Hello there, again!

I have lived more than two centuries, which turns me into one of the oldest to still breathe. In so many years I have known many people. Most are dead and forgotten. Many, dead yet in memory. And others alive and kicking. I have seen them grow into fine men and women. I have seen their deeds, and their failures. Written about them, even. People worthy of legends and myth, a few.

And still I saw far too many of these so-called chosen ones, way more than I should have. These children fated to achieve greatness. Fated to elevate magic to a new level.

I should have noted that something was about to happen. I should have noted the dark and cold night which loomed upon us. I should have protected those dear to me.

Because Magic does talk to us. She does prepare us for the night and day. She weaves these special people into the lattice of life in order to keep it going.

For the light is brightest amidst the darkest night.

For the balance must be preserved.

Lawrence the Third, in 'Ramblings and livings of an old man', chapter 97.

Chapter 57 - Golden Generation

Ron woke up as someone nudged him; though it was not a physical touch, but a mental one. He fought to open his eyes and sit up with a loud yawn. "These pillows aren't very comfortable," the redhead complained as he stretched his back and limbs. "Well, at least there aren't bedbugs here."

"I would not be so sure of that," Gerdnyaram replied as she eyed the room. It was a rather small cubicle, its floor of dirty, old wood and of plain walls without any kind of decoration nor a window. Its only source of light was an oil lamp, placed on the nightstand close to the small bed. "This place stinks of piss and booze."

"This room, not so much," Ron sighed as he stood up. "The pub down here? Now that's a whole different story. But, hey, they welcomed a fourteen year-old boy with open arms and wide smiles. Well, they welcomed what little gold I had, better said." It did not smell of flowers either, for sure. "But this was the best I could afford. And you understood my reasons. So you said yesterday."

"I did understand them. And I stand by them."

It took Ron about ten minutes to get ready. Firstly, he made use of the dirty and little sink on the room's corner to freshen his face and wake him up with cold water. Then he put on his duelling uniform, and tried to get rid of the creases with his bare hands. There was no mirror in the room, so he just ran a hand through his hair and hoped for it to look decent enough.

It was then when someone knocked on the door.

And before he could give any answer, the door was bursted open. His first instinct was to draw out his wand. An instinct which died the moment his eyes fell upon the man who had just stormed into his room. It was Lord Covan, and there was a cold expression on his face as Ron had never seen before.

He glanced around the room, then his eyes were set on Ron. "By spending the night here not only did you disrespect Lord Jason, our host, but also brought shame upon my name and word." And with just a few words, Ron felt a fear so grave as he had not in a long time. "You better give me a good reason to not expel you from Nurgon."

Ron reckoned he had a very good reason to have acted as he did. But would it be enough for a man such as Lord Covan? There was only one way to find out.

"Jason Oakhand is a bastard who beats his elves. She told me herself, and in such a natural way that only someone who has grown used to punishment is able to. As you know, I was raised in a very different world than yours, my lord. I'm doing my best to learn and understand as much as I can. But there are boundaries I will never cross. This was one of them."

Covan's eyes remained set on the boy. "Do take a seat."

Ron did as told; not scared anymore, but still rather nervous. "You knew about it, right?"

"I did," the lord nodded. "And although I do condemn such behaviour, it is not my right to tell another man how to behave in his own household. Had he done such acts in Nurgon, I would have put him in his place. But here, in Oakheart Palace, I do not have the right to do so."

"Well, I do condemn it, and I did what I thought best to make it clear."

"There are very few things I do respect as a man of values and strong beliefs. But not when it means a lack of intellect. This is a dangerous world, Ronald, filled with dangerous and cruel men and women. To offend them, no matter how slight such an offence might be in your eyes, it might cost one his life. And it might mean danger to me and my family, as you are affiliated to us. Now, you were fortunate enough that Jason Oakhand is not so powerful a man to do any harm to you. Not when you wear Nurgon's colours. Yet one day you may cross paths with a man cruel enough to not only harm you, but those you love dearly."

Ron held Covan's gaze as the man placed a hand on his shoulder. "Next time you feel the need to condemn a man's actions, please do consult with me beforehand. Had you come to me with this last night, I would have helped you. But you did not. Because of that, I had to apologise to a man of way lesser name. Jason, of course, has forbidden you entry to his manor for the rest of his life."

Ron gulped down a heavy knot in his throat. "I am deeply sorry, my lord. Partly because I acted so recklessly, but mainly because… Well, because I did not trust you enough with such matters. As you know very well, us Weasleys are very different to any other pureblood family. I guess old habits and thinkings are quite hard to change."

Covan's features remained the same; neither did they soften nor did they harden due to his confession. "Consider yourself warned for the first and last time, Ronald. Now, do stand up and prepare yourself. Today is the most important day in your young career. You are to face Natasha Kravlenko in just a few hours. A girl to be reckoned with, that one. The sorting was not kind to you, I'm afraid."

"I couldn't see any of her duelling yesterday," Ron said, as a comment rather than a complaint. "But Jakob told us about her… rather curious upbringing, to say something."

"Benjamin defeated her," Lord Covan observed. "And the two of you are duellists of similar level. But I think she did not show her cards yesterday, and thought of the battle a mere formality." He glanced around the room, then. "And tonight you will sleep under another roof. I cannot have one of my pupils stay in this shittery of an inn."

Ron could but thank the lord.

It took them little time to walk out of the inn. It was early into the morning, the sun barely making the sky his domain, but still were most of the tables full. In defence of the inn, it didn't smell so bad now. Piss and booze had been replaced by food and coffee. Many a glance fell upon them, and they showed how unused they were to see a man of Covan's calibre here.

It was a good morning outside, not so cold nor windy. Unlike their walk, which its silence added to the noise of their footsteps. And there weren't so many people in the streets for Ron to put an ear into their conversations.

So he decided to break the ice. "Did you watch any of the duels yesterday, my lord? I didn't see you in the colosseum."

"As many as my large list of tiresome businesses allowed me," Lord Covan replied. "I did watch two of yours and one of Benjamin's. I too did watch some of the duels from those I consider to be dangerous rivals. I know my son said to you that he considered this generation to be a poor one. But I think the opposite. Just as I think his opinion changed yesterday."

As the sun went up and they left the city's main alley behind, people started to swarm the streets. And Ron could finally listen to the gossip. There was plenty of what he'd heard yesterday and even more. In fact, the main talk was about people giving flowers to their favourite duellists and betting on them.

A faint giddiness filled him when he heard his name a few times.

Finally they reached the colosseum and the large shadow it casted. And there they took the same entrance from the day before, where Benjamin and Jakob awaited.

The pureblood heir lunged at Ron, throwing an arm over his shoulders and nudging his fist over his red locks. "You bastard! Only the foolest of the fools would act so foolishly as you did! Are you even aware of the time Oakhand spent yapping into my ears about your lack of manners and wits?"

"I got my reasons!"

Fortunately, Lord Covan came to his aid. "Leave him be, Jakob. We had a talk, and he has sworn to never do it again without consulting me first." Ron was allowed to breathe once more. "Now, I want you to take care of them, as I have scheduled a tedious meeting with Lord Krause and Lord Gunther for the morning. Stand in their corner, if you see it fit."

That said, the tall man left; and his shadow got lost into the passage.

But his words had put a doubt in Ron's mind. "What did he mean by that? About the corner, I mean."

Benji and Jakob shared a look, and then their eyes fell upon him.

"Are you serious?"

"Mate, are you blind?"

"Oh, come on!" Ron groaned in response. "Spare me those looks and the words. Yes, I know I didn't pay much attention to the talk you gave us before coming here. And, yes, neither did I read the guidelines. So, why don't you answer my bloody question and be done with this?"

"Yes, he must be blind," Benji sighed with a shake of his head.

Jakob, ever one to have little patience, gave Ron his so-desired answer. "One person is allowed to be in your corner each fight. And, in case you are to call for a time-out, such a person can give you counsel and treat your wounds if there is any. In fact, Lord Pavliov stood in his son's corner yesterday. But you, not only a fool but also blind, it seems, just ignored the world around you."

"I was taught to be focused on the battle," Ron defended himself. "So I did."

Their talk ended as they reached the hallway in which the restrooms were located. And it was as packed as it could be. Ron saw many familiar faces there. There was Nott and a man very similar to him, but taller and even thinner; the infamous James Nott, most likely. There was Ume Sang-hyeok, alone at the end of the crowd, and Alexander Shawn, who had taken the other end for himself. And people whose faces were familiar enough; other challengers and their relatives.

"They are all here!" Ron mused, surprised.

"All the duels are to be taken at the same time, I presume," Benji cut in.

"And you presume well," Jakob nodded. "It's quite the horrible format for the crowd, but necessary due to logistics. Sixteen challengers and eight duels; it would take far too much time to do them one by one, or even two by two. On top of that, since the quarter-finals are to be held this afternoon, there needs to be enough dead time to wait for a challenger to recover if they are hurt after a duel." He sat down on the floor as he took a cereal bar from his robes. "Well, it's waiting time. Use it to prepare yourselves. You really want to advance through the next round, trust me. Reaching the top eight, it's where the Major really starts."

Ron did as bid, still up on his feet, even though there wasn't much preparation to do. He truly felt at his best—calm, loose and with a confidence in his skills he'd never felt before.

This tournament was just a staircase he needed to climb; one step at a time. And what awaited at the top was not the glory and the affection he once sought so fervently, but an opportunity to become stronger. A chance to make the prospect of his hopeless quest a bit more reachable.

And when they were told to step outside he did so with a firm stride.

Ron glanced around, feeling none of yesterday's nervousness. The grandstands were much fuller today, and all the eyes were set on the eight pits where all the duels of the first round would take place. There were shouts, there were claps and chants. And still he ignored all of it as he walked toward his pit.

He felt a pair of eyes on his back, that of the Kravlenko girl, which he also ignored.

At last they jumped into the pit, and at last did that loud jumble of noises dimmed as his sight also focused. Had he ever felt this focused? Ron didn't reckon so.

It was then when his eyes truly fell upon his rival. A tall and slender girl, she was. Of quick hands and feets, given the way she swagered around before the fight. And her hair, it was as fiery as Ron's, reaching down to her shoulders.

"You already know the rules," the referee told the young duellists as they took an end of the pit for themselves. "I want a fair duel. It's allowed to spill blood. It's allowed to be violent and to show recklessness toward your opponent. Still there are lines which should never be crossed. I hope they remain uncrossed still."

The woman's hand seemed to move in slow motion. The entire world seemed to move in slow motion, in fact. Then her arm descended and the duel began.

Ron took a step back, wand ahead of him in a guarding stance. Kravlenko mirrored his stance, and they both walked in circles for almost a minute. There was not a single Future he could see of hers, and that troubled Ron greatly.

Then one appeared, a solitary golden silhouette. He jumped just in time to avoid the large Severing Charm aimed at him; way more akin to a wave of destruction rather than a simple spell.

And again, and again, and again… One aimed at his shoulder, which he avoided by crouching down; a second to his good hand, dodged with a calculated side jump; and one last at his chest, which he dispelled with a quick Finite. The girl's aura was too complex for Ron to read. It flowed as still as a calm river, just to abruptly erupt like a geyser.

And her Futures… There was simply one to each action, like a golden spark bursting out of nowhere. It should had been a child's play to read them, as he was far too used to the Anticipation. But still Ron found the lack of choices she considered a huge trouble, for a reason he couldn't understand.

"That girl," Gerd mused into his mind. "She moves through instinct alone. There is not a single thought in her mind. She just does what her body tells her to do."

And not to talk about her spell repertory!

It wasn't a great thing, in all honesty. Quite akin to his own one, in fact. And although he'd fought against opponents with a far wider repertory, this girl had mastered each one of all the spells she used against him. Her Incendio was a storm of fire which roared furiously; her stunners, bolting arrows of light; and her Blasting Curses, arcs of destruction which put Ron's to shame whenever they clashed against one another.

I need to change the rhythm of the duel, else I'll lose! Ron took a risky gamble as a Blasting Curse came his way, almost roaring aloud as it sought to turn him into a pile of ashes. He waited, despite his shudders of fear. He waited, he waited… And then parried the curse in the last second as Jakob had taught him. It dispelled into a rain of sparks.

Kravlenko, having expected him to jump away from the curse as he'd done plenty of times before, had already pointed her wand, its tip set ablaze in red, at where she thought he would run toward. Thus her eyes opened in surprise when Ron proved her wrong. Now's my time!

"Confringo!"

She casted a mighty Shield in the blink of an eye. But the curse had not been directed at her, but at the ground in between them. It bursted into countless boulders of rock of each and every size; some larger than them two combined, others as small as a nail.

"Carpe Retractum!"

From the tip of each of his five fingers were born cords of light; a little trick he'd come up with in Nurgon. They were quick to coil around the boulders. Then Ron pulled from them with a mighty effort, just to slam them down as if there was a whip on his hands.

There was excitement in Kravlenko's eyes as she casted the Shield away, though just for a brief instant. "Aero!" she chanted. And she became a human tornado as she rocketed toward Ron, going past the boulders in between what little space there was to pass through them.

He took a decision in the spur of the moment; guided by sheer instinct this time, almost prey to a fear of losing which had just started to echo within him. Somehow he managed to tense the light cord as a single boulder rose up, the rest long discarded. And when the girl-tornado was about to reach him, Ron rose into the air, pulled up by the rocketing boulder.

For a few seconds he felt nothing, nor thought anything. It was him up in the air, with his heart beating into each inch of his body and with rivers of adrenaline flowing through each of his arteries. And he allowed himself a crazed smile. For Ron felt more alive than he'd ever felt.

And when he dispelled the light cord away and fell down and landed gracefully on the ground after softening the impact with a weak Impedimenta, all he could do was to laugh aloud.

And Kravlenko, who had just come out of her tornado-self, her fiery curls a rowdy and frizzy mess, could but join him and his crazed laugh.

"Get a hold of yourself," Gerd firmly told him. "And look down at your arm, you fool."

Ron did so, just to find a small, silvery knife sunk into the flesh of his left forearm. It wasn't a deep wound, with a few trails of blood already seeping through it. But it was enough to kill his laughter. Thus only one remained.

He raised his arm, showing it to the referee.

"Weapons are allowed," she just said. "If they pass the security controls we run on them, there is no prohibition."

The pain made itself known just then; a hot, numbing thing. Ron was about to pull out the knife when Gerd spoke to him, "Do it quickly, in one go. And make sure to cauterise the wound right away." He did so with unexpected mastery, as if he'd done it countless times before. And the pain, he just pushed it to the back of his mind.

Natasha Kravlenko allowed him all the time he needed, watching every of his moves with gleeful surprise as she almost jumped on her tiptoes. "You are funny!" she giggled once Ron was finished. "I like you very much!" There was a flash of silver in her left hand, that of another knife; a longer one. She took it to her tongue and licked its edge, painting it red with her own blood. "Now let's have real fun, you and me!"

"Grab the knife and wield it," Gerd commanded. "Bait her into thinking you are to follow her foolish dance. Take advantage of her crazy and violent character." When Ron took stance once more, he did it with his two hands upfront; one wielding a wand and the other a knife. "Conceal your wand behind your back and smile at her, as if you were to store it back into your robes. Next make it invisible with a Disillusionment Charm.Now show her your empty hand and say…"

"Let's have a different kind of duel," Ron smirked at the girl. "You and me, with these knives. A much riskier duel. A much funnier duel."

Kravlenko seemed to grow taller as she too sheathed her wand. "Now, I'm gonna marry you!"

She then sprinted toward him, and Ron ran to meet her in a close combat. Ten metres; seven metres; five metres; one metre and… "Stupefy!" Her eyes opened in surprise, and her blue irises seemed to reflect the red flash of Ron's spell. Her body fell face down to the ground with a soft thud. And she remained still for seconds and seconds, which felt like an eternity to Ron.

And the referee finally sang: "And the victory goes to Ronald Weasley, by technical knockout!"

He let out a relieved sigh. Then a wave of exhaustion hit him, no longer held by the clamour of battle. "I bloody did it," Ron sighed weakly. "It wasn't a victory to be proud of, that's for sure. But I'll take it, I guess."

"There's victory, unique and incomparable," Gerd observed. "Some achieve it by sheer strength and it alone. Others by speed and swiftness. There is also wits and ruse. All weapons of one's choice. All valid ways to achieve victory, I say."

Ron nodded to her words, finding little flaw in them. And just about to jump down the pit, a hoarse voice stopped him.

"Wait!" Natasha Kravlenko fought to stand on her feet, though her legs wobbled rather intensely. She pushed aside the Medi-Witch who had come into her aid, showing her so fierce a glare she could but take a few steps back. Then the girl sat down and frowned at Ron. "You lied to me!"

"You were quite easy to ruse," Ron pointed out with a shrug.

Her frown deepened. "Well, because I thought you were an honest boy. I did some research on you after you went through the group stage, you see. I found very little about you, Weasleys. But all I found spoke of you as a simple and honest bunch. Not the kind to lie to a lady."

"Ladies usually don't thrust knives into my arm," Ron snorted. "Besides, all is allowed in battle. I thought you knew that, given what little I've been told of your family and their doings." He turned around to leave, then thought otherwise. "Also, I'm a different kind of Weasley, I'm afraid. I do lie."

Her eyes lingered on him for a while. She gave a semblance of sanity which had not been there before. "Ronald Weasley, eh? I will make sure to remember your name and face. You fascinate me."

Ron shook his head and left.

He made use of his walk to ponder about the duel. "It was a neat strategy," he said, at last. "That girl, she was much better than I thought; much better than what Benji implied. And she wasn't good on the head, either. Honestly, a bloody knife! Can you believe it?"

"You were a fool to not see its silvery gleam," Gerd replied. "Too high in the euphoria of battle. It happened to you a while ago, in your duel against Ume Sang-hyeok. There is work to do in that regard, too."

"I don't deny it." Ron entered the passage he'd walked through plenty of times that weekend. Jakob had told them to meet with him once their duels were over. Given Ron had been last to finish, Benji should already be with him. "But what can I say? I just felt bloody amazing."

Gerd said nothing this time, as she understood what he meant.

It took him little time to find his friends, as they awaited before the restrooms. "Since when are you such an incredible fighter, you damn fool?" Jakob asked with a wide grin. "What a duel!"

"She didn't fight like that against me," Benji added with a frown. "To compare your duel and mine… Like day and night, definitely."

Ron shook his head, amused by their comments. "It was long ago when I came to understand that I'm a magnet for those who aren't good on the head. And that girl, well, she stands atop of the list. She used a bloody knife on me! Mate, a bloody knife!"

"Trust me when I say that I've seen way worse!" Jakob snorted. Then he threw his arms over the shoulders of his two juniors. "But we'll talk about my stories another day. Now it's your time to shine! And what a shining job you two have done so far! People adore you; and they chant your names louder than anyone else's. Also, you kept your word. You told me you were gonna make it to the top eight, and here you are!"

He led them into the restroom, where a very succulent breakfast awaited. "Now, take a seat and enjoy the food! There's plenty of time to kill before the opening ceremony. Once you are finished, as we have yet to know the sorting, we'll take our time to dwell into each and every of your possible rivals. "

Ron devoured his fair share of food, as he hadn't eaten a bit since the previous night; and to his stomach, such a fancy dinner was but a distant memory. He also made use of his time, of course.

"So, what's that opening ceremony about? I mean, before any of you come up with a clever retort, I can clearly imagine what it's about. But I mean to ask about why you make it sound like such a big thing."

"Because it is such a big thing," Jakob replied. "This tournament… There's no better than this. People coming from all over the world to see how the best young duellists of the world fare against one another. To reach the top eight, it means a great honour; a testament of talent, dedication and sacrifice. Eight names who, most likely, will be here for many years to come. And out there, when the lights go out and all the eyes are on you, that's your chance to write your story." He then rolled up his sleeves, to show them the goosebumps on his flesh. "I still remember the first time I made it to the top eight, when I was thirteen. One of my fondest memories, truly."

And those words awakened a certain emotion within him. Which he put an end to in no time at all. Not anymore, he thought. I need to be cold and strong. That's all which matters to me.

So he felt silent and limited himself to listening to Jakob's monologue about their possible rivals. And there was just one thought in his mind: that of coming out victorious this weekend.

When their names were called, all the challengers stepped out of the restrooms they'd taken for themselves. They formed quite the unorganised line in the hallway; a silent and tense one. And their eyes found in the silliest of details, such as a fly or a slab, the perfect excuse to not stare at one another.

There were some who managed the wait better than others, of course.

Ousmane Diop was the personification of ice itself; eyes so lidded they seemed to be closed. And Shawn, too, whose bored and uninterested behaviour was not a simple facade. Ron himself did manage it well enough, at least if he were to compare himself with the likes of Grace-Shultz. The short girl was a nervous mess; her eyes going everywhere as his foot tapped against the floor in a frenzy.

But it all kind of stilled when a tall official met with them.

"First of all, in the name of the Federation, I want to congratulate you all. What a performance you've put on this weekend! The fans love you all. And I, in their name also, want to ask something of you: to give your best in what little remains of the tournament. Now it's the time to shine, the time to become someone in this world. All the eyes will be set upon you. Make them jump out of their seats, please."

He took them through the passage, but turned to the left instead of going forward. There was an open door at the end of the hallway, small and simple. The torches lit up themselves to the tune of their steps as they took a staircase down. Ron wondered where they were taken to, yet didn't get to voice out his question.

Not as if mattered, though, for they soon strode into an enormous, oval and empty chamber.

All there was to note about the room itself was some circular drawings on the floor. Squinting his eyes to see what had been carved on them, Ron could barely suppress his surprise. There was his proud eagle carved into one of the circles. And the golden phoenix of Shawn, too. And the crescent moon of Nott; the three hawks of Grace; and the unicorn of Redfield.

"I bid you to be calm," the official smiled at them. "This will be very simple. I need you to stand in your designated circle. And that's it, really. The platforms will rise up, into the colosseum, once the ceremony is to begin. Up there you'll be introduced to the crowd as the stars of the event. Smile and wave back at them, if you may. They are here for you, after all. Now, do stand upon your circles, please."

Ron was first to do so. He didn't know what to expect upon standing in his circle, but nothing happened. It was simple and cold stone; though beautifully carved.

"To think this world has progressed so much," Gerd observed, a faint smile on her face. "Back then, we also had celebrations in which warriors could prove their prowess. But it was a simple thing. A ring of people, all witness to such violent spectacle. I guess that, no matter which age, men do still need to prove themselves in one way or another."

Ron gave her no answer, his eyes too busy taking in a sudden change within his circle. The carved lines suddenly gleamed; with a blue touch, in his case. And when a sudden rumble announced the start of the ceremony, he could but swallow a knot in his throat and ready himself.

The platforms, tall columns of white stone, finally rose from the ground. And for a moment they were swallowed by a sudden darkness. And then the lights fell upon their figures, turning them into beacons amidst the blackness. The crowd bursted into shouts and chants as the little rods they wielded gleamed in an ample variety of colours.

Ron looked up, and he was awed to discover that all their blazons now shone atop of the colosseum. A faint light dust fell upon them as if a colourful curtain.

"Here they are, our eight challengers!" the speaker howled. "And what an eight they are! Each and every one of them worthy to call themselves champions one day! Alas, only one will rise victorious! And we will all bear witness to see who will rise as the best of them! Who will rise as the best of a generation which is already considered by many as the Golden Generation!"

There was a dramatic pause in which all the lights went out. And then it was Benji alone who became the spotlight.

"From France, in representation of Nurgon, fourteen years of age, and already the champion of the ladies… Benjamin Lepenant!"

There were claps and shouts again, even some voices chanting his name, to which in answer he gave a sheepish wave back.

And so they were introduced one by one.

"The local hero, the youngest of them all at thirteen years of age, in representation of the Great House of Grace… Olivia Grace-Shultz!"

"A solitary lion from Africa, labelled as a master of wandless magic, fifteen years of age… Ousmane Diop!"

"Reaching the top eight for a third year in row, fifteen years of age, from Germany, ever the technical and methodical duellist, in representation of the Great House of Gunther… Bastian Gunther

"Coming all the way from South-Korea, with a mighty defence as her main talent, fifteen years of age… Ume Sang-hyeok!"

"Another local hero, proud and talented as no other, fourteen years of age, in representation of the Great House of Shawn… Alexander Shawn!"

"From England, a name very well known for the fans of the sport, a son who seeks to follow his father's glorious steps, fourteen years of age, in representation of the House of Nott… Theodore Nott!"

"And another fellow British, fourteen years of age, known for his fiery hair and his sharp wit in battle, in representation of Nurgon and the House of Weasley… Ronald Weasley!"

Perhaps it was a trick of his mind, but Ron swore his name was chanted the loudest. Cold and strong, he reminded himself. Cold and strong.

They stood above everyone for a few more seconds. The tall columns displayed in a circle around the large pit which had been set in the arena; one as large as the previous eight combined.

And when they descended, the columns sinking into the ground, they did so very slowly as the night veil which covered the ceiling of the colosseum was dispelled and the bright light of the sun seeped through it.

Then they were led into an exclusive suite around the pit, with couches of the softest pillows Ron had ever sat upon. It was divided into two rows, with plenty of separation between the seats. And to their left, each was provided a small, round table in which to set what food or drinks they were to ask from the waiters behind. From here, they'd had excellent views of the many duels which were to be taken in the next few hours.

And now, it seemed, was time to reveal who would duel who.

Written in fiery, golden letters amidst the largest arc of the colosseum, their names appeared one by one.

Benjamin Lepenant |Olivia Grace-Shultz

Ousmane Diop | Bastian Gunther

Alexander Shawn | Ume Sang-hyeok

Ronald Weasley | Theodore Nott

All Ron could do was to laugh at the whims of fate. To think the story that started three years ago as a silly duel would end today, in such a great event, was a thing he hadn't predicted. That said, he was sure of one thing. Their rivalry would end today, for good. And given the arrogant look Nott gave him from across the suite, the result was to be one his mind wasn't prepared to accept.

Though his mental rambling came to an end as Benji was called to the pit. He bolted up, then took a deep breath.

"You got this," Ron told him. "It's the ideal picture for us; we fell on the opposite of the bracket. Don't screw it up and meet me in the finals."

Benji gave him a weak smile, "Sure!"

Then he made his way to the pit, head held tall and proud.

Benjamin and Olivia Grace-Shultz stood as far from one another as the arena allowed them. His face looked calm, just as his body looked loose and relaxed; long forgotten were his nerves, it seemed. Her face, however, was but a tense rictus, lips so thin they'd turned into a white line.

Purple against blue amidst the white picture of the marble arena.

"Let's see what little Livy is capable of," Shawn commented aloud, eyes gleaming with interest.

The referee raised her hand as all the eyes fell upon the two duellists. And it went down, finally.

Benjamin was quick to take a defensive stance, always one to react rather than to initiate. Unlike the blond girl, who tried his guard with a few spells. Given the way she talked to me yesterday, I expected way more of her. A disappointed murmur spreaded through the grandstands, for Benji was fending off her offence with no hint of trouble.

Grace-Shultz, her wand ever a blazing beacon in her hand, made use of Benji's passiveness and ran circles around the boy. The few times Benji answered with a spell of his own, she just crouched down with surprising agility to dodge it.

So the duel continued for about a minute, much to the crowd's dismay.

In fact, Ron had grown so uninterested he could but fall back into his seat, his mind already wandering in search of a strategy to beat Nott. But then Shawn leaned forward, a deep frown in his face.

"Oh, could it be…"

It was then when Grace-Shultz pointed her wand at the ground and flew back with a clean somersault, rocketed by a potent Depulso. She landed on one foot, and before Benji had any time to begin his assault on her, the girl raised her wand above her as she mumbled some silent words.

The kind of magic which followed was one Ron had never seen before.

A golden dome of see-through mist rose around Benji, coiling around him, jailing him. The mist also surrounded Grace-Shultz, but it seemed to embrace her. And when she crouched down, a golden and misty veil over her, hell was set loose upon Benjamin.

Piercing arrows, made of that golden mist, rained upon him. It took him an instant to react, so surprised he was, and two managed to hit him. Bright, bloody wounds were opened upon contact; and they oozed mist. He then raised a Shield and took shelter under its security.

"What the hell is that?" Ron mused in awe. And his opinion was shared by many, as the colosseum had turned silent like a graveyard. "Wait! Don't tell me this is the secret technique she gloated to me about…"

It was a constant onslaught.

For much Benji tried to break free, for many arrows that broke against his Shield or for more he ran or jumped away from, there was no stop to it. And when he tried to curse his rival, who had fallen motionless, his spells were swallowed by the mist to never return.

What little Ron caught by the Sense, it left him more in doubt than before.

"Gerd, to me," he whispered.

She granted him the Anticipation, which he used on Grace-Shultz once he managed to ignore the thousands of Futures of all those around him. There was none she considered, much to his surprise. She stood motionless, still crouched down, on one end of the pit; eyes tightly closed and mouth thinned in a rictus of focus.

It was hard to see how the duel was carried out.

For minutes all Benji could do was to withstand the assault. His pristine uniform, which had looked so regal on him, was almost torn to shreds, holed up by countless bleeding wounds. It was a miracle he could even see through the curtain of blood that covered his face. He swayed from side to side, limping, almost falling down.

But still he held on. So did his Shield, though barely.

And Grace-Shultz… The girl now lay on the ground, curled up in a ball as her chest barely rose with each breath. And her aura was so faint, like a candle about to consume itself. But just as a candle was meant to die as its fire could but consume the very wax which gave life to it, she could but feed with her magic the very spell that was sucking all her energy.

A battle of endurance in which the victor was crowned in the next minute.

At last did the golden mist disappear, as if carried away by the wind. And Benji fell to one knee, wand still held in his trembling fingers, as the referee rushed toward Grace-Shultz.

His pained voice easily rose above the colosseum's silence. "She… She… Is out?"

The referee nodded as he called for medical assistance. Atop them all, in that bright bracket which hung into the air, his name prevailed and moved into the next round. He allowed himself a weak smile, then fell down. He was also surrounded by two Medi-Wizards.

Soon enough, both of them were carried into the hallway.

Ron could but shook his head, trying to assimilate what had just happened. He looked around, just to see his mood was shared by most. But there were two exceptions: Shawn, who looked to be lost deep in thought, and Diop, on whose face there was evident disinterest.

"That was a kind of magic I had yet to see since I Linked you," Gerd observed. "Do not think a fool of yourself for not being able to figure it out, for this is very advanced magic. Far out of your reach as of today. And far out of that foolish girl's reach, too. She was a moment from dying, consumed by her own recklessness and stupidity…"

"What was that?"

"If you ask for a name, there is not one I can give you," the Essentia replied. "It is advanced magic, so we referred to it back in the Ancient Age. A kind of complex spell that can only be used after certain conditions are met. Now, do not ask me about them, for I have no idea. Such a mystery can only be answered by Olivia Grace-Shultz herself."

"So she planned to end Benji before she ran too tired to keep the spell up," Ron ventured thoughtfully. "But he held on for far longer than she ever thought. And so, refusing to lose, she almost consumed her own life… Merlin, that's so messed up! What can drive a girl of her age to reach such ends? I myself would have never gone so far, I think."

"Another thing I happen to ignore. However, for the sake of such a young creature, I hope there are no lasting consequences for her. I have seen so many consume their magic for good in these very same circumstances. And others to not be strong enough to live anymore."

Bit by bit, the crowd started to regain their speech. And their words filled the pause which followed the first duel. There was excitement in them. Because, if the first duel had been so unique and of such a high level, what could be expected of the rest? And Ron shared their sentiment, of course, but he was also quite worried about his friend.

"His wounds did not seem deep nor grave to me," Gerdnyaram said soothingly. "I think he managed to avoid severe damage despite the many times he got hit. Benjamin's performance was an ode to resilience and fortitude, indeed."

But he had yet to come back by the time the next two names were announced. So all Ron could do was to fall into battle's embrace; ever so alluring, even when one were not to take part in it.

Ousmane Diop seemed unfazed by the crowd, nor by the nerves of battle, as he walked toward the arena. His tall figure, along with his red and black robes, gave him the appearance of a crimson shadow.

So did his rival, that black-haired and haughty boy of pale face and dark eyes—Bastian Gunther, dressed in white and green, was the embodiment of a perfect pureblood noble.

There was no doubt in neither of them as they were bid start.

It was a clash of controlled technique against brutal prowess. Gunther, ever a moving shadow though the pit, made use of a spell repertory which was second to none. It was a colourful rain which came from his wand; all of them without a verbal incantation, another proof of his mastery. Yet Ron got to see none of them in action.

Diop had been introduced as a lion, but the way he moved around was more fitting of a feline. The speed of his moves, the way in which he crouched down and jumped. And his defence, it was simple yet efficient. A subtle gesture, a touch of his hand to the ground, and it rose to shelter him.

And little by little, spell after spell and second by second, Diop closed the distance.

Gunther, of course, was quick to catch on that. His wand, pointed at the ground in between them, let out a powerful Confringo which decimated the pristine marble into rock dust. And with an ever stronger Depulso such a rain fell upon Diop.

It was quite easy for him to counter such an attack. A clap of his hands was all he needed to split the cloud into two, repelled by what looked as a swirl of wind around him.

However, what Gunther had meant for his attack was but a quick distraction.

He lunged from inside the dust cloud, covered by a weak Shield, and he aimed his wand at point blank at Diop's face. There was the familiar red gleam of a stunner. Also the familiar taste of victory within his eyes.

But the Shield which had allowed him entrance into the cloud was also his doom, as it had revealed his presence to one trained in the Sense.

Diop lunged at Gunther with a speed more proper of a snake than a human. And his punch on Gunther's guts was one to be felt from afar. It was incredible; to see how easy his fist pierced through the Shield, and to see how such a simple hit seemed to pull all the air from Gunther's lungs.

It wasn't just a simple punch, Ron knew. In fact, he'd seen it before, now that he thought about the attack. It was how Shawn beat Nott into unconsciousness in their duel at Hogsmeade!

The German boy could but fold himself into a ball as he took a few steps back, a far stronger Shield granting him a moment of recovery. "What… What a barbaric way to fight," he managed to grunt with no little effort. Still he straightened his back after a bit, and there he spat a mix of blood and spit into the ground.

"Oh, but I am barbarian," Diop said, unfaced by the taunt. "A savage from birth. It is what I am, indeed. And I'm very proud of it. Just as you are proud to be a rich aristocrat. And I do wonder, who's tougher?"

They both took to heart the task of proving so.

And their duel always followed the same rhythm. Gunther tried, fruitlessly, to put distance between them, whereas Diop… His style was that of a predator; a kind of fighting Ron had never seen before. For he refused to use a single regular spell, and instead solely made use of Transfiguration.

On himself.

His legs allowed him to move with a speed and agility improper of a man, more akin to that of a rabbit. His strength, it was that of a bear. Just as his hands, in which, in just a blink, fingers and nails were replaced by paws and claws. They were quick changes, Ron noticed; quick to come and quick to go. So brief one would miss them were they to blink. But he certainly made the best of his imperfect art.

Two times Diop came to almost defeat Gunther. Two times, two bleeding wounds he received; one on his thigh, another on his good arm.

And where frustration had reigned, desperation appeared. And there was nothing as dangerous as a desperate man. "Baubillius!" Gunther chanted aloud. A lighting bolt was born from his wand, letting itself know with a bright flash and the scent of ozone.

And at last did Diop use a spell.

Hands folded into a triangle before him, the lighting bolt seemed to be sucked into them; turned into frenzied sparks his hands carried. "Be witness to a perfected version of your spell. That in which magic and man become one…" He raised his hands into the air, and shouted: "Baubillius!"

A furious storm was set upon Gunther. It was a rain of lighting bolts, and for a while he seemed to withstand the assault under the strongest Shield Ron had ever seen. Then he thought better and… Apparated away! It was a short distance that he jumped, but enough to escape the mighty spell unleashed upon him.

But there, afar from the flashing bolts, was where the predator prowled. And he felled his rival with a first instead of a claw. A single punch into the guts; that's all it took for Diop to take his opponent down.

Again, it was not a simple punch; and this time Ron was witness to it through the Sense. For a large amount of raw magic had been focused into Diop's left fist. To use magic as a reinforcement for the body, it was an idea he'd never considered. It was also a hard deed to accomplish, he supposed, given the awed gasps from crowd and challengers alike.

So, a new challenger made its way into the top four. "Ousmane Diop wins the duel by technical knock-out!"

Diop didn't even spare a glance to the crowd as they chanted and clapped to his performance. Just as he didn't acknowledge any of the other challengers, whose faces now showed how uncertain of their odds were. Such a duel had meant more than a simple victory. It had been, too, a declaration of prowess and skill.

Ron, however… All he could really think about was how inferior a wizard he was when compared to the big fishes of the event. It didn't trouble him to think so, let it be said. This was the elite, and he was here to learn as much as he could from them. Because of that, a grin was drawn in his face. And such a gesture made Diop to glance at him, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

There was a new pause as the officials fixed the pit. And at last did Benji come back. With a limp and arms covered in bandages, but without a pained expression on his face.

"You okay?" Ron greeted the boy as he took a seat next to him.

"Well, I'm alive!" Benji snorted. "Way more exhausted than in pain, actually. The Medi-Wizards said that no wound was deep enough to be worrisome. That I did an excellent job on the defence. Also, there was a kind official who sewed my uniform back to life." He grimaced, then, "But that girl… She's really bad, from what little I could hear before they moved her into a hospital. I hope nothing lasting happens to her."

"That spell she used on you, it was horrific," Ron observed. "Proper of a horror tale, more so given the way you were unable to escape for much you tried."

Benji gave him a silent nod as he flexed his left arm, that of his wand, as if checking it still worked. "Aren't you nervous?" he suddenly asked. "To go against Nott, I mean. You once told me that he beat you in like… twenty out of the twenty duels you held? I'd be nervous, that I know."

"That was a long time ago," Ron replied. "I've changed a lot since then, for the better or the worse. I actually think this one will be the easiest duel of the tournament so far." It wasn't arrogance. Ron truly believed so. "I know him. And he thinks he knows me. It won't be a spell that will defeat him, but a certain realisation."

Benji's brow rose in search of an answer to satiate his curiosity. Yet Ron remained silent as the next duel was about to begin now that the reparations were done.

"Time to see another monster in action."

Alexander Shawn leaned forward as Ume Sang-hyeok took a defensive stance, and when the referee bid them start with a loud whistle, none of them moved a finger. It was what Ron would have done, were he to duel the Korean girl. She excelled at defence, so to put her in the offence was a good move. And the way Shawn swaggered around, serving his body on a silver plate…

Ume took the lead, then.

Her technique was even more polished than before as she linked spell after spell. Yet none of them got to grace Shawn, who had yet to take a step. Why would he, when the spells just seemed to banish as they were about to touch him? He'd already used this technique of his against Harry, back when they duelled at Hogsmeade. But still Ron was unable to understand it.

"Confringo!"

Ume aimed her spell at the ground in between them; a tactic Ron and Gunther had also used that day. And when that part of the pit exploded into countless fragments, a thick cloud of smoke going in between the duellists, she resumed his onslaught.

Just then did Shawn move, ploughing through the smoke cloud in a wingless fly. He rocketed toward Ume, who did not allow surprise to take hold of her body. Instead, with her free hand, she casted that bubble-like Shield of hers and sent it at the boy. For a moment Ron thought it would also banish as every other spell had done before. Yet it did close around Shawn.

"Look at that!" a spectator exclaimed from behind.

Ron's eyes rose up, and there he discovered a layer of debris several metres above the pit; floating motionlessly as it awaited command. Ume then closed her hand and slammed it down. The debris gathered, little rocks and dust pulling from one another, to form a great boulder. And when it rocketed down, about to collide with the bubble-like Shield, a dent was opened on its upper layer.

Breaths were held as people were witness to the impact. Save that it never came to happen.

All there was around Shawn bursted suddenly, Shield and boulder included. He came to stand in a large hole on the pit; a perfect circle. And he dared to smile as he scratched his face with a finger.

"That was close!" he smirked. "So you figured out the nature of my defence and thought of a way to counter it. You are good, Ume Sang-hyeok." He then crouched down, and for a moment gave the impression of a feline predator about to fall upon its prey. "But the warm-up is over, I'm afraid. Let's test the so-called best defence of our generation!"

Bright flames embraced him, turning the boy into a human torch. And he rocketed forward as a fire arrow himself. Ume could but take shelter under her Shield, just in time to be surrounded by the flames. The duel stilled for a few seconds, all eyes taking in the way the fire tried to melt down the Shield.

And then Shawn put an end to them, jumping away. "I didn't expect it to be so tough!"

Ume emerged from the flames too, still under the translucent wall her Shield was. With a flick of her wand, she transfigured what little was left of the fire into water spears which danced around her.

"So, an affinity to water, eh?" Shawn said thoughtfully. "Just the opposite to mine."

His constant yapping and blabbing finally reached Ume. "Shut up and fight! Do not disrespect me!"

The spears rained upon Shawn, who limited himself to dodge them. And he did so with unparalleled style, Ron could but admit. He thought of those tales both Charlie and Bill used to tell him as a child, of wizards and witches who were so able with magic they could fly.

What Shawn did was not flying, but something akin. He glided through the spears and spells alike, doing feints and sharp turns whenever he felt like it. It reminded Ron of Gerd and that time she fought against Herpo and his Basilisks. Shawn became a shadow, untouchable and unreachable. And when he felt it was time to end her endless offence, he did so with a single spell.

Two of his fingers rose to trace a circle above his head, "Finite!"

To the sight, all one would see was the way the water spears lost their shape and rained around Shawn as countless waterfalls. But to the Sense, it had been against a veil of magic they had clashed, losing their shape upon contact.

"Simplicity is best!" he grinned. "I thought you were one to share this!"

And Ume, face contorted in annoyance and frustration, went on the offence with an anger very improper of her. The water around Shawn, so still and calm, swirled furiously until it became a tornado. It closed around his prey, thinning and thinning until it became a perfect sphere of torrential waves.

Just for it to become nothing.

"Well, I certainly didn't predict that attack!"

There was no mock in his words, nor any desire to humiliate his opponent. But words and gestures, they had a lot of power. And these, said so casually despite the tension of the battle, inflicted more damage upon Ume Sang-hyeok than any spell could have. Proof of such a thing dwelled in the way her wand seemed to subtly tremble in her ever-firm grip.

And it would get way worse.

Shawn turned serious out of the blue; and when his hands swirled around, columns of fire were born. Flames anew, just to be transfigured into spears of water then. Such demonstration drew horror and awe in Ume's face, who had to see how her technique was copied so easily.

So shocked she was that no Shield arose to shelter her when the spears fell upon her. Fortunately, Shawn's technique came with a flaw, as the spears turned into soft water before making contact. Therefore all damage she suffered was the added weight of her damped robes.

"I guess I overreached," Shawn said, who seemed to not understand even the likes of he could fail from time to time.

Ume shook her head, snapping back into her usual self; so serious and proud. Then, to the crowd's surprise and horror, stored her wand back into her robes.

"I refuse to fight against someone who does not take a fight seriously," she announced. "I will surrender, as I stand no chance against you. But to see such talent so wasted into one to insult the noblest art… It greatly pains me. You were blessed with unparalleled talent, Alexander Shawn, and it made you oblivious to all else."

There was silence in the colosseum, much to everyone's surprise. It seemed the crowd had found a new interest in their duel of words. A duel from which Shawn didn't shrink away.

"Talent, you say?" he replied with a sour laugh. "Yes, I am incredibly talented. Genius, wonderkid; such are the words people have used to refer to me. Always been told so, since I have a memory. But you think talent is all I know? Please. Don't you ever dare to insult me like that."

His gaze hardened, to a point in which his azure eyes seemed to be made of frosted fire. "Do you even imagine how much time I've spent on my training? How many times have I bleed? How many bones have I broken? How many hours, days and weeks have I spent in solitude? The tears I shed? The people who walked away from me, calling me a freak? The times I failed and failed and failed, just to not give up? I am incredibly talented, indeed. And I am what I am today because I nurtured it with endless effort and work."

They held a duel with their eyes, yet a brief one.

"I'm deeply sorry, if so," Ume Sang-hyeok said, giving her words a deep bow with her head. "I should not have said that about you. I take it back." She drew out her wand, then. "Allow me to lose with what little honour there is left in me. And allow me to make you a promise: next time we meet in the arena, I will be strong enough to look at you eye to eye."

Shawn gave her a curt nod. "Let it be your best against my best, then."

Bright flames of navy-blue shade swirled around him, just as currents of water did around Ume. It remained so for a few seconds, then lunged forward in search of one another. Their clash resulted in a cloud of steam so thick and so large it covered the whole pit.

But then a shadow came out flying. All the breaths were held as they took in the figure of Ume Sang-hyeok. She fell down out of the arena, unconscious, yet her fall was suddenly slowed down, to a point in which she seemed to float. It was then when Shawn stepped out of the steam cloud, too. His hand was pointed at Ume as he dropped her down with a kindness never before seen in him.

Even the referee was far too stunned to announce the victor of the duel. And when he did, his words barely reached Ron. Who, despite thinking of this new duel a hopeless deed, all he could feel was excitement toward such a challenge.

And Gerd, ever the sensible one in their duo, felt the need to remind him of a certain detail. "Do not think so ahead of time. There is still one stair to climb, that which Theodore Nott represents. And remember: one step at a time, always."

It took little time for the arena to be ready once more.

Ron stood up and stretched his body. He felt Nott's eyes upon him, and felt how the boy also bolted up, as if he considered this to be a first defeat. "I know. But Nott is done. He has defeated me twenty times already, but this one… I'll win the one duel which really matters."

Nott and Ron came face to face at the centre of the pit, under the wary eyes of the tall referee.

Nott was slightly taller than him, and he certainly made use of that fact, trying to eye him from above in order to taunt the redhead. But was also much thinner, though Ron didn't make a show of his bulkier complexion. Instead he set his blue eyes on Nott's green. And he showed him no emotion at all. A cold mask, his face was.

His lack of fear and nerves made Nott frown, and he broke the silent duel by walking away first. Ron, knowing he'd won the first assault, did the same.

Again time seemed to still as Gerd granted him the Anticipation. "I see that you already have a plan for this duel," she hummed. "Very well. I will stand aside, then. Make that boy understand you are not someone to treat lightly anymore."

Unlike today's first duel, there were many Futures that Nott considered. In none of them he did think of a defensive approach. No, his plan was to deal with Ron as fast as possible, who was just a small pebble in the way to his revenge against Shawn. And that would become his downfall.

The whistle announced the start of their duel.

A furious rain of spells came at Ron. Nott's game was far better than he'd anticipated, but to compare it with the training drills he'd endured in Nurgon under Jakob's prowess… It was to compare the edge of a fine sword to that of a blunt knife. Dodge after dodge; Shield after Shield; parry after parry. Nott's aura had run so out of control, the boy so lost in the frenzy of battle, that it almost whispered every spell into Ron's ear before it was casted.

Ron became an untouchable shadow. And he made it look so effortless in purpose, risking himself needlessly, to build the ugly truth that would defeat his rival.

And then he threw the first stone, as his Shield withstood a blazing current of fire. "How the tables have turned!" Such a comment created a dent in Nott's focus, making him almost miss his step. But he regained control just in time, thus the assault continued. "It was you who toyed with me a few years ago. Now it's the other way around."

"Shut up!" Nott growled furiously.

A certain Future rose above all else, then, casting all others into the shadows.

The weedy boy took his hand up to his face, a conjured flame resting on it. Then he blew into his hand, and an arrow of fire was born. It rocketed toward Ron so fast his eyes could barely sight it.

But his arms rose even faster, "Aguamenti!" and in between his wand and his hand was born a little wall of water. Which captured the arrow and turned it into a hissing cloud of steam.

Shock was quick to appear in Nott's face, and not without a reason. To anyone else, this spell of his would have been one too fast for them to react. But to Ron, whose eyes could see into the Future, it was proven useless.

"And there goes one of your secret cards!" he observed, giving a touch of boredom to his voice. "Useless against me, a filthy blood-traitor. And you thought this could work against Shawn? Man, what a waste!"

Alas, the damage caused by his words was far greater than that his wand might cause.

Nott's focus was torn apart by the stormy rage he felt. And he became a witless puppet, which all he knew was to attack and attack. And though his spells did win a bit of power, fueled by his violent emotions, they did lose a great deal of accuracy.

"Again and again and again!" the redhead exclaimed. He too continued his verbal onslaught "Can't you see your blatant mistakes? Or is it, by chance, my job to point them out?"

Yet Nott decided to give his strategy a turn when it became obvious that Ron's defence was above his expectations. Using a trick he'd already tried on Ron long ago, Nott became invisible. And there was peace within the pit, at last.

Unfortunately for him, Nott had no idea that Ron had found a great master in Professor Gourcuff, who had introduced such a spell to him and many more.

"Such a poor spell won't work on me!" It was quite easy to track Nott down, given how loud his aura screamed; as if light amidst deep darkness. Ron threw a timid stunner with a simple purpose, that of showing Nott how useless his plan was. It was dodged, of course. But then came others, a rain of them; solely casted to plant the seed of desperation within his long time rival.

And finally he halted.

Nott appeared at the end of the pit, breath so ragged his chest seemed about to explode. His face was damped with sweat, too. But it was his eyes that spoke louder of his state. There was utter disbelief in them.

"I will end you," Nott managed to gasp. "To think a traitor would dare to speak with so much arrogance to a wizard of the Blood… I will punish such audacity!"

There was a burst in his aura, that along with the one and only Future he considered, urged Ron to prepare himself. It was then when Nott raised his wand into the air. And there was blood in his hand. "Suffer, you traitor!" His blood spiralled up his wand, and bolts of red fire spurted from its tip as if it was a volcano in eruption, going up and up into the air.

Just to descend as a deathly rain.

"Do not raise a Shield!" Gerd hissed. But this time her advice was not needed.

Ron saw in Nott's mighty spell a mistake he had committed countless times before. He was so moved by anger and frustration, he'd poured so much of them into his spell, that it was born with a great flaw. That in which sheer power ate every other aspect of a spell. So the bolts fell down in a wide arc around Ron, turning into ashes before him; consumed by the very magic which fueled it.

It was a magnificent spell, one which would have caused anyone a lot of trouble if casted with a cold mind. But such had not been the case. Nott had been defeated by his own self, even if he had yet to notice it.

Ron was even allowed to step through them, the dying sparks of red fire making it feel as if walking through a furnace. "Where's all that might your blood granted you, Nott?" he asked. "What a service you are doing to the Blood! Oh, to think your lord father is watching such a sorry excuse of a duel! Come on, hit me with your best. As I refuse to believe such a flawed spell was your brightest gem."

That did it.

There was a moment of confusion and fear. Then a murderous shadow appeared in his green eyes yet again. And where Ron's past self would have died of fear, his present self stared right into Nott's eyes, calling for a silent challenge.

It was a wonder Nott could not hear the way his aura seemed to scream in agony, so punished by the frenzied rhythm of battle it had been obliged to keep up. But he did not, so there was shock in his eyes when a weak Confringo stormed out of his wand, instead of the mighty curse he'd thought of.

Ron just punched it into sparks.

"N-No…" Nott mused, taking a few steps back. "This cannot… This cannot be!" He fell down on his butt, his wand about to slip from his fingers.

Ron came to stand in front of him, glancing down at his rival with contempt in his eyes. "You never saw a real adversary in me, did you? Just a moving target for you to practise your game. Because I, a poor and filthy traitor to the Blood, a bloody Weasley, could not be regarded seriously. And no matter how much I did change before your eyes, how skilled I became, such an idea of me was the only one you ever contemplated. So you just refused to believe I could pose any danger to your ambitions, for much I closed the distance between us in each duel we held. For a Weasley is nothing to a Nott, right? But today you woke up to the ugly truth that I had long surpassed you."

Nott could but open and close his mouth, at a loss for words, as Ron's wand pointed at his forehead. "I would have pitied you, were you a good person. But you are utter vermin. Always were and always will. And I'm no longer scared of you to keep my opinion unspoken. Now, do enjoy this defeat."

There was a red flash which announced Nott's defeat, followed by his unconscious body falling down.

And silence reigned for a while. Just to be torn apart by the loud claps and shouts in his name, which totally drowned the referee's announcement. Ron could but close his eyes and take delight in the attention he was given. The merriment a part of him felt could not be put into words. He felt so important, so acclaimed and loved. This was a feat none of his brothers had yet achieved. A dream come true, truly.

And because of that, he opened his eyes to the cold reality and discarded all those emotions. Last time he'd fallen prey to such childish dreams and ambitions, he'd become a prey to Tom and his shadowy fingers. Ronald Weasley was not to become a hero nor a champion. He had already proven he was not worthy of such adjectives. He was here to become stronger, nor to be loved.

"Oh, do not think so low of yourself, my dear Ronald!" Gerd lamented, trying to soothe his anguish.

Except there was none to soothe.

And when his eyes rose into the grandstands just to fall upon Daphne's, who could but stare at him as if he was a person she did not know instead of a long time friend, Ron knew he had finally got past his old self's thinkings and doings.

And that saddened and elated him in equal measure.

"I am what I am, my dear Gerd," he mused, giving her the hint of a mirthless smile. "We are what we are, you and me. It was about damn time that I accepted it, just as you did so long ago."

Then he walked away from Nott, who had yet to wake up. And there, amidst all that sea of cheers and claps, a pair of silent eyes fell upon him. Ron need not turn around to know whose gaze it was.

Tomorrow would be the day in which to really test his strength, as Alexander Shawn also waited impatiently.