, I for sure enjoyed writting it!
Chapter 43 - Challengers
"Got any advice for me?" Harry asked as they took a seat on the ground just below the grandstands.
The tournament was about to start, and it clearly showed. The spectators—locals, Hogwarts students and fans of the sport alike—had already stormed into the marquee, and the grandstands were much fuller than Ron had expected. A faint pull in his stomach had appeared within the first spectators, and it had gotten worse with each person.
As of that moment, Ron was positively nervous.
"If possible, try to dodge as many spells as you can," Ron replied. "You may know how to parry, but out of the theory, it's quite hard to do it effectively against most spells, and much so without any prior practice. Roll, jump and move away from them; what suits you the best. There's also shielding, but I wouldn't recommend that either. It's hard to do it well enough, and it consumes far too much magic for it to be worth it. Use them as a last option resource."
He then eyed the combat zone.
There were thirty-two participants, all children around their age; some taller and others shorter, some with a menacing look in their eyes and others who looked far more softer. However, much to his surprise, only a few were from Hogwarts. There were them two, of course, Theodore Nott and Cormac McLaggen, and then two Ravenclaws from fourth-year he'd never talked to.
"Also, I would let them have the upper hand in the duel," Ron went on as he pointed at the other duellists. "These folks came here from all over the world just to take part in this event. From what little I know about it, this tournament is a Minor, and one out of the regular season's schedule, which means that no boy or girl here is really a serious threat. Mostly, they are people who want to practise for the next season. Still, they probably have far more experience than us combined. Study them through and through, then make your plan according to what you see. You are very quick of feet, Harry, use that to your advantage. "
"I see," Harry mumbled, his eyes also wandering through the competition. "It makes sense."
From their backs came a constant whispering, and Ron tried his best to ignore it. By his side, Harry didn't seem nearly as faced as him, which wasn't a surprise—he'd had plenty of Quidditch games in front of hundreds of people, after all. Focus, you dunderhead! Ron then embraced the Sense, and took in all those new things he felt. Especially one from above. There stood Gerdnyaram, eyes closed and a calm facade in her face.
They had agreed not to use the Anticipation in Ron's duels, for he wasn't prepared yet. Even so, he would use it as he observed other duels from afar, making the most of this tournament as possible.
"See anyone you don't wanna face at first?" Harry asked.
"Well, I hope they don't match us so early," Ron snorted. "Nott is off the charts too."
"Is he as crazy as people say?"
"Much worse," Ron said, shuddering as he remembered the first time Nott showed his true self. "Anyhow, then there is also McLaggen—the guy is a jerk, but he knows how to fight. And also, see that one boy over there, near the last arena?"
"The one dressed in blue and gold with the blazon of a golden phoenix sewed on the chest?"
"The very same," Ron nodded. "I have a bad feeling about him. His name is Alexander Shawn, and Daphne used to speak wonders of him. More so, he's come all the way from America, so he must feel quite confident in his skills."
Just then an official strode into the combat area and made his way over the main one. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemans!" he exclaimed, his voice amplified. "I welcome you all to this special Minor! We might be out of the season, and only the little ones came here to duel, but I see that Hogsmeade has indeed paid us back with warmth and enthusiasm. Today, thirty-two young challengers will try their best to get the trophy home; some came from across the oceans, while others will be spurred by their people."
Some timid applause could be heard.
"Now, allow me to explain a few things first. As you probably know, all tournaments within the Federation are based according to a seeding system to make the brackets as fairly as possible. However, since only a few duellists have earned a few points during the season, only them will be placed according to their seed. Also, it should be noted that all duels from the semi-finals and onwards will take place in the main arena. So you better keep your eyes wide open to not miss any detail before that!"
The announcer continued his monologue, but Ron paid him no attention anymore. I just need one duel to build my confidence here. Please, don't make me face Nott before that! However, his wishes would later on come true as the announcer shouted his name, "Ronald Weasley, thirteen of age, and Markov Pavliov, twelve of age! Please, go to the fifth arena!"
Ron stood up, gulping down the knot in his throat. "I'd wish you good luck," Harry started, a confident grin on his face, "but you don't need it. I know you'll win." Then his name was also called. "Look at that! See you later, then."
Harry walked with a firm stride towards his arena, and Ron understood he couldn't fall behind. A bit more shaky, he also made his way; every step he took was accompanied by the whispering of the grandstands. They ain't even paying attention to you, you fool! Snap out of it. In no time at all, Ron found himself at the smaller arena.
In front of him stood a boy much shorter than him, but of cold eyes and tough features. His hair was shaved, and the robes he wore were black with just a blazon of red and yellow silk sewed over his left breast. He glared daggers at Ron, who just raised a brow back at him, unfaced. He had a bit of stage fright, but a short, grumpy boy was something he could manage.
A referee jumped into the arena, dressed in crimson and gold, the colours of the Federation.
"You know the rules, right?" he started. "If you make your opponent admit defeat, you win. If you knock him out, you win. If you make me end the battle and grant a technical knockout, you win. To make that happen, you can use any kind of magic there is in your arsenal. All will be fine unless you overdo it. In duelling, the wand is very important, but so is the mind. Now, shake your hands and put up a good spectacle, will ya?"
Ron took a step forward, and only then did his opponent mirror him. Pavliov's eyes had yet to avert from the redhead's. "Good luck," Ron said, shaking his hand. Oh, shit! This bastard sure has grip strength! Still he kept an unfaced facade—he couldn't act so weakly in front of a younger boy.
Wands in hand, the two of them took several steps back; they stopped about to walk down the arena.
"Start!" the referee shouted.
Pavliov was faster than Ron; that was left clear very early into the duel. His spells came at the redhead before he could even utter a single incantation. Still he moved through them with calculated side steps. There was no doubt of their speed, but the lack of accuracy spoke for itself. Observe, then act upon their weakness.
Ron opened himself to the Sense, and Pavliov's aura became far more prominent. There was a spell coming—Ron came to halt all of a sudden, and the Severing Charm missed the target blatantly. More spells came, many of which he was very familiar with. All he needed to do was to be ready when Pavliov used those unusual spells; until he was able to recognise their magical signature, that's it.
Ron seemed to flow like water, and no spell came even close to graze him. After an entire minute, his opponent finally reduced his level of aggression. His aura became fainter. He's almost out of breath, and I'm barely sweating! He smiled widely.
"Bombarda!" Ron exclaimed atop of his lungs. The spell was launched from his wand fast and precise. However, it impacted right before Pavliov, who had just jumped away, creating small bits of debris. Non-verbally this time, Ron used the Seize and Pull Charm, and just as the same time, he said aloud, "Depulso!"
To his delight, Pavliov fell in his trap. Surprised, he casted a Shield, which protected him from the debris Ron had sent at him. However, the silent threat was proven again to be the most lethal one, and so, he didn't notice the single rock which came from his back, pulled by a faint light string. It impacted against his good hand, thus his wand was sent flying.
"Expelliarmus." Just like that, Ron obtained his opponent's wand, therefore he was crowned victorious of the first duel.
The referee let it known. "Stop! Ronald Weasley wins the duel by technical knockout!" Pavliov was about to complain, but he didn't got to open his mouth. "Although you could have fought with no wand, I deemed the battle as over because of your wounds, Markov Pavliov. Your hand is probably broken, and you are out of energy. Someone take him to the medical wing."
A pair of officials jumped into the arena to retrieve the boy, who accompanied them reluctantly, as the many foreign curses he let out showed. "The wand, if you please," the referee walked up to him. "Thanks. I must say it was an incredible performance on your behalf, Ronald Weasley. I was told this was your first official event, but this battle tells me otherwise. The way you used one spell as a decoy so the one you casted non-verbally could finish the job was superb!"
"As they say, practice makes perfect," Ron said with a shrug.
The referee's eyes gleamed. "Very well said, indeed. Anyhow, congratulations are in order. Now you must wait until all the duels from the first round are done. Your next opponent will be announced as soon as it is decided. I wish you the best, Ronald." This being said, he just left.
Ron did the same, and he almost bumped into Harry in no time at all. "I won!" he said, almost as if he couldn't believe it yet. "I used your strategy, and I got to overpower my opponent when he ran out of ideas. I had a few close calls, and I'm also a bit tired, but that's all."
Ron fist bumped him. "Nice one," he grinned. "Honestly, mine was also a good duel. This Pavliov guy had very nice technique and skills, but he lacked brains. If only he'd have stopped to think for a second, I would've been in real trouble. Anyway, a win is a win, and it feels damn good regardless."
Just then a plump woman walked towards them. "Congratulations," she beamed, "and here you have. Please, move onto the rest area so the remaining duels can take place without further ado." She handed the boys a bottle of water and some granola bars each. "There is a special grandstand where you can rest as you have first row views of the other duels. Just head over there and you'll find it in no time at all."
"Thanks!" Ron said.
He'd barely had any time to eat at the Three Broomsticks Inn, so he was going to make the most of his snack. In fact, by the time they reached these special grandstands—which weren't really special per se, only that they were at the arenas' level—he'd already finished it. Well, at least these grandstands had springy, red cushions over the wooden seats; an improvement he welcomed, indeed.
"I thought these seats were reserved to competitors alone," Harry mused as he eyed the man sitting in the grandstands, several seats away from their position. True enough, there were some of the participants there, but they all sat far from the man and the teenager boy who was by his side.
To be fair, he did look a bit imposing. He wasn't the tallest man Ron had ever seen, but he was well built; broad of shoulders and fit. His short hair was mostly brownish, but many specs of grey tinted his scalp and beard. He was dressed in brown and white, with a blazon that he couldn't see well enough from afar sewed over his left breast. A pureblood lord, eh?
The boy had a certain resemblance to the man, but he was of fair hair and green eyes, though he wore the same colours. However, there was one even bigger difference between them both—whereas the man wore a serious facade, the boy's face was almost split by a wide smile.
"Who cares," Ron said with a shrug. "There's plenty of room for us all."
Harry gave him a nod and took the lead, however, a certain shout from the grandstands made him stop. "Harry!" a pair of voices exclaimed. "That was bloody great, you bastard! Since when are you this good?" They belonged to Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. "Come here for a moment!" Dean went on. "I need to ask you something."
"Go," Ron told him, "I don't mind. I reckon I won't get bored here."
"See you later, then," Harry nodded as he went in search of his House-mates.
Well, this way I'll be able to focus on the duels with no distractions. He grimaced at the thought, but accepted it nonetheless. If he was lucky enough, he'd get to observe either Nott or Shawn from up there. In the end, he took a seat not far from the two purebloods, where the views were best at.
Just then a new duel was announced. "Cormac McLaggen, fourteen of age, against Alexander Shawn, thirteen of age!" Jackpot! "Please, go to the first arena!" What's more, their duel would take place in the arena located just in front of Ron.
"McLaggen, eh?" the pureblood lord commented. "He is one of the very few competitors with previous experience in the circuit, from what I recall."
"I think I saw him at the Minor of Berlin, back in June," the boy added with much worse English. "Got past a few rounds and performed quite well, from what I remember. Although it seems fortune isn't on his side today. What a shame! He was one of the very few duellists I wanted to see today!"
Right then the pureblood lord sent Ron a sideways glance. Oh, crap. He's caught me listening to their conversation. Still he acted as if nothing had happened at all—he'd done nothing wrong, so there was no need to feel embarrassed, right?
As soon as the referee was done reading the rules to the duellists, they both walked in opposite directions. If he was to judge the battle upon their magical auras, then McLaggen had all the odds in his favour.
Even so, there was something out of place there. If not, why would Shawn, hands in his pockets, smile in such a confident way?
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
The referee gave the signal, and McLaggen casted three precise stunners at Shawn in a perfectly executed chain of spells. However, they all just went through him. This sight left Ron shocked, but not nearly as much as McLaggen was, who almost missed his next step. Shawn then banished, just to appear right behind McLaggen, left hand glowing red.
It grazed the back of McLaggen's head, who just collapsed. A part of the marquee was silenced, those who had watched the duel, and not even the referee seemed to know what to do next.
"He's out," Shawn proclaimed. "I win, right?"
"Y-Yes," the referee stuttered as he ran towards the unconscious boy.
"Don't worry about him," Shawn sighed as he looked to the grandstands. There, his eyes found Ron's in a silent duel. "It was a simple stunner. He will be fine in no time at all." Finally, he broke the exchange, then walked away as if nothing had happened.
What the hell was that? Ron was speechless—he'd never seen something like this, and neither could he understand it.
"Damn," the pureblood boy whistled. "That was some neat trick. Took me a while to figure it out. It's pretty simple when you think about it, but I would never have come up with it."
"It was a perfect way to show off," the lord agreed. "Simple yet efficient. Serves to send a message and nothing more." He then turned towards Ron. "Say, boy, did you know what happened here?"
Ron was surprised with this turn of events, but he managed to hide it. They've talked about it as if it was nothing but a simple trick, however, he was as lost as he could be. "No," he finally answered. "I have no idea." He knew that Shawn's aura had gone through a very aggressive change in no time at all, yet nothing more came to his mind.
"I see," the lord hummed, eyes back on the arena. "I'll give you a lead, then. There were three key steps here; no more, no less. Try to figure it out yourself as the first round finishes; it will come in handy later, trust me. I saw your duel against the Pavliov boy, and I really liked your style. Now I want to see more of you."
Ron didn't answer; instead he put all he had into the task—what had happened here? There is no way he used Apparition, right? Actually, are we even allowed to use it? Still, that possibility seemed rather far-fetched. Three steps, he said… One of them would explain the way those stunners had just gone through Shawn, that he knew, while the other two would probably explain his sudden teleportation and that strange spell which had sent McLaggen to the oneiric realm.
A familiar flash of blue caught his eye.
"I like what this man proposed," Gerdnyaram said as she took a seat atop of his head. Her presence felt warm. "Trust me, it looks far more complex than it really was." She then stared at the two purebloods. "However, the fact they could unravel it with so little effort speaks very well of them, more than it does poorly of you. That man is incredibly well versed in the field of magic, I can tell."
"So you also know," Ron mused. "Of course you would know."
Three steps, that's all he needed to know. It wasn't so hard when put like that—he'd had way worse before.
"I think I got one," Ron mouthed. "He used a strange kind of stunner to finish McLaggen, right? I've seen that spell in action, and it tumbles people easily when done correctly. What's more, the red glowing is quite typical of this spell."
"One out of three," Gerd nodded. "The easiest one is done."
"I'd appreciate a bit of help here, you know?"
"You are also quite familiar with the spell he used in the second step. That is all I will say."
Oh, great, that's bloody useful! Whereas his mind fought to unravel that mystery, the other duels took place at the same time. Nott managed to make his opponent surrender in less than a minute, and there was some asian girl who displayed one of the most beautiful spell chains he'd ever seen. However, it was thanks to one of the fourth-year Ravenclaws, an Irish, red-haired boy, that a spark was lit in Ron's brain.
"The Disillusionment Charm?" he mused. "Perhaps it wasn't Apparition as I first thought. It wouldn't explain the banishment at all, but… Unless the two first steps were somehow related, that's it!" That last part came out way louder, just as he stood up in a flash, hands gripping the wooden handrails in front of him.
The pureblood lord didn't even glance in his direction, but his son certainly did; he looked at Ron with amused eyes.
"Grant Page wins the duel by technical knockout!" a referee exclaimed. The cheers didn't take long to appear in the area Ravenclaw had taken for themselves. "And so the first round comes to an end! Every duellist shall rest for a few minutes before the next one starts. Please, be patient as the bracket is done!"
Gerd remained silent, but that didn't stop Ron at all. He then turned towards the pureblood lord, whose eyes were still fixated on the arenas. "Shawn used a variation of the Stunning Spell to tumble McLaggen; a wandless one, it seemed. To achieve that, he closed the distance by using the Disillusionment Charm, turning invisible to the eye. Somehow, he made it look like an instant teleportation of some sorts to make us, his competitors, believe we stand no chance against him. Did I nail it?"
"Not bad at all," the lord nodded. "Even so, there's way more to it than that."
"Well, yes, I know that," Ron said, "but I just cannot figure out why those stunners went through him. I feel like it is something way out of my reach. Because of that, please, I ask for your help. I really want to know."
Finally he looked at Ron; there was the hint of a smile on his face. "Your name was Ronald Weasley, right?" the man asked. "Your honesty and lack of pride are very welcomed. Not many boys of your age, much less those of great skill and mind like you, are ready to take a step back and to admit they cannot do it all by themselves. Well, I shall honour your eagerness then. The step you lack is, indeed, a technique out of your reach."
"Those stunners didn't go through him, mainly because Shawn wasn't there," the blond boy took the word. Ron sent him a puzzled look, which widened his grin. "The instant the duel began, Alexander became invisible, true, but he also left a spectre of magic behind. This spectre was extremely realistic, but it had blatant flaws if you know where to look. First of all, his cape did not wave an inch, just as his eyes did not blink, however, what gave his trick away was the fact the spectre's magical aura was quite poor when compared to Alex's. It felt like an empty shell, and any competent wizard would have seen through it. Anyway, it certainly worked, for it allowed him to close distance in those few seconds of confusion."
"So that was the sudden change I felt within his aura," Ron mused. "But, unlike us, McLaggen doesn't have access to the Sense, so there was no way he could have not fallen into the trap. It was a very well thought distraction."
"More often than not, wits prevail over skill and sheer prowess," the lord stated. "I never was the most powerful wizard, nor the most talented one. Yet I studied the art like no one else. Wits and the lack of hubris saw me crowned twice. Carve those words into your mind, Ronald, and the future might shine upon you with the brightest light."
This being said, the pureblood lord stood up and left with no further word.
His son followed after him in no time at all. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Ronald," he said, bidding him farewell with a wave of his hand. "I really look forward to seeing you in the upcoming rounds. Be sure to give Alexander a run for his money, will you? He needs someone to humble him a bit."
Just like that, Ron was left alone once more. "Do you reckon I can do that?" the redhead started. "To humble that boy, I mean."
"No," Gerdnyaram replied. "He's leagues above you."
"I figured as much," Ron smirked, not surprised by any means. "Call me crazy if you may, but I really want to duel him now." From up there, he observed how the remaining competitors were called back to the arena. "Come on, Gerd. Let's put up on a good show and make the most of this day."
"Please, for the love of God, you need to teach Theodore Nott a lesson, Harry!" Those had been Dean's words, a plea to a friend.
However, whether Harry wanted to help his friend or not did not really matter. He'd seen the way Nott had toyed with his opponent in the first round; there was no way he could beat that madman as of today. Hell, he was even reluctant to face him!
And so, Harry just pushed that thought out of his mind. He'd come here today to make the best of this tournament, and not only was he enjoying it thoroughly, but he also felt happy with his progress so far. Come on, bring it on! In front of him stood Grant Page, Ravenclaw's keeper, also waiting for the referee to give green light to their duel.
Harry's feet bounced lightly, though his grip on the wand was rock solid. "Start!" It began, and he was ready for it.
"Expelliarmus!" he chanted. The red spell came out fiercely, much faster than Grant expected, yet he parried it with no trouble at all. "Incendio! Impedimenta! Depulso!" Harry hit the taller boy with all he had, yet also with caution to not waste far too much energy. Funny that duels were so similar to a Quidditch game—in the end, it all came to being ready for the right moment.
And seekers excelled at that.
"Protego!" Grant exclaimed. The offence was cut short with that, and now Harry was put on the losing end.
But his legs were there to make it up for his lack of skill with the wand. Spell after spell, they all missed his body. To my left now! He dodged a Disarming Spell just in time. I need to make him believe I'm running out of breath. I need to fool him into commiting a mistake! Yet Grant wasn't one to be fooled so easily.
"Come on, Potter!" he growled. "Do something! This ain't no Quidditch field! You can fly away from trouble here!"
Harry furrowed his brow. What a sore loser! We would've won last year anyway! "Expelliarmus!" His spell crashed against Grant's, birthing a rain of red sparks. Their magic clashed a few more times, but it was soon proven that Harry would lose were he to keep this strategy—none spell of his but the Expelliarmus seemed to hold its own in a direct clash.
"Glacius!" Grant chanted.
Out of the blue, Harry found himself slipping due to an iced surface. Shit! His eyes rose from an instant, enough to detect the violet light which rocketed towards him. It all came deep within him, and if someone were to ask him about it later, he would have no answer about it. Harry used a Bombarda to shatter the ice, then sent the debris forward with a strong Depulso.
The rain of debris was all turned into dust when hitting Grant's new Shield, however, he'd been the one to get out of breath first. Face red and sweaty, the Ravenclaw jumped out of the way the moment his Shield banished, overpowered by the ice fragments. Needless to say, Grant wasn't as graceful on his feet as Harry, who feigned casting an Expelliarmus, making the tall boy roll once again.
Then he fell from the platform.
Harry took his opportunity and jumped forward. "Stupefy!" Please, work! He had never casted the spell before, yet he had seen plenty of people using it today. It would need to be enough.
And it was.
The red flash hit Grant right in the face as he tried to stand up, who just collapsed like a rag doll. Harry also fell down the platform, face down to the floor. Still his laughter triumphed over his whimpers. I've won!
The referee was quick to come to Grant's aid. "He is out!" he declared after examining him. "Harry Potter takes the win home!"
The Gryffindor area exploded in cheers, Fred and George being the loudest by far. It all sounded quite epic and euphoric, the kind of deed to feel very proud of. Despite that, all Harry felt at that moment was pain and exhaustion. He managed to stand up, using the platform arena as support; not the most gracious way to do it, he reckoned.
"You okay?" a woman said as she helped him. "That was a nasty fall you took to the ribs. Didn't hear a crack, though."
"I don't think I have any broken bones," Harry replied with a grimace. "I've had a few before, and it doesn't feel the same."
"Nice then," the official smiled. "I see that you can walk on your own. Great! Head to the rest area and enjoy the rest of the duels meanwhile. In case you end up needing it, the medical wing is down the north wing of the marquee."
Harry sent one last look at Grant, who was wide awake by now. Even so, his eyes looked rather unfocused, and all he seemed to do was to nod at the referee's questions. Well, there you have one more reason to dislike me. See you again in the field, I guess. It took him a great effort, but Harry finally made it to the special grandstands. The pain became much more bearable, but it was still there, like a faint echo which accompanied each one of his movements.
As he sat down, Harry spotted Ron making his way towards the grandstands. Unlike him, the redhead didn't look to be in pain at all. "Seems like we are on a roll, eh?" he smiled once taking a seat by Harry's side.
"Seems so," Harry replied. "But this round was much closer than the first one. Page almost got me good."
"Really? For me it was the other way around—I almost didn't sweat in this one. Anyway, a win is a win, and we both got ours."
One by one, all the remaining competitors came to the grandstands once their duels finished. Nott and Shawn stood at the opposite ends, while the asian girl and some blond boy from France sat in the front row with a few seats between them. Jeremy Stretton, one of Ravenclaw's chasers, had also made it.
"What do you think of them?" Harry asked, pointing at their soon-to-be rivals.
Ron eyed them with a keen eye. "Shawn is a monster, and Nott might be the only one who can bother him a little. The asian girl is rather good also; she probably has the best technique out of us eight. Unfortunately, I didn't get to see much of Stretton nor of the pretty boy from France, so I can't really shed any light on the matter. Wait, there's one competitor missing, right?"
Harry furrowed his brow. "I think there was another girl here when I arrived. But now that you mention it, there's no trace about her."
"Whatever," Ron waved the matter away. "If there is someone I can give you a little advice for, that's Nott. For the love of Merlin, try to anger him, force him into committing a mistake; that's your only chance. If you are to face him in a fair duel, then you are done. Trust me; been there, done that."
"How am I supposed to do that?"
"Try to avoid confrontation, run away from him as much as you can. Don't throw a single spell unless it is with a defensive purpose. That will irk him, and that's when he becomes vulnerable. Taunt him a bit, if you may, but don't over do it. If he snaps, he becomes too unpredictable, and then you will be done."
"Looks a bit tricky to me, mate," Harry groaned in protest. "I'd rather take one of Snape's surprise exams."
"It is what it is," Ron shrugged. They fell into a comfortable silence, which soon came to an end. "Look there. There's an official coming. Oh, it is the referee from my first duel."
The short man came to a halt atop of the big arena, there he stared at the loud crowd. "Ladies and gentleman!" he started, his voice amplified reaching every corner of the marquee. "What a day we've had so far! We've seen many incredible duels. We've seen these brave younglings give their all in pursuit of their dreams and ambitions. And, even if it's hard to believe, the best is yet to come! The quarter-finals are about to take place; the last round before the spectacle gets moved onto the main arena."
He paused for a moment, his hand reaching into the pockets of his robe to pull out a piece of parchment. "The final bracket has been decided!" he went on. "These will be the next duels: Alexander Shawn, thirteen of age, against Harry Potter, thirteen of age. Theodore Nott, thirteen of age, against Jeremy Stretton, fifteen of age. Ume Sang-hyeok, fourteen of age, against Ronald Weasley, thirteen of age. Benjamin Lepenant, thirteen of age, against… Oh, right! Unfortunately, it seems that Alice Giggs has forfeit due to some indisposition. We are incredibly sorry to announce this, but there will only be three duels in this round. Again, we are so very sorry."
The background noise didn't take long to appear—some clapped, excited for those new duels, others started to bet on their favourites, while most cheered those competitors they supported. Harry had a fair share of those last, yet he didn't bring himself to pay them any attention at all.
"Bloody great," Harry cursed under his breath.
"Shit happens," Ron grimaced. "You got it worse than me, that's for sure, but the sorting also destroyed me. That girl has the potential to reach the finals."
Their laments would come to an end rather soon, because the competitors were then called up. "Anyhow, it is what it is. We better make the most of this instead of whining like some babies," Ron stated. "Let's give these folks a good spectacle, Harry."
Harry nodded to those words, then made his way down, towards the fourth arena. The boy heard all those chants of support, yet he pushed them aside as he often did during Quidditch games. Not far from him, Shawn walked towards the arena, and he too seemed unbothered by the crowd. If I could swallow a damn snitch to win a game, I can do this!
Harry took a deep breath before jumping onto the arena.
Shawn stood at the other end, hands no longer in his pockets and with serious features on his face. His eyes followed Harry, studying him at length. Then he smiled. "At last we met, Harry Potter," Shawn said. "Once a baby who defeated Lord Voldemort. For that I must thank you, as the wizard I am." Surprisingly, he bowed faintly. "However, that's a matter of the past. I'm afraid fortune wasn't on your side today, Potter. Your run ends here."
Harry unsheathed his wand. "We'll see about that." Those words fueled Shawn's grin, which now showed nothing but arrogance and confidence.
When the referee gave the start to the duel, Harry jumped back and took a defensive stance; like the one he'd seen Lepenant use. Yet no spell came to test his defence.
"A defensive style does not suit you at all," Shawn pointed out, yet to move an inch. "You are incredibly agile, and you move through instinct, unlike Weasley, who has a more strategic mind. You'll do better coming at me wand ablaze, however, it's pretty clear to me that you lack the experience for that. More so, your spell repertory is rather disappointing, although you certainly make the best of what little you have. Props to you on that, though…"
Harry frowned. "Is this a duel or a bloody lecture?"
"Hey, I was just trying to help the saviour of the Wizarding World," Shawn shrugged. "Cannot blame me for that, can you? Anyway, come at me with all you got. I shall show you with facts rather than words."
Harry just lost it then. If it's the only way to shut you up, then so be it! "Expelliarmus! Depulso! Incendio!" The spells came out fast in a well executed chain; the best of the day, so far. However, they all seemed to dispel before they could touch his opponent.
Harry came to a halt in the middle of his spell chain. "The hell?" he grunted. That was no Shield Charm! It also has nothing to do with his trick against McLaggen…
"Told ya," Shawn said, hands folded under his chest. "Those spells, although useful if used correctly, are rather simple and weak in terms of magical power. It's like going to a sword battle with wooden sticks and little rocks. Sure, you can eventually win if your foe shows up with the same weapons, but other than that… If that's all you got in your arsenal, then you're doomed."
"Why are you like this?" Harry asked, looking at the American with mistrust.
"Say again?"
"If you are so superior to me, then why am I still standing here? Certainly, you didn't show the same consideration towards your two previous opponents."
"Because none of them were Harry Potter," Shawn just said, as if that explained it all. "Call me a weirdo or whatever you may, but it's like I feel I owe it to you. Your name is just as much of a curse as it is a blessing. It is known all over the world, and even if most would show nothing but kindness to you, there are others who would not hesitate to avenge their dead Lord. As of today, you stand no chance against them. Here, let me give you a taste."
Shawn finally took a hold of his wand, then pointed it at Harry, who just went back to his defensive stance as a shiver went down his spine.
"Come on, try again those spells of yours," Shawn said, his wand twirling around. Harry didn't listen, of course, and that made him frown. "It ain't a trap, I swear."
Harry could feel a headache coming, so he did as told—at least it would silence Shawn once and for all. "Expelliarmus! Depulso! Incendio!"
This time, his spells didn't travel so far. No, here they banished a few metres away from him. Just like that; no shattering under a rain of sparks, no clashing against some invisible wall. Plainly and simply, they banished.
"See what I mean?" Shawn went on, his wand already stored back into his robes. "I'm toying with you as I please, and I could do it in a hundred more ways than you can imagine. From what Daphne told me about Hogwarts, you've already had one very close call, courtesy of the Heir of Slytherin himself. I would hate it if the saviour of the Wizarding World was to be killed by some nameless bastard someday in the future. You'll do good in remembering this impotence, Potter. It might save your life one day."
And just like that, something hit Harry and he drifted into a black void.
Ron mirrored his opponent's bowing, which was rather exaggerated for his taste.
Looking at her up close, there was no denying that Ume Sang-hyeok was quite a beautiful girl, although her features were a bit too sharp for his liking; just as her hair was a tad too short and his complexion a bit too skinny. Focus, you bloody idiot! This would be his toughest duel so far, and he couldn't go into it with his mind dwelling about the feminine charm of his opponent.
"Good luck," Ron said before making his way towards his end of the arena. Ume showed no reaction at all, and that made him snort.
Ron took his time, mind busy trying to come up with a way to face his opponent. In his two previous duels, he'd granted the advantage to his rivals, limiting himself to finish them in the most adequate moment. However, the redhead didn't think he could do the same here. No, she's far too quick and skilled with the wand. If I give her so many chances, she'll finish me in no time at all.
"Start!" the referee shouted.
Ron began right away with a spell chain of stunners, Severing Charms and Exploding Charms. However, Ume just parried them all without taking a single step. Just like I imagined. Ron pushed on, testing her defence, yet achieving no results for much he tried. I need to change something to catch her off guard; a little detail of my spell chain.
Ron sent a stunner right to her face, and her wand rose to parry it. There! "Carpe Retractum," he mused. A light cord coiled itself around her wrist, and the boy took delight in her surprised features. "Wingardium Leviosa!" With a strong pull from his wand, Ron lifted the girl from the ground as if she weighed less than a feather.
Just as he expected, it only took her a second to banish his spells with a simple Finite. But the damage was already done. She fell down as Ron closed the distance, wand glowing red. She won't be able to parry my spell this close, not when she needs to worry about stopping the fall first. However, he was proven wrong once more.
"Protego!" Ume shrieked. A bubble-like Shield covered her figure, and not only did it soften her fall, but it even dispelled Ron's stunner when he threw it point-blank.
The hell is that Shield! Of course, it didn't end just at that; it never did! Ume pushed her free hand forward, and the bubble-like Shield was launched towards Ron. For a second, he hesitated, surprised, and that was his second mistake in a row. His Exploding Charm didn't come fast enough, and so the shield enveloped him.
He could only throw a second curse at the Shield before it closed around him. Then a sudden force pushed the redhead down, making him kneel and unable to get a good hold of his wand. Shit, I need to do something! It felt as if the weight of an elephant had been put over his shoulders, and it hurt as much as it oppressed him.
With great trouble, he managed to raise his head from the cold ground, sighting Ume, who observed him instead of making her move. Why is she bloody doubting just now? Hell, I'm at her mercy! Unless… Wait, don't tell me this Shield works on both ends? Can't her spells also break through it from the outside? If so, I might have a chance here.
Gerd, to me! He felt her surprise, along with another emotion; whether it was disappointment or aprovation was something he ignored. Either way, the Essentia came to his aid, and he took delight in the warmth she brought. His body started to emit faint particles of blue light, and that did the trick. Ume saw them, her eyes wide open in surprise, and that mishap in her focus created a dent in her Shield.
"Confringo!" Ron then chanted. The orange curse travelled through his fingers and wand, hot like no other spell he'd ever casted, and it shattered the shield with a loud bang. This move is on you, Nott! Ron moved right away. Show me the Future, Gerd!
Blue silhouettes started to appear all over the place, but most banished by the next second, just as he'd thought. Only three remained, and Ron chose to trust his hunch. "Confringo!"
Fortunately, Ume did what he'd expected of her, and jumped away from the curse. Before she could land, his wand was already on the move. Stunner after stunner came from it, yet she managed to parry them in the last instant.
Shit, I need to push on! A single silhouette remained, that of her walking backwards as she parried every of his spells. Then another one appeared, that of her counterattacking. At that moment, Ron understood he'd been far too slow to finish her, therefore he'd taken the fight to her field. "Protego!" he chanted suddenly.
Her Blasting Curse was powerful enough to send him flying backwards, however, he ignored the pain of the bad landing and rolled over the moment his back touched the floor. When he raised his eyes, there were more than ten silhouettes around Ume; in all of them she'd attack. Which one is it!? Which one is it!?
One silhouette in particular caught his attention. Another Blasting Curse? It would make sense to finish your opponent with the strongest curse in your arsenal, right? More so if one was as tired as Ron was. "Finite!" Ron exclaimed instead, trusting his hunch once more.
No Blasting Curse found his wand, and so he could parry the two Expelliarmus she'd chained. Ha, I was able to read the Future between ten different outcomes! Ron then smiled like a loon as he pointed his wand at the floor. "Depulso!" He soared into the air as two more stunners missed their targets.
"Keep your composure," Gerd ordered as her emotions flowed through him; just like that, the fire his emotions had created died right away. True, he needed to be colder.
Those ten silhouettes turned into three as Ume pointed her wand at Ron.
"Carpe Retractum!" the boy chanted. The light cord anchored itself to one of the metal bars which held the ceiling of the marquee together, then Ron pulled from it. He landed atop of it, in a more gracious way than anyone could've expected. There, several metres above the arena, he came to a halt and looked down.
Ume stared back at him, no silhouette by her side this time. They both used those seconds of peace to regain their breaths, bodies tense to react against the slightest sign of action from one another. For the first time in forever, Ron heard the crowd; their contained breaths and their whispering.
Ron allowed himself to smile; a real one this time. He felt at the top of his game today; truly a wondrous sensation.
"All the time we spent training," he said in a breathless whisper. "All those times I felt stupid and talentless, in which I thought I would not achieve anything no matter how hard I tried… Now I can genuinely say that I regret nothing of this journey. Thank you, Gerdnyaram. You pushed me to become a better individual. Bluntly honest or scheming behind my back, you were always there. Thank you."
Ron jumped down, and Ume got back in motion.
Their magical auras were practically drained, and so it would all be reduced to a final clash. He did not need the Anticipation to know what was fated to happen.
"Stupefy!" Two stunners and two shouts clashed against one another. For a moment, a rain of red sparks seemed to be all that would happen, yet Ume's prevailed in the end, and so Ron closed his eyes and accepted his defeat.
You better be ready to catch me, referee. Then the stunner hit him and the world turned black.
Ron woke up as a bucket of fresh water was poured over him. "Bloody hell!" the redhead exclaimed as he sat up. "Man, what is wrong with you folks?"
His eyes took a bit of time to get used to the lighting, and when they did all he found in front of him was the referee, brows furrowed quite drastically. "All okay over here?" he asked, snapping his fingers in front of Ron. "Okay, follow my finger with your eyes, please." Up and down it went, and up down Ron did follow it.
At the same time, he took his hands to his hair. It was as dry as ever. "Wait, you didn't pour cold water over me?"
"Of course not," the referee huffed. "I woke you up with a Reviving Spell. Honestly, what do you take me for? A muggle? Can you tell me where we are? Why did you come here?"
"Hogsmeade, and I came here to take part in a duelling tournament."
Ron got up by himself, ignoring the referee's rambling. Someone cleared their throat behind him, so he turned around. There he found Ume Sang-hyeok, who, not uttering a word, offered him a hand.
"Huh, sure thing!"
She took his hand between hers, then bowed. Ron mirrored her—way more ungraciously, of course—still feeling a bit off. Far away within him, he could still feel Gerdnyaram; if there was one emotion she shared with him, it was satisfaction.
Just then, the crowd bursted in loud roars and intense clapping. Ume and Ron both turned around, wide eyed, to stare at the public.
"What a duel it was!" the official who acted as the announcer exclaimed. "Today's gem so far! What a rush of emotion! What a show of talent and skill! Both of them deserved to win here, but, oh, this sport is cruel and tough, and only one alone can emerge victorious! I ask you all to applaud Ume Sang-hyeok, who will advance to the semifinals! I ask you all to applaud Ronald Weasley, who fell in the quarter-finals but whose performance will be remembered for the months to come!"
A woman lifted Ume's hands, whereas Ron was taken out of the arena by a male official. "I don't care if you are well enough," he said once Ron tried to walk away twice. "Rules are rules, and they state very clearly that in case of commotion, like it happened to you, duellists are to be sent to the medical wing so they can be checked up by a specialist. Now, please, don't make this harder on me. I'm not getting paid enough to stand whining children, I swear!"
Ron closed his mouth just in time—complaining would only be a waste of time, and he wasn't in the mood to suffer from a headache right now.
The so-called medical wing was just a way smaller marquee of white silk, close to the special grandstands. The medi-witch, a short, grey-haired woman examined him with plenty of spells, muttering to herself each time as Ron waited patiently, seated on a wooden chair.
He just withstood all of it, already recovered.
"Okay, all seems to be in order, young one," she said with a pleased nod. "Even so, you'll have to wait here for a bit more. Here, take this." She handed Ron a strange-looking beverage; of a deep green, as if made of mashed herbs. "It isn't anything special, but it will hydrate and provide some nutrients for you. Now, I need to check on someone else. I'll be right back."
Ron took a sniff of his potion; it smelled horrible. Well, I'm sure I've put worse things in my mouth. He took a gulp, and regretted every moment of it. It was awful! Yeah, sure. Maybe another day. Ron got up from his chair and emptied the beverage through the sink.
"You were supposed to drink that."
"It was bloody horrible," Ron snorted back. "I'm pretty sure you'd have done the same had you drunk it."
Gerdnyaram frowned at that, yet said nothing. "It's been quite a while since I last visited a medical wing, eh?" the redhead went on. "Too much for my liking; they surely have their charm. Anyhow, what we did today was incredible, wasn't it? Never thought I would feel so wonderful, so alive, in a duel."
"What you did," Gerd corrected. "And in regards to that second point, that's magic for you. You found your equilibrium, and your connection with magic, as the energy itself it is, reached a new level."
"If you say so," Ron shrugged. "Now, I know we agreed that I would not use the Anticipation in one of my duels, but it just felt like the right moment for it, you know? It's true that I almost lost my focus on multiple occasions, but I'd say I managed it all damn well."
"Indeed, you did. You impressed me. How did you read her Future so well?"
"I followed your advice," Ron replied. "Simply as that. Unlike most people I've faced, she's a duellist with a defensive style. When I broke her bubble-like Shield, one of the aces up her sleeve, that completely altered her plan. We all have a plan for each battle, and when it fails, the time to improvise comes. When that happens, one always goes back to where he feels most confident. Here, in her case, that's defence. Because of that, I discarded the other two silhouettes, those in which she considered attacking me, and followed my hunch."
Gerd gave him a nod of approval. "And what about that other time in which you parried her stunners? She'd just thrown you an Exploding Curse, and the intensity of the battle was at its highest. There were more than ten options in this case, but this was the one which made most sense. It would've been the easiest way to finish you off."
"Because we were both very exhausted," Ron explained. "That damned curse takes a huge tool on one, you know? We've already casted it before, and since she ignored how long the duel could last, that was a far too risky option. No, it made more sense to try a safer approach."
"I would not have done it better," Gerd said. "It was impressive, Ronald. You left me quite perplexed, and-"
A sudden knock on the door silenced the Essentia. Ron frowned, but she answered his wordless question with a nod of her head. "You can come in!" he then said.
Surprisingly, who stepped into the little room was no other but the pureblood teenager he'd talked to before. "Feeling alright?" he asked with a smile.
"Pretty much, yeah," Ron replied. "This is just some protocolary nonsense. A waste of time, in short."
"Been there, done that," the blond laughed. "Congratulations are in order, Ronald Weasley. You might have lost the duel, but you won the hearts of the spectators. You also earned my praise—your performance was incredible for a rookie."
"Thank you? Now, pardon me if it sounds rather impolite, but did you just come here to say that? I appreciate the gesture, don't get me wrong, but I just find it rather strange." If there was something Slytherin had taught him, it was that most people—mostly purebloods—did not make a move with a second purpose in mind.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked with a smirk, to which Ron shook his head in denial. "My name is Jakob Redfield, the son of lord Covan Redfield. My father, the man you saw by my side in the grandstands, not only is one of the best duellists of the present century, but he also runs the best and most-accomplished duelling academy in Europe—the great Nurgon. You caught his eye, and he sent me here as an emissary. He'd love to know what are your plans for the next season."
Ron took a moment to process those words. A duelling academy? The name of Nurgon does ring a bell, though. "I… Honestly, I have no idea," he finally said. "For me, duelling was just a way to improve my magic and my condition, however, what I felt today was way more than it. I really enjoyed today's battles, they made me feel alive, more than ever. It was wonderful. Even so, hand on my heart, I cannot give you an answer. I'd love to get better at this, but it isn't cheap to compete—I don't have enough gold in my pockets, not nearly."
"Is that so?" He looked surprised, but not as much as he looked thoughtful. "Sometimes I just forget that not everyone was born into a rich family. We mostly work with pureblood children; proud and arrogant fellows who think they are world class duellists just because they can chain five spells. A bunch of fools, in short. However, they are our main source of income, and so, we need to put up with them. But then, there's also people like you, Ronald; special folks who really deserve a chance."
He took a white card from his pockets and handed it to Ron. Printed there were two blazons; a white unicorn over a brow background, and three black towers over a red background.
"Take this with you," Jakob said. "Think long and hard about my proposal. If you feel the need to take the next step, write to us this Christmas. You'll be taken under our wing—we will prepare you, we will sponsor you, covering all your expenses and fees, and, in exchange, your success and accomplishments will be ours to enjoy too. Give us good results, and you'll find the best of the allies in us. Your name and Nurgon's will always go hand by hand."
With a simple wave of his fingers, Jakob Redfield bid him farewell. The door was closed after him, and Ron was left alone once more, his eyes set on the white card.
"What do you think of this?" Ron asked, rolling the card between his fingers.
"I think he meant well," Gerd said. "He struck me as an honest boy. And I also think this is a wonderful chance we've been given. I can train you in many ways, I can share my vast knowledge about those fields of my expertise, but there are many things I cannot give you. If they are as good as they say, then we'd be fools to not accept their proposal. We need to be as prepared as possible."
Ron stored the card into his pockets, a decision already made. "I'll need to talk about this with my parents, but I don't think it will be too troublesome." He yawned and stretched like a cat. "Come on, then. I wanna find Harry and ask him about his duel. Nurgon, eh? It is a cool name, that's for sure."
Alexander Shawn enjoyed his rest as he observed those duels which had yet to finish. However, there wasn't much to see there. He'd dispatched Potter in a very short time, perfect to enjoy a moment with an old acquaintance of his.
"What do you think of the Korean girl?" Benji asked after taking a bite of his granola bar. "Hers and Weasley's was the best duel of the tournament so far, and I doubt it's gonna be beaten. The skill she showed worries me. I'm her next rival, after all."
"Well, you should be worried," Alex said, eyes fixed on the sorry excuse of a duel which took place at that moment. Jeremy Stretton was the oldest of them eight, but also the worst. The way Nott had been toying with him was ridiculous; that bastard was playing with his food. "She's better than you. Much more technical, although too passive and defensive for my liking. I reckon your only chance is to overwhelm her and not allow her to think. Weasley proved she ain't the best at coming up with new ideas amidst a duel."
Benji just gave him a silent nod.
"What's the matter?" Alex sighed. "You've never worried too much about a duel, not even against better duellists."
Benjamin frowned at that. "How did you know? Wait, you don't need to answer—I don't care." Instead he pulled a white card from his robes. Alex recognised it with a single look. "The Redfield heir gave me this during the rest between the second and third round. Honestly, I don't know what to think of it."
Benjamin Lepenant, a talented wizard with a great mind for duelling, and also, a muggle-born with little money. His case was one of the strangest Alex had ever seen. For starters, he didn't like duelling—not one bit—yet he had an unnatural talent for it.
From what he knew, it all started during a friendly competition in Beauxbatons, in which he took down all of his rivals with little trouble. Benjamin showed such a level of skill that lord Dupond, the wealthiest lord in the world, and also the father of Catherine, a friend of Alex and a classmate of Benji, decided to sponsor him.
Most would argue that, if he disliked duelling so much, all he had to do was to refuse his sponsor and to step aside. However, this was not a matter of liking for Benjamin. No, it was a matter of money. He's always been poor, and there was trouble back at home, from what little Alex knew—some kind of strange disease with a very expensive treatment which his family could not afford. Dupond's money allowed him to help at home, and that was all motivation he needed.
"Accept their proposal," Alex advised him. "Lord Covan has a huge prestige as a duellist, but even more so as a teacher. His academy, Nurgon, has hosted most of the world champions in the youth categories for the past fifty years. His own son, Jakob, was crowned as one last year. I know you don't care about success, but you'll find way more with him than under lord Dupond's wings."
Just then Stretton was sent flying out of the arena by one of Nott's curses, halting their conversation for a few seconds. Finally, the semi-finals would take place.
"Yeah, I thought so. But… The thing is I don't want to disrespect lord Antoine, you see? He's done a lot for me…"
"Just because you were worth it," Alex said, scratching the back of his neck. "Even so, you are right. You don't want that man as an enemy. Well, you can always talk about it with Catherine. She seems fond of you, and her father, ever the ruthless businessman, has a soft spot for her dear daughter. Perhaps you can make it work with her help."
The blond seemed to mutter something, yet snapped out of it shortly after. "Have they approached you yet?" Benji asked, bringing another matter to the table. "It's evident they came here to recruit duellists, and it's even more evident they'd go for the best one."
"Our families are close allies. Covan knows I would never accept his proposal, so he does not even try. I'm very happy with the teachers I have. Besides, I wouldn't fit in Nurgon; there's far too many people there. I work better on my own."
Benjamin hummed in response, and he let the matter die; it seemed his orange juice was far more interesting. On his behalf, Alex closed his eyes, feeling another pair on his figure. He smirked. Oh, it seems our time has finally come, eh, Theodore? I hope your Death Eater father came to see you today. He's in for a nasty surprise.
Today would be the day in which Alexander Shawn's name was taken into account.
Ron ran as fast as he could, ignoring the shouts from the old medi-witch. He'd heard the announcer all the way from the medical wing. There was just no way he'd miss the duel between Shawn and Nott. For that, a hundred medi-witches would be needed!
Theodore Nott and Alexander Shawn came to face off in the middle of the large arena. They seemed unaware of the referee and the world around them. All that mattered was who stood in front of each. Ron got as close as he could, and only stopped when an official denied him another step. He stood a few metres away from the arena; it would do.
"Finally," Nott hissed, "I will have my revenge today. Oh, you cannot imagine how much I've waited for this day to come."
"Those are quite the nice words," Shawn said. "Let's see if you can back them up."
Shawn was the first to turn around and strid towards his end of the arena. On the contrary, Nott glared daggers at his back, already fidgeting with his wand. The referee sent him a warning look, but ended up sighing in relief as soon as Nott walked away.
The tension was so palpable that no voice could be heard in the marquee.
Finally, the two of them stood at both ends of the large arena. "I wonder how I should do this," Shawn said suddenly, one finger pointed at Nott. "Today, I've won all the duels with a different technique each, and this won't be any different. Oh, I got it. If you make me use my wand, then I'm calling victory for you, Theodore. What do you say about that?"
Nott, however, did not answer his rival. "Let's begin," he said to the referee. The short man gulped yet gave them green light, and so the duel began.
Not even a second after that, a Blasting Curse came from Nott's wand. It banged loud and rabid, like no other curse Ron had seen before, and it shattered a whole section of the arena. Fortunately for him, Shawn wasn't there by the time it impacted. Once again, he'd disappeared. The crowd's whispering faded when that became evident.
Ron fully embraced the Sense, and this time that he knew what to expect, he was able to see through Shawn's strategy. He'd become invisible, but he could track him. Shawn walked near the left end of the arena, and he made no noise although his stride wasn't careful at all. He used a Silencing Charm this time!
Nott became wary of his surroundings, yet did not take a passive stance. "Glacius!" To his call, pressing the tip of his wand against the floor, the entire arena was covered by a layer of ice.
Shawn slipped and turned visible, which Nott used and sent another Bombarda at him instantly. The crowd gasped once more as another section of the arena was shattered; a smaller one, this time. However, Shawn had banished again, his spectre of magic long turned into dust.
It was then when Ron understood something. He can only create a spectre of magic within a short range. Otherwise, he would have created them all over the place by now. The duel continued as it had started, with Nott taking the lead while his rival refused to fight. Shawn is getting closer and closer to him; what's his plan?
"Show yourself, coward!" Nott shouted, spells coming from his wand in a rapid succession and thrown to any direction.
Shawn dodged those which came at him and finally closed the distance with his rival. Another spectre of magic appeared right in front of Nott, who, surprised, changed the motion of his spell chain and set ablaze the spectre. Only then did the real Shawn appear to his left. His fist impacted on Nott's guts, and the gasp the Slytherin let out was loud enough to be heard from Ron's position.
Nott winced in pain, yet kept his wand pointed at Shawn nonetheless. "Confring-" Yet his Blasting Curse came to an end before even being born.
Shawn raised both hands, then slammed them down. Whatever he did, it made Nott crumble and kept him pinned to the floor in a rather peculiar position—it almost looked as if he was bowing down to his rival.
"Finally you show a bit of respect," Shawn smirked down at him, placing his foot over Nott's head. Oh, dear Merlin. That's gonna piss him off so badly. "Come on, Theodore, time to admit who's the better wizard here."
"I'm gonna end you!" Nott shouted in rage. His magical aura increased violently, and the air around him seemed to combust.
Even so, Shawn stopped it all with a simple Shield as he took one step back; a raised finger was all he'd needed. "Look at that!" he whistled. "There it is your spine!"
Nott got up at last; face red and clenched by hatred.
What happened next was something Ron would never forget. Spell after spell came from Nott's wand, yet none managed to hit Shawn, who just dodged them by fooling his rival with his many spectres of magic and his invisibility. From time to time, he would appear and either punch or kick Nott with hits that seemed to take all the breath away from the Slytherin. In a matter of minutes, Nott ended up almost out of breath and bleeding from nose, mouth and brows.
At some point of the duel, Ron realised that the layer of ice which had covered the entire arena now dampened it, completely melted.
Twice, Nott tried to predict where Shawn would appear, but just then he did not create any spectre and just stayed on the spot, punching a shocked Nott for the tenth time. And the one time he used the Disillusionment Charm on himself, trying to escape from that horrible situation, it only took Shawn a second to locate him.
"This is just unfair," Ron mused, feeling a bit off. Nott was a bastard and he didn't feel sympathy for him, but this was just a cruel spectacle. "I get that there is bad blood between them, but… To me, this is too much."
Unbeknownst to Nott, Shawn's magical aura had greatly weakened, but since he was doing a magnificent job in hiding his exhaustion, the British had no way to notice that. Even so, it was Nott's aura which was about to fade for good, yet it fought to stay alive as the ashes from a fireplace did.
"His resolution is praiseworthy," Gerd said, "yet also futile. He is about to collapse, both physically and magically exhausted."
Her prediction was proven right in less than a minute.
Shawn was about to punch Nott for the umpteenth time, but it was the referee who stopped him by creating a solid air wall between the duellists. "Match!" he exclaimed. "Alexander Shawn wins by technical knockout!"
Nott, pale and bloody as one could be, took one step forward, towards Shawn; such a simple thing seemed to drain what little energy was left in him. Whatever he was uttering at that moment made no sense to no one, and when he pointed his wand at Shawn, it just slipped from his grip. It fell to the damped ground along with his body. The Federation's officials ran to his aid with no hesitation.
Meanwhile, Shawn just walked down the arena, paying no thought to whoever looked in his direction; Ron included. Mostly, he found silence in his way, but although some booed him, the boy's eyes did not deviate from the path he walked. And so, he took a seat in the grandstands near Benjamin Lepenant, who looked rather uncomfortable.
Ron did not move an inch, his gaze set on Nott, until a hand squeezed his shoulder.
"That was…" Harry said. "Actually, I have no words to describe it. I don't like Nott one bit, but he didn't deserve such beating." His eyes glanced at the grandstands. "I don't even know what to think of Shawn now. When I duelled him, he struck me as quite the regular pureblood—very proud and arrogant, but that's as far as it went. Not the kind of fellow who would give such beating to another competitor."
"There's always more to it," Ron said with a shrug. "It's something I came to understand long ago. Anyhow, it ain't a matter we should worry ourselves about. We are out of the tournament, but I'd say it was a good experience. I enjoyed it way more than I expected."
"Likewise here," Harry sighed. "So, what now?"
"Now, off we go," Ron replied. "There's no point staying here to see the finals; not when it's so evident who the winner is gonna be. Also, I really want to explore Hogsmeade a bit more. I reckon we still have a little more than an hour before going back to the castle."
"But not the Shrieking Shack, right?"
"No, that's for the next visit. I was thinking more of a Honeydukes or a Zunko's."
"I've already been there, but can't say no to another visit," Harry smiled. "Especially to Honeydukes. I'm famished! Never thought duelling could be more exhausting than Quidditch, but it really is."
The two friends made their way out of the now silent marquee. Meanwhile, Ron thought of what he would buy with the little money he had left; just a couple of silver coins and some bronze knuts.
The outside welcomed them with a breeze of fresh air, and it was then when Ron realised how hot it had been inside the marquee. It was late, but the sun still crowned the sky; it seemed to set the clouds ablaze in a beautiful curtain of fire.
"We should wait for Tracey and the rest," the redhead said, coming to a halt under the shadow of the marquee. "They probably saw us leaving."
"Going somewhere, you two?" a voice suddenly said. When they turned around, they found it belonged to the bald official who had accepted Harry's payment. The one with the horrible temper. "Look at these two, Brad! Who would have thought they'd made it so far, eh? Not me, that's for sure; not me!"
"Is there any problem?" Ron sent him a dull look.
"What my partner here wants to say," the other official piped in, "is that you two can now retrieve your reward. You both fell in the quarter-finals, and that makes it… Fifteen galleons each, I believe. Wait a moment, let me check it… It is fifteen galleons, indeed."
"I'm pretty sure that wasn't what your dear partner wanted to say," Harry mumbled. However, the redhead paid him no attention.
Fifteen galleons all for himself? That was a bloody fortune! Hell, even words seemed to have trouble getting out of his mouth! "Really?" he spluttered. "Fifteen galleons just for winning two duels?"
"The boy surely gets it, eh, Brad?" the bald official laughed. "Here, take it and leave. I've seen your faces for far more time than I would've liked."
Two little bags were thrown at them. Harry grabbed it on the fly, a metallic tingling echoing his catch. On the contrary, Ron's almost slipped from his fingers. Damn, this is heavier than I thought!
"Come on, off you go!" The two boys finally listened to the official; mainly, to not hear his voice ever again.
"That was surely unexpected," Ron mused, the bag still heavy on his left hand. "I didn't know we were getting paid! Not that I'm complaining, though—love me some well earned money!"
Harry grinned at that. "What about going to Honeydukes to spend this well earned money? I say we go ahead and wait for the rest there. I reckon they won't have much trouble finding us."
Ron mirrored his grin. "I wholeheartedly agree. Come on, I'm buying the sweetest and dirtiest sweets there!"
By the time Alexander walked out of the marquee, trophy in his hand, there was no trace of the sun atop of the sky. Shana waited for him nearby, sitting on the grass under the shadow of a tall tree. On her lap rested a thick book, one of Lawrence's many historical works, which she'd already read twice.
The boy sighted her, and made his way over Shana. "That ceremony surely took a while," she pointed out, not bothered by any means. Well, maybe just a little bit.
"Theodore Nott refused to fight for the bronze medal," Alex replied, "so the organisation argued and argued about how to proceed. In the end, they awarded Benjamin Lepenant with it. Also, Filius Flitwick was granted the honour to hand the medals to the top three, as the world champion he is. That man sure has many words for such a little body!" He then realised something. "Wait, you didn't see the final?"
"No," Shana smiled apologetically. "There was a certain thing I needed to do, one quite important, and it just couldn't wait. I'm sorry, really. Even so, I didn't miss much, did I?"
Alexander just took a seat by her side. "Well, to be honest, you did miss quite a lot. That girl, Ume Sang-hyeok, sure knows her way in an arena. All in truth, I was quite tired after my duel with Nott, but she made me sweat regardless. She'll be one of those to keep an eye on for the next season."
Shana just hummed in response, enjoying the cool breath of the twilight. "I wish we'd had a bit more time to explore this wonderful village. There aren't many wonders like this anymore."
"I don't reckon there are that many things we didn't visit. I mean, you literally dragged me to the Shrieking Shack the moment we stepped here. Other than that, I see no more places of interest."
"That's because you are quite a boring teenager, Alexander," Shana smirked. "It runs in the family, I guess. Fortunately, I'm here to turn you into a more lively person, even if that change goes slower than a snail."
Alexander sent her a dull look. "May I inquire about that sudden business of yours? You turned into a silly girl the moment we stepped into the village, with your goofy smile almost splitting your face in two."
Shana pinched the boy in his ribs, and only then, after hearing his annoyed whimpering, did she smile in a goofy way. "Which was the name of the red-haired boy who lost against the Korean girl in the third round?"
"Ronald Weasley," Alexander said, eyeing her with interest. "Is he your funny business?"
"Don't say it like that," Shana grimaced. "It makes me look like a damn child molester. Anyhow, yes, one could say that he was my funny business. Someone once… Wait, how can I put this? Let's say that once I met someone who showed a certain interest in him. Not because of the boy himself, but because of something related to him."
"Harry Potter seems to be a good friend of his," Alexander pointed out, eyes fixed on the sunset as if the matter wasn't of interest to him.
Good try, you nosey kid. Shana just smiled as she stood up. "Perhaps," she offered the boy a hand so he could get back on his feet. Obviously, he refused it. "It might be that, or it might not be that—who knows? Not you, that's for sure."
Alex just shook his head in disbelief. "Sometimes I just refuse to believe you are twenty-three years old. I swear I'm way more mature than you."
Shana ruffled his hair, which increased his annoyance quite drastically. "That's the main reason why you are such a dummy. It sucks to be an adult. If I could be granted one wish, that would be to become a child once more; to live without worries or stress but that of not knowing what I would eat today. Trust me, enjoy these years to their fullest, for they are the best life has to offer. Play, meet people and have loads of fun. There will come a time in which you'll wonder why you didn't follow my advice."
This time he did not reply back, and Shana smiled fondly at him. However, it was a short moment of happiness, for the storm of questions came back. And to think I would find one of those persons Kayle tasked me to track down here, at some remote village lost in the Scottish Highlands. I wonder why on earth would an Essentia choose this Weasley kid. He doesn't strike me as someone special. Well, Alex had said that he was a dear friend of the very Harry Potter, so could it be that…?
Shana just shook her head to push those thoughts away—this wasn't a problem she could solve today. She'd located a person who could be very important for the dark future that loomed over the world, even if the role he could play was still a mystery. I will try to contact Levitt for a few more weeks. If I still have no response from him, then I will start planning something to find out what this kid knows. If she'd learnt something from Kayle, it was that the Essentias did as they pleased, and poor of those who tangled into their weebs.
"Say, do you want to have dinner in any fancy place?" she said, instead. "I feel bad for missing your last duel, so this dinner is on me, okay? Since you are supposed to be back at Ilvermorny tomorrow in the afternoon, I reckon we have green light to arrive a bit late tonight? What do you say?"
And so, Shana ignored the weight of the Portkey she carried in the front pocket of her robes, ready to Apparate them both in Diagon Alley to continue her little tour. There would be time for headaches and stress later. Now it was time to rest and untangle herself from the huge mess her life was.
Well, there it was.
Haven't written a single word in the past month or so, so I have no idea when the next update will be, but so far it doesn't look good. Anyhow; see you then, whenever it is!