Daphne wiped the sweat from her forehead, chest rising and falling as she struggled to catch her breath. Across the dimly lit training room, Hadrian stood relaxed, his wand twirling idly between his fingers, a smirk playing at his lips.

"What did I say about keeping up with me?" he teased, the glint in his eyes more challenging than mocking.

Before she could retort, he flicked his wand. "Stupefy!"

Daphne barely ducked in time, the spell whizzing past her ear, leaving a trail of warmth against her skin. She cursed under her breath. It had been a week since he had agreed to help train her, and in that time, she had learned more than she had bargained for. He was faster than she could process, more powerful than she had already anticipated, and above all, he was a complete and utter git when he wanted to be.

"We've been going at this for an hour, Hadrian!" she snapped, dodging another flash of red light. "When do I get a break?"

"When you fight back," he replied smoothly, amusement dancing in his voice. His wand moved again—this time, she wasn't fast enough.

"Flipendo!"

The force of the jinx sent her flying backward, flipping through the air in a near-perfect triple backflip before she crashed onto her back with a groan. Pain shot up her spine, but frustration burned even hotter. She grit her teeth and pushed herself up, her wand trembling in her grip.

Hadrian saw the look in her eyes—the shift from irritation to something much sharper. He debated disarming her now, but a part of him wondered if he could make a lesson out of this.

Daphne's wand snapped up.

"Stupefy!"

The red jet of light tore through the air, aimed directly for his chest. He didn't even bother raising his wand—he simply tilted his head, and the spell missed him by inches, crashing into the far wall.

"Abire!"

This time, an orange streak shot toward him. He let it get closer before sidestepping, moving like he had all the time in the world.

Daphne growled under her breath, gripping her wand tighter.

"Confringo!"

The second she spoke the incantation, Hadrian's eyes flashed. That spell—she wasn't ready for that. His wand moved before she could finish, and with a simple flick, her wand flew from her grasp and landed neatly in his waiting hand.

He sighed, already preparing to lecture her about control, but then he saw it—her eyes glistening, her lower lip trembling ever so slightly.

His expression softened. He had noticed her frustration growing over the past week, simmering beneath the surface with every duel they had. Daphne was proud—he had known that from the moment they met. Losing so often, especially to someone who seemed so effortlessly skilled, was cutting into her deeper than he realized.

"Daphne—" He took a step forward, but she was already speaking, voice thick with emotion.

"What's wrong?" she repeated bitterly. "I'll tell you what's wrong! You've been dragging me to this secret little room to 'train' me, only to humiliate me—again and again! Do you—do you find it funny?" Her voice cracked, and she blinked rapidly, but the tears still slipped through. "That I'm not as good as you? That I'm pathetic? Is that why you're doing this? To stroke your own ego?"

Hadrian didn't think. He simply moved.

Before she could protest, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a firm embrace.

Daphne stiffened at first, fists clenching against his chest, but the fight in her drained quickly. She buried her face against his shoulder, shaking as quiet sobs escaped her.

Hadrian stood still, holding her as she trembled. This—this was not something he was trained for. He could duel, he could manipulate, he could play people like pieces on a chessboard. But this?

Tentatively, he raised a hand and began rubbing slow, careful circles on her back. He didn't say anything at first, just let her take what she needed.

When her breathing slowed, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"You're not pathetic." His words were steady, certain. "You're more brilliant than most adult witches, and you're only twelve years old."

Daphne sniffled against his shoulder. "Then why—" her voice wavered, but she swallowed and tried again. "Then why are you trying to embarrass me?"

Hadrian exhaled quietly, tightening his hold on her just slightly before speaking.

"I'm not." His voice was softer now, steady but edged with something thoughtful. "I push you because I know you can be better. Because I know you want to be better."

Daphne didn't answer right away. She stayed against him, her breaths uneven, but the tension in her body slowly eased.

He continued, voice low but firm, speaking directly into her ear. "You're not weak, Daphne. You wouldn't be here if you were. Do you think I'd waste my time on someone who had no potential?" He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes, his grip still firm on her arms. "You're frustrated because you care. Because you want this. And that's the only reason you'll win in the end."

She swallowed hard, blinking away the last of her tears. "But I keep losing."

Hadrian's lips twitched. "And what have you learned from it?"

Daphne scowled at him, but there was no real heat behind it. Her fingers curled at her sides. "That you're a smug git?"

He let out a short chuckle. "Besides that."

She hesitated, then glanced down at her wand, still in his hand. Slowly, she reached for it, and Hadrian let her take it back. Her grip was firmer now, her hands no longer shaking.

Daphne inhaled deeply. "I learned that I hesitate. That I get too caught up in keeping up with you instead of focusing on my own spells."

Hadrian nodded, pleased. "And what are you going to do about it?"

She looked at him, her expression no longer frustrated but determined. "I'm going to stop hesitating."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips. "Good."

Daphne stepped back, rolling her shoulders, looking more like herself again. "But next time, I get to throw you across the room."

Hadrian chuckled again, arching a brow. "I'd like to see you try."

"Oh, I will." She wiped her eyes quickly, regaining her composure. "And when I do, you can be the one sulking on the floor."

Hadrian smirked, raising his wand in silent invitation. "Then let's see if you've learned anything yet."

Daphne narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening around her wand as she stepped into position.

This time, when she attacked, she didn't hesitate.*

Hadrian made his way through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts, the dim torchlight casting long shadows against the stone walls. His mind lingered on his earlier training session with Daphne—her frustration, her determination, and the way she had nearly broken down. He would need to adjust his approach with her.

As he turned a corner near the library, he noticed someone waiting ahead. He had sensed her before he saw her—the uneven breathing, the subtle shifting of feet against stone.

Hermione Granger.

She stood just outside the library doors, fingers twisting in the hem of her robe. At first glance, she looked as composed as ever, but Hadrian could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she hesitated before stepping forward.

"H-Hadrian," she greeted, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain.

Hadrian arched a brow but stopped. "Granger."

She exhaled sharply. "I—uh—was hoping to talk to you."

He didn't respond, only watching her with that unnerving patience of his.

Hermione hesitated, then took a steadying breath. "I wanted to apologize."

Hadrian's expression remained unreadable, though inwardly, he was intrigued. "For what?"

"For being rude to you on the train," she admitted. "I—I wasn't exactly polite when we first met. And that's been bothering me."

Hadrian tilted his head, studying her. He remembered their first meeting well—how she had been brash, blunt, and far too eager to prove herself. She hadn't dismissed him outright, but she had been sharp, quick to challenge, and faster to assume.

"I wasn't trying to be mean," Hermione continued, as if she needed to clarify. "It's just… I don't always think before I speak, especially when I'm nervous. And I can be—" She frowned slightly. "A bit much, sometimes."

Hadrian let the silence stretch between them before finally speaking. "I wasn't offended."

Hermione blinked. "You weren't?"

Hadrian smirked faintly. "No."

"Oh." She looked down briefly, then squared her shoulders. "Well… I still wanted to apologize. Because I was rude, and I shouldn't have been. So—" She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze directly. "I'm sorry."

He watched her for a moment longer before nodding. "Apology accepted."

Hermione exhaled, as if relieved. "Good." She hesitated, then added, "I—uh—I also wanted to say… thank you."

Hadrian raised a brow.

"For the troll," she clarified. "You didn't have to help, but you did. And I'm really, really grateful."

Hadrian simply regarded her for a moment before replying, "You would have died."

Hermione swallowed. "I know."

Silence stretched between them again. The torches flickered, their golden light dancing over her features.

She shifted slightly, as if debating whether to say more. Then, after a beat, she nodded to herself. "Well… I should get back to my dorm."

Hadrian gave a slight tilt of his head. "Goodnight, Granger."

Hermione hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before giving him a small, genuine smile. "Goodnight, Hadrian."

She turned and disappeared into the library, leaving Hadrian standing in the corridor, thoughtful.

Hadrian remained where he stood, watching the space where Hermione had just disappeared. His expression was unreadable, his thoughts shifting like dark clouds behind his silver-green eyes.

Granger…

She was intelligent—far more so than most of their peers. That much was undeniable. She had shown remarkable aptitude for magic, and her thirst for knowledge was unrelenting. But what made her truly interesting was her sense of morality. It was rigid. Absolute. And yet, she had come to him, apologized, and offered gratitude.

That suggested something crucial—Hermione Granger could change.

But change into what?

His mind flickered to Daphne.

Daphne was different. She didn't need to be shaped, only guided. She already saw the world for what it was—an intricate game of power, legacy, and influence. She understood control, understood the necessity of maneuvering within shadows. Letting her closer had been easy, even natural. She was learning, adapting, and most importantly—she was choosing to stand beside him.

But Hermione… Hermione would be far more delicate.

She was ruled by logic and ideals, but she had yet to face the complexities of true power. Could she stomach the gray shades of the world? Could she look past the carefully constructed illusions of right and wrong?

Daphne had. But Daphne had never needed her beliefs to be broken—only reinforced.

Hermione, however, would need to be rebuilt.

She still trusted the system, respected rules, and believed in authority. Even if she occasionally bent the rules, she still believed they existed for a reason. That made her a risk. If she ever sensed that his goals did not align with what she deemed right, she would turn against him.

Unlike Daphne, who was drawn to his power, Hermione was drawn to his mind. She was fascinated by him—not as a leader, but as a puzzle she couldn't quite solve. That made her useful in a different way.

Hadrian began walking again, slow and deliberate steps echoing down the empty corridor.

Hermione would take effort. Careful effort. He would have to make her believe that what he offered wasn't manipulation, but revelation. That the world was not so simple, that there were forces beyond the Ministry's laws and Hogwarts' rules. If done correctly, she wouldn't even realize she was changing.

And if she ever did?

Hadrian smirked.

Then I'll just have to make sure she never questions it.

Letting Daphne in had been a choice. Letting Hermione in would be an investment. One that, if handled properly, would pay dividends.

And if she ever became too much of a risk?

Well.

Hadrian had never been the sentimental type.

With that final thought, he turned down a different corridor, his mind already shifting to the next move in the ever-growing game around him.

The moment Hadrian stepped into the Ravenclaw common room with Daphne at his side, he immediately sensed the tension. The usually quiet, studious atmosphere was disrupted by a small gathering near the hearth, where the flickering blue flames of the enchanted fire cast sharp shadows across the faces of those present.

At the center of the disturbance stood a tall, wiry fifth-year—Ambrose Flint. Hadrian recognized the surname; the Flints were an old pureblood family, though not particularly known for their intelligence. Ambrose, however, had carved himself a niche in Ravenclaw by being sharp-tongued and merciless in his pursuit of order—one of those who valued discipline over fairness.

And right now, his focus was on Edwin Summers, a nervous first-year who barely reached his chest.

"Ravenclaw is a House of intellect, discipline, and respect," Ambrose drawled, lazily twirling his wand between his fingers. "And yet, we seem to have some who think that just because they have a bit of talent, they don't have to follow the rules."

Summers swallowed hard. "I—I wasn't breaking any rules," he stammered.

Ambrose scoffed, shaking his head. "Speaking back to a fifth-year? That's strike one. You'd be wise not to test my patience."

Hadrian's gaze darkened slightly, but his lips remained curled in an unreadable smirk. Beside him, Daphne crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed by the display.

"Is that how we handle things in Ravenclaw now?" Hadrian's voice cut through the murmurs of the watching students.

Ambrose turned, his expression shifting as he registered Hadrian. His posture straightened slightly, but his confidence didn't waver. "Ah, the first-year prodigy speaks," he said smoothly. "Shouldn't you be off reading some dusty tome, Potter?"

Hadrian stepped forward, completely unfazed. "I was actually hoping to enjoy a quiet evening, but instead, I find myself witnessing a fifth-year bullying a first-year." His voice remained calm, but there was an edge to it—one that made the watching students shift uncomfortably.

Ambrose narrowed his eyes. "This isn't bullying. It's discipline. You'd do well to learn the difference."

Hadrian tilted his head, giving Ambrose a look as though he were studying something amusing yet insignificant. "Discipline?" he echoed. "I wasn't aware that discipline involved using intimidation tactics on someone who can't fight back." His voice remained soft, but the underlying mockery was unmistakable.

Summers looked between them, eyes wide with uncertainty. Daphne, silent but watching keenly, leaned slightly toward Hadrian. "He's enjoying this," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

Hadrian hummed in agreement. "Indeed."

Ambrose seemed to sense the shift in the room. The other students, even some of the younger ones who had been watching quietly, were now staring at him with expressions ranging from curiosity to disapproval. His grip on his wand tightened before he forced himself to relax.

"You should learn your place, Potter," Ambrose finally said, his voice lower, more controlled. "First-years don't dictate how things are done."

Hadrian's smirk didn't falter. "Neither do fifth-years who mistake their seniority for a throne."

A few students let out quiet murmurs at that, and Ambrose's expression darkened. But he was smart enough to recognize when the tides were turning. Without another word, he flicked his wand back into his robes and turned on his heel, walking away with measured steps.

The moment he was gone, Summers let out a breath he had been holding, looking up at Hadrian with a mixture of relief and awe. "Th-thank you," he stammered.

Hadrian barely spared him a glance before turning away. "Don't thank me. Just remember this moment."

Daphne gave him a knowing look as they walked toward their usual spot. "That was quite the performance."

Hadrian merely smirked. "Everything is a performance, Daphne."

She hummed thoughtfully but said nothing more.

As Hadrian sat down, his mind was already working, calculating the effect of this little confrontation. He had made an impression—on Summers, on the watching students, and most importantly, on Ambrose. The older Ravenclaws would either start to respect him… or see him as a threat.

Either way, it was exactly what he wanted.

Hermione sat stiffly in the high-backed chair before Dumbledore's desk, hands folded in her lap. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room, illuminating the faint twinkle in the headmaster's blue eyes. He watched her with patient curiosity, waiting for her to speak.

"I did as you asked, Professor," Hermione said, keeping her voice steady. "I approached Hadrian Potter. I apologized for being rude on the train, and he… he was surprisingly understanding."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers, nodding. "And what did you observe?"

Hermione hesitated, searching for the right words. "He's… different from how people talk about him. He's polite, but there's something distant about him. Calculated, almost. Like he's always thinking five steps ahead." She exhaled slowly. "It's a little unnerving."

Dumbledore smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hadrian has endured much in his short life. His perspective on the world is naturally… unique."

Hermione bit her lip. "He's powerful. More than I expected. And he doesn't seem interested in making friends the normal way."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, considering her words. "And yet, he allowed you close. That is progress."

She frowned slightly. "Professor, may I ask… why me? Why do you want me to get close to him?"

Dumbledore's expression was unreadable, though his voice remained warm. "Because you are brilliant, Miss Granger. And because Hadrian, for all his intelligence, needs guidance." His gaze softened. "A mind as sharp as his requires balance. I believe you may provide that."

Hermione nodded slowly, but something about his words left a nagging doubt in the back of her mind.

Dumbledore's smile returned, more genuine this time. "Keep observing, Hermione. Continue building that bridge. In time, you will understand why this is so important."

The Room of Requirement had once again transformed, this time into a wide, open space with high, vaulted ceilings. The stone floor was smooth and polished, the air calm with the faint hum of magic. It was the perfect environment for a focused training session—one that had Daphne feeling more prepared than she had in weeks.

She stood in the center of the room, her wand in hand, facing Hadrian. His usual intense, almost cold demeanor had softened today, and Daphne couldn't help but notice the difference.

"Alright, Daphne," Hadrian said, his voice surprisingly gentle. He was standing a few paces away, his expression expectant, but lacking the edge he often carried. "Let's keep it simple today."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Simple?" she echoed, glancing at him curiously.

"Yes," Hadrian replied with a faint smile. "You've been pushing yourself hard lately, and that's good, but sometimes you need to slow down. Focus on control, not speed."

Daphne nodded slowly. She had been frustrated by her progress, always feeling like she was lagging behind his seemingly effortless abilities, but the last few weeks of training had started to reveal something new to her—something that had shifted in the way Hadrian taught.

She took a deep breath, shifting into a more relaxed stance. "Alright. Control."

Hadrian's smile grew slightly. "Exactly. Start with Lumos. Simple light charm. Don't think too much about the spell itself—just feel it, focus on the magic."

Daphne closed her eyes for a moment, centering herself. She focused on the calmness Hadrian was showing today, and with that, the magic seemed to come easier. She pointed her wand, and a soft light appeared at the tip, glowing steadily.

"Good," Hadrian said, his tone warm but not over the top. "Now, don't just focus on the spell. Pay attention to how it feels in your chest, in your hands. Magic isn't just an action—it's a flow."

Daphne nodded, her eyes opening as she steadied the light. She felt the familiar thrum of power in her chest, the warmth of magic pulsing through her veins. She guided it slowly, holding the light steady. There was something about this approach—something less frantic—that made her feel more connected to the magic.

"Now, increase the intensity. Lumos Maxima," Hadrian instructed, his voice still calm, guiding but not commanding.

Daphne inhaled sharply and focused, feeling the familiar stir of energy building within her. She wasn't rushing this time, wasn't trying to force it like she had in the past. Instead, she let the spell flow naturally, and with a sharp flick of her wrist, a blinding light erupted from her wand, filling the room.

She held it steady, her breath shallow as she adjusted the flow of magic. The room was bright enough that she had to squint, but she felt in control this time. The light was strong, but it didn't overwhelm her. She could feel the magic, like a pulse, steady and flowing, under her command.

When she let the light fade, she exhaled slowly, feeling a sense of accomplishment. She hadn't felt like this in weeks—like she had actually gained ground.

"Well done," Hadrian said, his approval quiet but clear in his expression. He stepped closer to her, his gaze lingering on her wand. "You didn't rush, and you kept your focus. That's progress, Daphne."

Daphne couldn't stop the small smile that spread across her face. It was simple, but it was genuine. "Thanks. I feel… different this time. Less frantic."

Hadrian gave her a small, approving nod. "That's the key. Magic flows best when you don't force it. You've learned that today."

She nodded, glancing up at him. "I've always been used to rushing through things. Guess I just needed to stop and take a breath."

"Exactly," he agreed, his voice still warm but firm. "And that's why you're improving. You've got the talent, Daphne. You just need to trust yourself—and trust the magic."

The compliment wasn't the same sharp praise he usually gave her, but this felt more sincere. Daphne smiled to herself, feeling lighter than she had in a long time.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said softly, her gaze softening as she met his eyes. "Thanks, Hadrian. For the different approach today."

He returned her smile, though it was brief, and nodded. "You've earned it."

The two of them stood there for a moment, the silence comfortable. Daphne wasn't sure what had shifted exactly, but she was starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, this was the approach she needed. Calm, focused, controlled. Not just with magic, but with everything.

The familiar scent of parchment and ink filled the air as Hadrian walked into Charms class, his steps light but purposeful. The classroom was buzzing with the quiet hum of students settling into their seats, and the soft tapping of quills against parchment as people wrote down their notes. Daphne was already sitting at their usual spot near the middle, her back straight, her usual look of concentration on her face. As Hadrian slid into the seat next to her, their shoulders brushed briefly—something that had become almost routine at this point.

Before he could say anything, Hermione Granger entered the classroom. She hesitated for a moment, glancing around before her eyes landed on Hadrian and Daphne. There was a brief pause before she started walking toward them, her hand slightly raised as if unsure whether to interrupt their quiet conversation. Hadrian's gaze flickered to her, an eyebrow raising just slightly, but he said nothing as she came closer.

"Um... Hi," Hermione said, her voice quiet but audible enough for the two of them. She paused at the edge of the desk, glancing between Hadrian and Daphne nervously. "Would it be alright if I... sat here today? I, uh, didn't want to disturb anyone else."

Daphne glanced up at Hermione, her expression unreadable for a moment. It was clear she wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea of Hermione sitting with them, but given the way things had been over the last few days, Daphne didn't show any outward signs of discomfort.

Hadrian, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, offering his usual faint, enigmatic smile. "Of course," he said, his voice smooth but carrying a note of indifference, though his gaze lingered on Hermione for a moment longer than necessary.

Hermione nodded quickly, relieved, and sat down. She quickly pulled her books out, smoothing the edge of her robe nervously. As she sat down, she fidgeted with her quill for a moment before her eyes flicked up to Hadrian again, her face flushed slightly.

Daphne, who had been watching the entire exchange with a quiet, calculating gaze, let out a small sigh. "You're late, Hermione," she said, her tone light but firm. "But I suppose you'll catch up."

Hermione's cheeks turned pink at the reminder, but she quickly nodded. "Sorry, I... I got caught up with something before class," she said, looking away for a moment. She glanced down at her parchment, silently moving her quill in tiny circles as she tried to calm her nerves.

Just as the air seemed to settle, Professor Flitwick entered the room, his usual cheerfulness brightening the space. He gave his customary enthusiastic wave to the class.

"Good morning, everyone!" Flitwick chirped, his voice high and musical. "Today, we'll be working on one of the most essential spells in our arsenal—the Summoning Charm! Very useful for retrieving objects at a distance, and quite simple when you get the hang of it. Who can tell me the incantation?"

Several students raised their hands, but it was Hadrian who answered first. "Accio," he said, his tone calm and collected, the word practically flowing off his tongue.

"Correct, Hadrian! Five points to Ravenclaw!" Flitwick said with a delighted smile, his tiny hands clapping. "Now, let's all try it together. For those of you who might be unfamiliar with the spell, remember, it's not about force—it's about focus. Think of the object you want to summon, concentrate, and with a sharp flick of the wrist, say Accio."

Hadrian glanced at Daphne out of the corner of his eye as Flitwick demonstrated the spell. He knew that Daphne was already skilled with charms, but this was a simple spell that would still offer her an opportunity to practice precision.

Hermione, on the other hand, was already clutching her wand a bit too tightly, her expression full of determination. Hadrian couldn't help but notice the difference between her approach and Daphne's. Hermione was earnest, her brow furrowed in concentration. Daphne, however, was much more relaxed, as though she knew that the spell was hardly a challenge, but was still keen to perfect it.

Flitwick clapped his hands again, signaling the class to begin. "Go ahead, everyone, let's give it a try! Remember to visualize the object coming toward you! Accio!"

The class echoed the incantation, their wands raised. A few students had varying results—some managed to summon small objects, others failed, but no one did it quite as effortlessly as Hadrian. He had already mastered the spell long ago, and it showed in the way his wand barely moved before the feather at the far end of the desk was suddenly pulled toward him.

Daphne followed with a flick of her wrist, and with a quiet whoosh, a small book came skidding toward her, landing neatly on her desk. She smiled slightly, pleased with the simplicity of the charm but knowing she could always improve.

Hermione, still determined to prove herself, focused hard. Her face was taut with concentration as she pointed her wand at the empty space in front of her. "Accio" she said, her voice clear, but the result was much less graceful than either Hadrian's or Daphne's. A single quill flopped sluggishly toward her before falling limply to the desk.

Daphne gave her a quick glance before looking back at her own desk, but Hadrian's eyes remained on Hermione for a moment longer. It was clear she was frustrated with the spell's failure, but there was something about the way she held herself—her dogged persistence—that intrigued him. He didn't think she'd give up, but he wasn't sure what that meant for him.

As the class continued, Hadrian took the opportunity to test the limits of the spell, summoning more than one object at once. He could feel the others looking at him from time to time, but he didn't care. It wasn't about proving anything to them—it was about testing his own control, and ensuring that no one could match him.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of Charms class, students began to gather their belongings, chatting in various clusters about the day ahead. Hadrian, however, remained seated at his desk, his expression unreadable as he methodically packed away his things. Daphne had already stood up, her movements quiet and swift, as she glanced over at him.

"Hadrian, if I may have a word," Professor Flitwick's small, high-pitched voice called out, cutting through the chatter.

Hadrian glanced up, meeting the professor's gaze, and gave a subtle nod. "Of course, Professor," he said smoothly, his tone calm and controlled as always.

As the last of the students filtered out of the room, leaving only Hadrian and the diminutive Charms professor, Flitwick took a step closer. His eyes sparkled with an expression of curiosity, but there was a certain seriousness behind them now.

"You know," Flitwick began, adjusting his glasses, "I've heard and seen a great deal about you in the past few months, Hadrian. Not just in my class, but from various other sources. You've certainly made a name for yourself here at Hogwarts."

Hadrian didn't react, his gaze steady as he waited for Flitwick to continue.

Flitwick seemed to hesitate for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter now. "You've certainly caused quite a stir. I've heard how you handled the bullies from Slytherin—particularly Mr Malfoy and his group. It's not easy, even for older students, to stand their ground against people like that. Yet you did it effortlessly. People are starting to take notice."

Hadrian allowed a small, almost imperceptible smirk to form on his lips, but he said nothing, simply watching Flitwick carefully. He had never publicly revealed much of his prowess outside of class, but he knew well enough that rumors often spread, especially among students who liked to exaggerate their stories.

Flitwick cleared his throat, suddenly shifting gears. "I'm not one to overlook talent when I see it. That's why I wanted to speak with you today. The Under-14 Dueling Tournament is coming up this summer. I've been hearing from various professors that you possess... considerable magical potential. While I haven't personally seen you duel myself, the rumors from both students and staff alike are undeniable."

He paused, his eyes studying Hadrian intently, as though weighing his next words carefully. "I think you would do well in that tournament. Perhaps even better than most of the older students." Flitwick gave a knowing, almost excited smile. "And I would be honored to sponsor you for it, if you're interested. It would be an excellent way to push yourself further and develop your skills."

Hadrian leaned against the desk, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the surface. He could feel the weight of Flitwick's offer, the professor's belief in his abilities, but at the same time, he understood the ramifications of putting himself out there. The tournament would certainly draw attention to him, and there were always risks associated with that, especially in a place like Hogwarts. But it would also allow him to test himself, to see just how far he could push his abilities, and perhaps even leverage it in ways he hadn't yet considered.

Flitwick, sensing the hesitation, continued, his tone now more reassuring. "There's no pressure, of course. I'm merely offering the opportunity. But I truly believe you're capable of great things, Hadrian. It could be a valuable experience, one that would show not just your magical ability, but your ability to think on your feet in a high-stakes environment."

Hadrian finally met Flitwick's gaze, his expression still unreadable, though something flickered in his eyes—a brief flash of resolve. He straightened slightly, feeling the weight of the decision that hung in the air.

"I'll accept," Hadrian said, his voice smooth and decisive. "I'll participate in the tournament."

Flitwick's eyes lit up with excitement, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Splendid! I knew you'd see the value in it." He gave a little hop of joy, his tiny form seeming to almost bounce off the ground. "You won't regret this, Hadrian. I'm certain of it."

Hadrian watched the professor with mild amusement, but his thoughts were already shifting toward the next stage of the conversation. He understood the unspoken challenge—Flitwick wanted to test him, to see firsthand what he was capable of before the tournament. Hadrian, ever the strategist, had anticipated this, but it still felt like an inevitable part of the game. Flitwick wasn't simply offering a sponsorship; he wanted to know where Hadrian stood.

Flitwick, catching the flicker of understanding in Hadrian's eyes, tilted his head slightly. "Since you've agreed to participate, I think it's only fair we test your current abilities before we go any further."

Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "Test?"

"Yes," Flitwick responded with a gleam in his eye. "A friendly duel, of course. Just a quick one. I want to see where you stand. A little one-on-one will give me a better idea of how you approach combat, how you think in the moment." He raised his wand slightly, a glint of challenge in his tone. "Nothing too taxing, just a bit of a demonstration of your current skill level."

Hadrian could already feel the familiar pull of his instincts kicking in, his mind running through various scenarios in the span of a heartbeat. Flitwick wanted to test him, but it would be a test that Hadrian could twist to his advantage. This wasn't about simply proving his strength; it was about shaping the narrative, just as he'd done with the Slytherins and even with Daphne.

"Very well," Hadrian replied calmly, his voice steady as he placed his hand on his wand, feeling the familiar weight of it in his grasp. He could sense the eyes of the professor on him, waiting for him to make his move.

Flitwick's smile widened, and with a quick flick of his wand, he created a small space between them, clearing the desk in front of him with a casual gesture.

"I'll make it simple for you," Flitwick said, his tone still light, but the challenge in his eyes was unmistakable. "Ready when you are, Hadrian."

Hadrian's lips curled into a faint smile, his grip on his wand steady but relaxed. Across from him, Professor Flitwick watched with keen, expectant eyes, his stance deceptively unassuming. Hadrian knew better than to be fooled—this man had once been a champion duelist.

Still, that only made it more interesting.

Taking a breath, Hadrian shifted his feet and lifted his wand into a stance—one not of a textbook-perfect Hogwarts student, but of Antonin Dolohov, a duelist feared in his time.

Flitwick's brows shot up the moment he recognized it. "Hadrian… where did you learn that stance?"

Hadrian merely shrugged. "I read books, Professor. One of them happens to be written by a former terrorist." His tone was casual, though there was a glint of challenge in his eyes.

Flitwick studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "I suppose… as long as you don't take after him in other regards, Mr. Potter," he said, voice tinged with quiet warning.

Hadrian offered a thin, almost amused smile. "Of course not."

The professor gave him one last measuring glance before nodding. "Good. Then let's begin, shall we?"

Hadrian tightened his stance, rolling his wrist slightly, wand at the ready. "Ready when you are."

For a second, there was nothing but silence between them, an invisible tension tightening the space.

Then—

"Expelliarmus!"

Hadrian barely had time to react before a streak of red light shot toward him, faster than any disarming charm he had ever seen. His muscles tensed instinctively, and he threw himself to the side, feeling the spell crackle past his ear. He landed with a quiet exhale, already pivoting back to face his opponent.

Underestimating him? Flitwick should know better.

The professor followed up immediately. "Stupefy!"

Hadrian moved swiftly, dodging just as the stunning spell zipped past. His lips quirked. This time, Flitwick had made the mistake—assuming Hadrian was just another talented student.

He flicked his wand sharply, returning fire. "Repulso!"

A golden jet of force hurtled toward Flitwick, who, without hesitation, flipped midair, landing lightly out of its path. Hadrian barely had time to appreciate the goblin-born reflexes before another spell was on him.

And so the duel flowed—each testing the other, their spells fast but calculated, their movements fluid. Hadrian deliberately kept his casting verbal, as if bound by the same constraints as any other student. His attacks remained within the limits of what one might expect from a first or second-year prodigy.

Flitwick, however, decided to push further. His wand flicked in rapid succession, sending a chain of spells that came in quick succession:

"Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Repulso! Flipendo! Diffindo!"

Hadrian reacted instantly. His wand cut through the air in a fluid arc, and with a single nonverbal incantation, a shimmering white shield snapped into existence before him.

The first spell slammed against the magical barrier with a hiss. The next flickered out against it. One after another, the professor's attacks met the shield—and none broke through.

When the last spell fizzled out, Hadrian lowered his wand, smirking faintly.

Flitwick, still standing poised, observed him with renewed interest.

"It... seems I severely underestimated you, Hadrian," Flitwick said softly, a note of surprise creeping into his voice. "Although I should have known—a student such as yourself would understand that the mind game of a duel is just as important as the physical."

Hadrian inclined his head, his lips curling into a smirk. "Indeed..."

Without warning, he flicked his wand forward. "Confringo!"

A powerful blast of fiery energy surged toward Flitwick. The professor barely had time to reinforce his shield, and even then, the sheer force of the curse sent him skidding back, his eyes widening.

Hadrian didn't hesitate. He pressed the offensive, moving with predatory precision, his wand lashing out in a blur. Stunning spells, Reducto curses, cutting curses, and banishing charms tore through the air, each cast nonverbally—his strongest display yet.

Yet Flitwick remained untouchable. His wand work was fluid, effortless, deflecting and dodging as though he were dancing through the duel rather than fighting it.

Still, Hadrian kept going. He could feel the professor analyzing him, testing his endurance, searching for weaknesses. A lesser duelist would have already faltered, but Hadrian was far from ordinary. He smirked. If nothing else, he would at least prove his stamina.

Then, Flitwick decided to remind him why he was considered a master.

Hadrian flicked his wand, sending a silent Stunning Spell hurtling toward the half-goblin. Flitwick's expression shifted ever so slightly, as if he had been waiting for this. Instead of dodging or shielding, he did something Hadrian had never seen before.

With a precise twirl of his wand, Flitwick caught the spell at its very tip.

For a heartbeat, the magic hovered there, held in place as if tethered by an invisible string. Then, in a dazzling display of control, Flitwick spun his arm overhead and sent the Stunning Spell hurtling right back.

Hadrian barely had time to register what had happened before the jet of red struck him square in the chest. His world spun. Then—blackness.

A sharp breath filled Hadrian's lungs as consciousness returned. His body tensed instinctively, wand hand twitching as if ready to retaliate—but then he registered the warm glow of the torches and the familiar presence standing over him.

"Easy now, Mr. Potter," came Flitwick's amused voice. "That was quite the display. Not many first-years can keep me on my toes like that."

Hadrian blinked, his mind quickly catching up. The duel. The relentless back-and-forth. And then… Flitwick's trick. Catching and redirecting his spell so effortlessly.

He exhaled slowly, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "I lost," he stated flatly.

Flitwick chuckled. "Spectacularly, yes. But you gave me more trouble than most 7th years could." His eyes gleamed with something close to pride. "You certainly earned my sponsorship for the Under-14 Dueling Tournament. If that duel was any indication, you may very well go further than anyone expects."

Hadrian sat up fully, rolling his shoulders as he tested his body for lingering stiffness. There was some soreness, but nothing he couldn't push through. "I'll need to be better," he murmured, half to himself.

Flitwick folded his arms, observing him thoughtfully. "That's the right mindset. You have power, control, and endurance—all rare for someone your age. But raw ability alone won't win you a tournament. What you need now is refinement. Precision. Creativity."

Hadrian's eyes narrowed slightly in thought.

Flitwick continued, "I can tell you've trained extensively, but your style is still developing. Right now, you rely on controlled aggression, mixed with a defensive counteroffensive. It's effective, but predictable against a veteran duelist. If you want to win, you'll need to expand your arsenal and learn to anticipate every possible counter."

Hadrian considered that. It was true that he had been holding back in this duel, sticking mostly to the spells he had already mastered. Against a real opponent—one who wasn't limiting themselves—such a habit could be a fatal mistake.

"I see," he said finally. "I suppose we'll have to work on that, Professor."

Flitwick beamed at him. "That's the spirit! I'll arrange for some extra training sessions. Consider it my personal investment in Hogwarts' next great duelist."

Hadrian gave a respectful nod before rising to his feet, dusting off his robes. Despite the loss, something about this felt… good. A proper challenge. A clear goal. A path forward.

As he turned toward the door, Flitwick's voice stopped him.

"Oh, and Hadrian?"

He glanced back.

The tiny professor smirked. "Next time, don't fall for the same trick twice."

Hadrian's lips curled into a small smirk of his own. "I won't."

And with that, he stepped out of the office, his mind already whirring with possibilities.