"These are going to be your rooms for the first week," Professor Flitwick instructed Harry and Cho as he led them through a corridor. Light fixtures dangled overhead, casting blurry circles of light dancing across the floors. Harry glanced at the wall, his eyes briefly catching on the jagged edges of his shadow. "They do things a bit differently over here. Unlike Hogwarts, where you have various houses with a wide variety of ages, Ravnholm provides students with personal rooms in corridors that correspond to their age. The rooms at the end of the corridors are inhabited by resident advisors—older students who help the younger students acclimate to the environment and whatnot. To house our ICW combatants, these corridors have been repurposed based on country. I believe we're sharing this hallway with Australia."

"Having my own room at Hogwarts would be so nice," Cho muttered wistfully. Her words floated in the empty space between her and Harry, like invisible fingers stretching out. Harry could feel them brush past his cheek. "Did Hogwarts ever do anything like that, Professor? Or has it always been houses?"

Professor Flitwick paused for a moment, before squeaking, "The house system dates back to the founders, Cho. Hogwarts, as you may know, is an institution that accepts students from all over the world. Smaller schools like Ravholm tend to only accept local students—they don't have quite as many students to attend to, so they can afford to divvy up space in a way that feels more natural. Hogwarts, even at its conception, was never small enough to provide that sort of space on a larger scale."

[He's not wrong. Even in our first year, we likely had more students than this school has ever seen. Godric was beside himself. So was Salazar, actually, but for a much different reason.]

The rest of the train ride had been uneventful. After Ogier read his palms, Ace returned Harry to the table with all the other children. They were a bit more inviting this time around, though it mattered little to Harry, who used the time to recount his adventures to Rowena, who seemed ready to blow up if she wasn't given the proper context.

He started from the moment he knew he was magic—when he'd regrown his hair all those years ago. From there, he walked her through how he'd made that glass in the snake exhibit disappear, his first few years at Hogwarts, and, of course, all of his near-death experiences at the hands of Voldemort.

She'd been surprised and, well, concerned, to say the least. A part of her was impressed at his sheer luck, but a larger part of her was livid that he'd had to go through any of that in the first place. It was an odd feeling to have someone worry about him so much. But, Harry decided, it was a feeling he could certainly get used to. Even if it did mean Rowena would be keeping a "closer eye" on him. She also had some interesting theories on how Voldemort came back, but she was surprisingly tight-lipped about them. Something about "not wanting to say anything until she was sure."

She'd been oddly quiet since then, only responding to Harry's direct questions. It was weird given how active she'd been before, but Harry tried not to dwell on it too much.

The trio stopped in front of a wooden door. A giant brass 9 was emblazoned on the front. Beneath it, a neatly written sign read: Harry Potter. "Ah, here we are. Harry's room. By that logic, the room next to his will be yours, Cho, and the room all the way at the end of the hall will be mine. All of the other rooms across from yours will be filled with delegates from Australia, whose instructor will, as you might assume, be found at the end of the hall, as well. Now, before I let you go, please pay attention, this is an important thing to keep in mind. Given that this will be your room for the next week, there are security measures that will need to be implemented once you're inside."

"Security measures, sir?" Cho's uneasy voice wafted over Harry's shoulder.

"Yes, my dear, security measures. I understand your concern, but I assure you, it's entirely for privacy reasons," Professor Flitwick replied. He placed a reassuring hand on Cho's elbow. "Only verified ICW members will be here. There is no danger. Rather, we simply want to ensure that you feel comfortable in these rooms, understand?"

"Privacy?" Harry tested the word. It tumbled out of his mouth like the snow he'd seen crashing down the banks of the hilltop. It was an alien concept—he'd spent the majority of his childhood in a cupboard. More recently, he'd shared a room with six other boys. The most private his life got he got was when he was in the bathroom. "So, the rooms are only unlockable by us? Are there wards we need to key into, or something?"

"Yes! Exactly, Harry! If school was in session, I would've awarded you ten points. The wards make it so that you can lock and unlock your doors, and maintain a log of who's entered. Thankfully, it's all mostly set up for you. The ICW has professional warders on-site who handle this sort of thing," Professor Flitwick nodded. He drew his wand and pointed it at the door. "Observe. The spell for detecting wards: Detegere Praesidia. You do a simple point, like so…"

Professor Flitwick brandished his wand, flicking it at the door. "Detegere Praesidia."

As the Latin syllables reverberated through the room, a subtle ripple coursed through the air. To Harry, it felt like a faint breeze had just passed through the corridor, kind of like someone had turned a fan on from the entranceway.

"The ward-detecting spell is one of the basic aura spells. Should either of you pursue a career in law enforcement or curse-breaking of any sort, it will be of the utmost importance to you. As you first use the spell, your wand will initiate a connection with the ward—if there is one, that is," Professor Flitwick explained. He gently twisted his wand and the tip glowed a pale shade of blue. "And if there is a qualifying ward, the color you see on the tip of your wand will tell you what kind of enchantments there are."

[Incredible,] Rowena mumbled in his mind. [To think that ward discovery has become so commonplace. Setting up wards was a rare feat the last time I was still…active. Being able to identify them was even rarer. It's amazing to see how much magic has grown and evolved.]

Professor Flitwick slowly pushed his wand toward the door, like a pair of chopsticks muddling through a bowl of noodles. The door blurred, revealing a hidden lattice of magical protections that surrounded the entryway. At first, it was nothing more than a faint shimmer, a subtle distortion in the fabric of reality that Harry could just barely perceive. But then, like a veil being drawn aside, the wards revealed themselves in all their glory.

Picture strands of azure light appeared, woven together in an intricate puzzle that spanned the doorway. Each strand pulsed with a gentle luminescence, casting soft, diffused rays that illuminated the surrounding area with a calming glow. "Blue is generally associated with information-based wards. If you mess up somewhere in the proximity of these, you won't suffer any immediate repercussions, but whoever set up the wards will be notified."

Harry gazed at the gleaming lines. "There are wards that can hurt you if you interact with them?"

"They can and will do more than just hurt you," Professor Flitwick replied. His voice carried a tense undertone. Was he speaking from experience? "All the more reason to learn the spell now, yes? Now! Like I said before, this is a simple information ward. It keeps track of who enters the room, and when they do it. Harry, once you enter the room, you will likely find a ledger that automatically updates this ledger and has further instructions on how to configure the ward. Please don't forget to set everything up before you leave the room again, or you will likely be locked out, and we will have to get ahold of the ward breakers. Understood? Repeat it back to me, for my own peace of mind."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded as Professor Flitwick opened the door and gestured for him to enter the room. "I need to set up the wards before I leave again so I don't get locked out."

Professor Flitwick gave Harry an approving smile, "Good, good, my boy. I believe there's a dinner tonight for the new inductees, such as yourself, but until then, your time is yours, and yours alone. While you're here, you're free to use magic as you please, we just ask that you reserve destructive spells for one of the training rooms, which I'm certain your mentors will show you."

"Got it. I won't blow a chunk out of the wall."

"You would hardly be the first," Professor Flitwick chuckled. He placed a hand on the doorframe. "Why, we had an incident a few years prior where a young duelist attempted to summon a reality construct in his room. He could've benefited from your restraint—I speak for everyone when I say your discipline is much appreciated, dear boy. Now then, I need to show Cho to her room, and I have a meeting to attend, so we'll likely see each other in the evening time. And Harry? Welcome to the ICW."

"Thanks, professor," Harry intoned, a genuine smile on his face. Professor Flitwick returned the smile with one of his own, and swept from the room, his robes making a hissing noise as they brushed against the ground.

The door shut by itself, and Harry busied himself, getting acquainted with his room for the next week.

The walls, crafted from rough-hewn stone, bore the scars of time and were carved with squiggly lines. They looked wonky, like someone had taken letters from the English language and mismatched them for the sake of it.

[Don't be obtuse, Harry,] Rowena chided. [They're runes. You should remember some of them from my frame.]

As Harry eyed the weird symbols closer, one of them stood out in particular. It looked like a flag: ᚨ

"I do remember this one," Harry muttered, running his fingers over the symbol. It glowed briefly. "This one was Awen, right? I thought you said it stood for inspiration and creativity. What's it doing on a wall?"

[Precisely. Good memory. When used in transformation spells, it enhances the wizard's ability to envision and shape the desired change. That isn't the case here, though. Not only is a wall made of stone not a good conduit for magic, but the haphazard arrangement of these runes wouldn't ever amount to a workable array. If I had to wager a guess, those runes are just the byproduct of someone practicing their craft. Nothing to worry about.]

At the heart of the room, a crackling firepit cast flickering shadows across the stone floor, its embers dancing out of the metal like fireflies. The fire, which, according to a note next to the pit, was fueled by enchanted logs, and emitted a warm, golden glow that bathed the room in a comforting light.

Nearby, a large window framed a breathtaking vista of the snow-covered courtyard below. Through the frosted panes, the dying rays of sunlight filtered in, painting the room in shades of pink and red. Beyond the window, the courtyard lay shrouded in silence, a pristine blanket of snow stretching out to the horizon.

Against one wall, a sturdy wooden bedframe stood, topped by a mattress that was almost as tall as Harry. The bedspread, draped in rich velvet sheets of deep crimson, looked bigger and softer than any bed Harry had seen before.

"And it feels better, too," Harry groaned, sinking into the mattress. It felt like sinking into a warm bath. "I need to look at everything else, or I'll just fall asleep right away."

On the bedside table, an array of spellbooks and enchanted trinkets lay scattered. One of them had another note with Harry Potter written on it—the guide to the wards, probably. It was propped up against a small crystal lamp which was glowing softly.

Beside the table, Harry's bags had been neatly placed, with Hedwig's cage resting atop the bed. He let her out immediately, and she gave him a thankful hoot before taking a quick lap around the room and roosting atop the dresser.

In the righthand corner of the chamber, a cozy reading nook beckoned, its walls lined with shelves of leather-bound tomes and dusty scrolls. Harry knew he'd be visiting that corner later, for sure.

Near the lefthand corner, Harry found a heavy wooden door, weathered and worn, standing sentinel. It loomed over the rest of the room, casting shadows and guarding the entrance to a private bathing chamber with a shower, toilet, and ornate gold bathtub that looked like it could fit all of the Dursleys at once.

Well, that was an exaggeration. Harry wasn't sure if there existed a bathtub in the whole world that could somehow fit all of them in together. If there was, he certainly didn't want to see it. Or them, rather. That was a sight he'd never burn out of his mind.

Harry settled into his bed and grabbed the guide, his eyes roving over the note. Professor Flitwick has been incredibly insistent. Probably for good reason. It read:

Welcome, Harry Potter. The ICW is delighted you've accepted our offer of joining Hogwarts' summer dueling team. We look forward to welcoming you properly at your first duel this Saturday. Until then, please rest and continue refining your craft. This book will serve as a log for your wards and allow you to monitor all activity around this room, for your own edification, of course. The first few pages will include a guide. Please make sure to read it and follow the enclosed instructions.

Do NOT lose this book. It will serve as your ledger for the summertime. Replacements will be docked out of your delegation's discretionary fund.

Thank you, and once more, welcome to the ICW.

Ogier S.

Chairman of the ICW.

Head of D.O.N.K.E.Y.

Harry turned the letter over. A small blurb of text was accompanied by an enchanted ink dragon that swam in and out of the words.

The ICW-sponsored Dueling Organization of Noble Knights and Enchanting Yore is dedicated to fostering excellence in magical dueling while upholding the noble traditions of chivalry and honor. Our mission is to provide a platform for skilled wizards and witches to engage in friendly yet competitive duels, promoting camaraderie, sportsmanship, and the advancement of magical prowess across the world.

"The old man from before," Harry mused, placing the letter down and picking up the guide. His rubber duck flashed in Harry's mind. "I didn't know he was that important. I better make sure no one can barge into my room."

We at the ICW recognize that younger duelists may not be as magically suited for warding work based on their countries of origin. As such, this book contains runic sequences that will do the 'heavy lifting' for you. Again, please do not lose this book.

Harry flipped the page. The first runic sequence was neatly transcribed in the shape of a circle. The instructions underneath it read: to key the wards to you, simply press your finger here and channel magic.

"Just like old times, eh, Rowena?" Harry mumbled, pressing his thumb against the parchment.

[Indeed, Harry. Hopefully, you won't pass out this time,] Rowena returned dryly.

"It was my first time, I think I deserve some slack," Harry complained under his breath. The runic sequence glowed, and the wards on the door rippled again. "Cool."

The next page read: Good! You must not have fainted! Now since you've keyed the wards to your magic, the pages at the end of this book will fill automatically with timestamped logs. When you leave the room, provided that you bring your wand with you (which you always should) the doors will automatically lock. Any attempt to breach the wards will be reported to the ICW and will be punishable by fees and possible jail time for repeat offenses.

[That's about what I expected. Go check out the books!]

"Of course, you'd say that!"

[As if you weren't thinking the same thing,] Rowena grumbled in his head. [I just said it first.]

"You're not wrong," Harry returned, a small, lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He strode across the room and fell into the chair, sinking into it for a second before forcing himself upright. His fingers danced along the spines of the books—most of them were in other languages. Bummer. "I can't even read half of these."

[I can teach you a translation spell if you'd like.]

"That would be awesome," Harry muttered. His eyes caught the glint of something wedged between two books. With a little bit of prying, he was able to force the books apart and pull out the mystery item.

In his palm stood a small statuette. It looked like it was carved from marble.

"Mars Ultor," The bottom of the statuette read. The letters seemed to glow a menacing red as Harry ran his finger over them. "What does that mean?"

[Well, Mars was a Roman deity associated with war and protection.]

"And what does Ultor mean?"

[I believe Ultor refers to Avenger. I'm not entirely sure, but in some myths, that title, Ultor, emphasized his role as an avenger or punisher, particularly in seeking vengeance against Rome's enemies.]

Harry gazed at the statue a bit closer. Upon a pedestal of polished obsidian, a figure of rose, his visage stern yet noble. Clad in intricately carved armor, he stood as resolute as an oak tree, his gaze fixed upon some distant horizon. In one hand, he held a mighty spear, while the other rested upon the hilt of a sword.

"The Avenger," Harry tried, holding the statuette's gaze. "Mars."

He was jolted out of his thoughts as someone knocked on his door. Harry quickly stuffed the statuette back into the bookshelf and scrambled to his feet. "I'll be right there!"

The door swung open to reveal a nervous-looking Cho. She offered Harry an uneasy smile. "Hey, Harry. Mind if I come in for a bit?"

"No, of course not!" Harry replied, perhaps a little too quickly. He cleared his throat amid Rowena's chuckles in the back of his head, and stood aside, gesturing for Cho to come in. "Come in!"

"Thanks," Cho muttered, surging into the room. The brief scent of peppermint followed behind her, sifting through the air like grains of sand. "I just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes."

"Sure," Harry said. "What's going on?"

"I just," Cho sighed, wringing her hands. Her curtain of hair was tucked behind a maroon headband. "Felt…I felt kind of bad about the train. I just wanted to make sure you weren't too mad. I know some of the kids were…um…"

"It's fine, Cho, really," Harry waved off her concern. Privately, he was happy she came to check on him. A ball of emotion in his chest, strung together tightly, felt like it was unraveling slowly. "No need to worry. I'm not mad."

"No, that's not it," Cho huffed, pulling her jacket shut and pacing around his room. "I didn't think they'd ignore you! Everyone seemed really excited to meet you, but every time I tried to bring you in, they just cut you off, and—ugh Alex was being such a prick about everything. I'm really sorry, Harry, I just wanted to introduce you to everyone. I think I got a bit carried away."

"Really, Cho, it's okay," Harry placated her. As long as she was still friends with him, he wasn't sure if he cared about everyone else. Still...her apology wasn't quite doing away with the coldness Harry had felt earlier. "So, they weren't the nicest. It wasn't a great feeling, but, um, it's fine. I'm glad you made some friends."

"I…thank you, Harry," Cho said after a few moments of silence. She gently sat on his bed and crossed her hands over her skirt. Her head tilted to the side, she asked, "You're not mad?"

"I might've been, a few hours ago," Harry admitted, his mind flashing back to the feeling of isolation he'd felt at the table. The table faded away from his mind, replaced by Fleur's inhumanly beautiful face.

What had she said to him?

You have not yet placed.

A ball of ice formed in Harry's chest. "But I'm not anymore. They're my competition, right?"

Cho mulled over his words, "Er, yes."

"Then I don't need to be friends with them," Harry decided. "No harm done."

"Okay, but—"

"Hey, kid," Ace's rough voice floated from behind the doorway. Harry whipped around. His mentor stood in the doorway, a grin on his face. "You guys in the middle of something, or can I come in?"

Cho looked at Harry expectantly. Harry nodded, "Come in, Ace. Cho, I don't know if you've met my mentor…"

Ace lumbered through the doorway, giving the room a once-over. Satisfied, he gave Cho a wave. "She hasn't. What's up, kid? You're Aparna's mentee?"

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, good, so you'll be at the bottom of the leaderboard," Ace said, stone-faced. Cho's mouth fell open. "Tough luck of the draw, miss."

"Excuse me?" Cho found her voice. Her nostrils flared. "What the heck does that mean?"

Cho's wave of anger washed around Ace's mask of indifference. He shrugged, "What it means is that your mentor is going to take it easy on you, prepare you minimally, and spend more time teaching you cool spells than she will teaching you things that'll turn you into a competent duelist. I've seen it happen before, and it'll happen again. You'll see."

"I don't think—"

"No, you don't. I've seen it. Now, if you'll give us a few moments," Ace growled.

Cho stood abruptly, her face contorted into an ugly expression somewhere between anger and anxiety. The intensity of her look melted a bit as she turned to Harry. "We'll…we'll talk later.

"I'm sure you will," Ace snarked as Cho left the room, slamming the door shut.

Harry stared at Ace. A part of him, the irrationally angry part that was still mad about earlier was satisfied with the whole interaction. The logical part of his brain stopped him from feeling as satisfied as he would've liked, though. "That was harsh."

"No, it wasn't. You think I just left you alone on that train? That I just went to rub elbows with a bunch of ICW snobs?" Ace chuckled, placing a hand on his shoulders. "I wanted to see what you would do. Where you'd go, what you'd eat. How you'd react in a new place."

"Why?"

"Dueling isn't as difficult as someone like Aparna, Cho's mentor, would have you believe. It's 90% mental, and half of that is reacting to external stimuli. No matter how good you get at dueling, no matter how fast your spells are, or how powerful they are, if you can't adjust and react to your opponent and your environment, you will lose every time. So, I wanted to know what your instincts would lead you to do."

"So you're telling me that, what, just observing me let you know what kind of person I am?"

"Not exactly. The thing is, dueling and life aren't so different, Harry. No matter where you are, the battle rages on until someone rises victorious, unyielding in the face of challenges. There's just no other option."

"So, what did you learn?"

"That girl is poison to your resolve, I saw it. I don't blame you. You're, what, fourteen? Fifteen? Pretty girls are like kryptonite for you," Ace chuckled. "I'm no psychologist, but she brought you into a situation where you weren't welcome. You could tell that. Couldn't you?"

The cold feeling from before gripped Harry's heart, drowning out the anger. "I…"

"I get it," Ace muttered. "Now, listen, I didn't come in here to lecture you about your love life. I came in here to see if you wanted to go on a trip with me. There's a duel tonight in Copenhagen. Two B ranks. I think watching the duel could be good for you."

"Sure," Harry said after a few moments of contemplation. "Will we be back in time for the dinner?"

"Probably," Ace replied slowly. He checked his watch. "Not. The dinner is in an hour. The duel won't start for a while, and there's no telling how long it'll go. It's up to you."

"I'll still go," Harry said. "Better than sitting around, I suppose."

"Now you're talking, Potter. Say, have you ever traveled via portkey before?"


Harry felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. His feet left the ground; he could feel Ace beside him, his shoulder banging into his; they were speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color—

"I hate portkeys," Harry breathed as his feet touched the ground.

He craned his head up—the portkey had deposited them in front of a stadium. It was so large that all Harry could see was the gray swell of its undercarriage.

"It gets better," Ace promised, thumping his shoulder. His large hand spanned Harry's back, his fingers pressing into his shoulder blades as he gently forced him to walk toward a man in a red suit. "Let's get up to the suite. I'll get you some hot cocoa."

The man smiled as he and Ace got closer. He held up an empty legal pad. "Identification?"

"Alexander Monroe," Ace grumbled out. He raised his hand, one finger, specifically, and it was enveloped in a mild, lavender flame. He pressed his finger to the paper and scribbled a signature. "This is my mentee."

The smile plastered on the guard's face faltered, freezing like a record being stopped. "Sir, children under 18 aren't allowed—"

"This is a special case, and Ogier knows it. Have the board set up some time with me if they have any complaints," Ace returned dismissively, ignoring the nervous man. He opened his mouth again, but Ace was already pulling Harry past him. "Come, Harry."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered up the stairs and eventually reached the top of the staircase. Ace guided Harry through a door, and they found themselves in a small box.

Ace gestured around the room. "Welcome to my suite. You get high enough in the ICW, you'll get one of these bad boys, too."

"Every mentor gets these?"

"Not every mentor. Every SS-ranked and above duelist," Ace amended. He pointed at the middle of the room. "Some people deck theirs out, but I keep mine simple. Some chairs, a kitchen, and of course, the pièce de résistance: a panoramic window enchanted to give us a look at the dueling ring below, courtesy of a viewing orb flying around down there. Oh, and, comfy chairs, of course. Imported these from an outlet in Vermont."

To emphasize his point, Ace ambled over to the center of the room—adorning the suite were plush, overstuffed chairs, arranged in a semicircle around the window. "No idea how they do it, but they make sure your suite travels with the ICW. Probably some enchantments and shit, I don't know. Not my brand of magic."

Adjacent to the seating area stands was what Harry assumed was the 'kitchen'—in reality, it was a carefully curated snack and drink bar, its shelves laden with an assortment of candy and chips Harry didn't recognize, and a shelf of alcohol so grand, it would've sent Uncle Vernon into an early grave.

Maybe Harry could bring him here next.

Harry peered into the window. The view was shifting, floating above the ring as the duel's preparations began. A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself.

"I'll get started on that hot cocoa for you," Ace remembered, slinging his jacket off and neatly folding it on the armchair. "You like whipped cream? Stop. Wait. Don't answer that—who am I kidding, everyone likes whipped cream."

As Ace whistled a jaunty tune and began flicking his wand about near the bar, Harry climbed into a seat and leaned back, taking in the sights of the room.

[Forgetting about the fact that you aren't supposed to be here,] Rowena said, disapproval dripping off her words. [This might prove to be educational. Ace does seem to care about your development. In his own, weird way.]

"You excited to watch your first duel?"

"I don't know," Harry sighed, crossing his legs. He grabbed a fluffy blanket off a table and tucked it in around his legs. "Kind of?"

"Well, the reason I brought you here is because I want you to start thinking about your dueling style," Ace admitted, steaming some milk. The machine made a high-pitched whirring noise that made Harry cringe. "You know how we talked about your mind-magic connection?"

"Yeah…"

Ace grinned. "Well, that's just step one. Your mind-magic connection is kind of like a greeting. You're telling your magic you see it, and your magic is telling you that it's there. You're aware of each other now. The next step is finding out how your magic likes to express itself."

"Express itself?" Harry repeated. "What, like, what kind of magic do I like casting?"

The whirring noise stopped. Ace picked up the cup, peals of steam pouring out of the top. "Sort of. Every wizard in this world, every single one, has something their magic leans toward. Have you heard of Maslow's hierarchy of needs?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, Maslow's hierarchy of needs is a motivational theory in psychology—a pyramid with five levels. The five levels of the hierarchy are physiological, safety, love and belonging, self-esteem, and self-actualization. The basic idea is that lower-level basic needs like food, water, and safety need to be met before higher needs can be fulfilled. With me so far?"

"Yes."

"Magic is kind of like that, too. You fulfilled the most basic level—you made contact with your wild magic. The next step is finding out what form your magic likes taking. Some people are disposed to specific magic—my magic, for example, performs best with defensive spells," Ace explained, pouring the milk into a separate cup and grabbing a chocolate bar off the shelf. "Shields, reality constructs, that kind of thing. My magic naturally expresses itself like that. It likes it."

Harry squinted at Ace. "But how do you know that? Like, for sure? What if your magic likes something else more?"

"Experimentation. And honesty," Ace chuckled as he brought the cup and chocolate over. He cracked the bar and deposited a few pieces into the cup. A flick of his wand lit the bottom of the cup on fire, and the contents began stirring, the chocolate and milk mixing together like mud. "You, in your heart of hearts, know exactly what you want. You just need to be honest enough to admit it."

The flames doused. A mountain of whipped cream appeared at the top of the cup, melting into the brown liquid. Ace gingerly handed the cup to Harry, who thanked him and took a sip. Delicious. Some of the vertigo from before ebbed away. "What kind of magic do you think I'll be good at?"

"Heh. Smart kid," Ace said, sighing, and leaning back in his armchair. He crossed his arms behind his head. "Probably something elemental. Offensive for sure."

"Elemental?"

"Wind, maybe. But wind isn't that great for dueling," Ace clicked his tongue. "You asked for my opinion, right? Well, in my opinion, your file reads like the diary of someone who's begging to be unrestrained. Free. Your magic probably feels the same way. Something like fire would give you that freedom."

Harry opened his mouth to reply when the window buzzed. Static crackled for a few seconds before a voice said: "Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, welcome to the first duel of the ICW summer circuit!"

The window pulsed, roving over the faces of all the excited people in the crowd. Everyone waved and screamed at the orb. One man even took his shirt off.

"We have two B-ranked wizards in store today! On the left, Mac Linden!" The window showcased a tall, fair-skinned man with red hair smiling and waving at the camera. The orb shifted, filling the window with the visage of a darker-skinned man with cropped black hair. Unlike Mac, he didn't smile, nor did he wave. "And on your right, Dev Patel!"

A question burned to life on Harry's lips. He wasn't quite sure where it came from. "What's the point of ranking up?"

"Everything. The higher you go, the more spells you get access to. It's the ICW—spells from all over the world are consolidated in our library service, I'll show you after. Also, as you rank up, the rules change," Ace explained. His eyes glinted. "In your first duel, you'll go 'till someone's incapacitated. In these duels, you go to dismemberment. It never reaches quite as high as death, but in the upper tiers, it might as well."

The sweet taste of hot chocolate in Harry's mouth suddenly turned acrid. "That sounds…great."

"Plus, as you rank up, you get free access to nutrition potions, regimens. Kind of like how bodybuilders can take creatine and other supplements, we get free access to potions that can make you stronger, faster, smarter—you name it. There are also ICW-regulated rituals you can do. Not 'till you're good enough, of course, but it's all there for you. Free of charge."

"But why?" Harry asked. Everything Ace was saying almost seemed too good to be true. And, in his limited experience, things that seemed too good to be true were too "Why do they give us all of that?"

"Well, because we bring in the big bucks," Ace returned. "They televise this. People pay to get in. The big ticket duels, the ones even above my pay grade? They pay you to fight in them."

"Bow," Static crackled again. The two duelists bowed to each other. "And begin!"

"Watch Mac. He's a brute," Ace called out. Mac snapped his wand to the left and right. The ground between him and Dev splintered as monstrous swells of magic, streams of gold and silver erupted from his wand, crackling toward Dev like neon pincers.

"Pure force and raw power. Good enough to get you this far, eh, Mac?" Ace muttered, almost to himself as the beams of magic crashed against Dev's erected shield like waves upon a rocky shore. "Starting strong has its benefits, Harry. You don't want to show too much, or use too much energy, though."

"Dueling is about testing your opponent, finding their limits," Mac piled more magic onto Dev's shield. The area erupted in a dazzling kaleidoscope of colors—Mac shot out crimson rays of fire and a sickly-looking yellow spell that reminded Harry of Petunia's soup. "Mac's trying to ask himself a simple question here: is Dev strong enough to handle his opening spells? If he is, Mac knows he'll need to go deeper into his bag to find spells that can overwhelm his defenses. If he isn't, Mac knows he has the upper hand."

"He is," Harry said evenly as the orb flicked back to Dev. As the spells washed over his shield, even though hairline fractures began appearing along the base of the sphere, Dev didn't look concerned. "What spell is he using to defend himself?"

"Looks like some variation of the protego charm," Ace said, narrowing his eyes. "Not sure which one. It's robust enough to handle Welsh magic, so it's got to be somewhat taxing, but it's not big enough to be Eastern. It's probably an African variation. You trade the mobility of Western shields for some of the strength of Eastern ones."

Harry eyed the dome of orange. "Is it true that it's always better to dodge than it is to shield?"

"That's bullshit," Ace said instantly as he cracked open a soda. He looked at Harry weirdly, almost as if he was remembering he was a child. "Sorry. Bullcrap. That's bullcrap. It's never uniformly better to do one thing or the other. Everything you do is situational, kid. Everything."

"What kind of shield do you use?" Harry asked as Mac flung himself forward, swirling his wand. Pools of gold danced off his wand, coalescing into a gigantic hammer.

"I prefer the American mage shield," Ace replied, flicking his wand. A shimmering layer of blue magic erupted around his arm. "Good for blocking spells. And—" He made a throwing motion. The shield bubbled to his fingertips and bounced off, careening toward the wall. It dissipated as it smashed into the wallpaper. "You can use it for offense. Speaking of offense, watch this."

Mac flicked the hammer down. With a deafening roar, Dev's shield buckled and groaned under the strain, its surface fracturing like glass beneath the force of the blow. For a moment, it seemed as though the shield might hold, its shimmering surface wavering and flickering like a candle in the wind. But then, with a final, thunderous crash, it shattered into a thousand shards, sending cascades of energy rippling through the air like streamers.

Dev rolled past the shards. With a flourish of his wand, he sent a flurry of spells dancing toward Mac. Ace chuckled, "Kids. They've just discovered the joys of complicated magic. So far, they haven't used a standard spell."

Mac weaved past the bolts of light, just as Dev called forth swirling vortexes of purple energy, weaving them into intricate patterns that danced and swirled around him like ethereal tendrils.

"The simpler the better, Harry," Ace said after the two duelists exchanged another series of wicked-looking tendrils of magic. "If you can beat your opponent with a stunner, never use anything else. Ever. Unless, of course, you're like these two dimwits, and you want to show the world you can duel."

"Don't they get more points for showing off?" Harry wondered aloud, his face briefly glowing purple.

Ace shook his head. He took a long sip from his soda. "Everyone thinks that. The truth is, how exciting you are to watch doesn't matter until you're in the top fifty. Until then, what's more impressive is an efficient duelist. That's why, for your fight, try to end it as simply as you can. Don't do this kind of stuff. The duration, eh, that doesn't matter. But the simplicity? Imagine a world where your opponent tires themselves out trying different spells, and you win with a well-placed stunner. Judges will eat it up. Especially since you're a kid. See, look—they're tiring now."

Ace was right. The tendrils of magic went away as Mac and Dev began exchanging spells that Harry could recognize. Stunners and cutting curses went shooting through the arena like fireworks. Jinxes and hexes streaked through the ring, blurring lines into the viewing orb like wet paint.

"We'll train tomorrow," Ace promised, drumming his fingers on his armrest. "I think you'll take to it easily."

"I hope so."

The fight dragged on. As much as he tried to pay attention, Harry found that after that electric start, it had gotten a bit mellow.

Mac was definitely more aggressive. If the hammer had been any indication, Harry wagered his game plan had been to simply overwhelm Dev. Now since he couldn't do it with power, he was trying to do it through sheer output of spells.

Dev, on the other hand, was reactive. According to Ace, who continued commentating on the fight in his own words, he was doing a good job of being reactive without being defensive.

"Being defensive means you wait for your opponent to tire out," Ace had said. "Being reactive means you wait for the right moment to attack."

For the next ten minutes, the duel seemed to follow the same formula. Mac would send some sort of attack at Dev, Dev would shield or dodge, and Mac would try to catch him mid-dodge.

Harry probably saw more spells in those ten minutes than he did in his three years at Hogwarts. Mac used spells that were every color of the rainbow and then some, battle transfiguration, elemental spells—everything.

On the eleventh minute, though, Harry saw Dev's plan come to fruition. It started off routinely enough: Mac began a flurry of spells that looked like stunners, blasting red jets of energy at Dev.

Dev simply grinned and flashed his wand out, batting away the spells. In the span of four seconds, Dev blurred forward, unleashing a barrage of seven purple spells at Mac, each one more potent and devastating than the last.

"He's got him on the ropes now," Ace said as Mac raised a haphazard shield of green. The spells ricocheted off the dome at first, but then they began hitting directly, ramming into the shield with the force of artillery shells. "Dev's going to lay into him now."

Bolts of crackling energy lanced through the air, leaving trails of shimmering light in their wake, while tendrils of dark mist coiled and writhed around Mac's defenses, threatening to ensnare him in their grasp.

With a fierce determination burning in his eyes, he met Dev's onslaught head-on, countering each spell with a deft flick of his wand and a muttered incantation of his own. Arcs of golden light danced across the arena as Mac unleashed his own brand of magic, pushing back against the tide of purple energy with a strength born of sheer willpower.

As the duel raged on, the arena erupted into a cacophony of light and sound, the clash of spells echoing through the chamber like thunder rolling across the heavens. Bright lights strobed through the arena. Dust rose from the ground. Both duelists fired off spells faster, faster, faster

Until it was over.

All it took was one spell.

One of Dev's purple collided with Mac's arm. For a second, nothing happened, and then Mac's arm snapped backward at an angle, ripping cleanly out of its socket. Two more smashed into his ribs, and he folded like a lawn chair, crumbling into the ground.

"And that's what happens when you're impatient," Ace said solemnly as the viewing orb zoomed in on Mac's face, rivulets of blood leaking out of his mouth. "Let that be a lesson, Harry. Don't end up like him."


AN: Hi all! Here's another chapter for you.

Sorry for the delay. I took a short break from writing, then was surprised with a 3-week vacation, so my short break inadvertently turned into an incredibly long one. Luckily, I'm marking my return today with a couple of updates, so keep an eye out for those. You can thank Manke for that, we made another deal as we so tend to. He's got a few updates churning out, too, so please make sure to check his page for those. Check out my page for a link to his discord, where I'm fairly active!

As for me, later today, I'll be updating my PJO/ATLA crossover, my Naruto fic, and another surprise one. To any TFOAC fans, no, not that one, but it is coming. Soon. I didn't abandon it, so don't even worry about that. It'll be well worth the wait...

As for the name change, this is the final name. I had a stroke of inspiration while talking to DarknessEnthroned and wanted to change my story title to reflect the path Harry is going to take throughout the story. I won't explain what that means, but if you're familiar with Greek mythology, you can probably wager a fair guess.

That's all I'll say for now. The next chapter will feature Harry's first duel, so please keep an eye out for that! I think I've finally found my footing in this story, and I'm acclimating to the third person better than I was before. I'll likely be done with that chapter in two weeks. Or earlier, if it flows.

That's all for now. Good to be back!

See you soon,

- Maroon