"De Luca. Shaw. Platform Three."
A low buzz of anticipation hummed through the crowd as Daniel Shaw stepped forward. Towering and muscled, he was renowned for his brute-force dueling style, a relentless approach that overwhelmed less experienced casters with sheer power. His specialty lay in building momentum—once he generated enough pressure, few could withstand his onslaught.
Across from him, Alessandro De Luca rolled his shoulders, a confident grin spreading across his face as he surveyed the crowd. With a flourish that bordered on theatrical, he bowed deeply, drawing cheers from his supporters.
"You may begin," Harland announced, his voice cutting through the charged air.
Shaw wasted no time, his focus locked on his opponent. A booming Concussive Hex erupted from his fingertips, cracking through the air with a force that vibrated in the chests of onlookers. It was swiftly followed by a surging Forcebind, designed to ensnare Alessandro and lock him in place like prey.
Alessandro reacted instantly, ducking beneath the powerful arc of the first hex and executing a graceful backflip to evade the second. In a fluid motion, he conjured a stream of shimmering illusions that fractured the light around him, creating six deceptive silhouettes that danced across the platform.
Shaw's expression twisted into a snarl as he unleashed a barrage of energy, blasting through the multiple figures. But by the time the real Alessandro reemerged from the shadows at the edge of the platform, he had already laid a cunning multi-layered hex trap in his wake, a strategic move calculated to turn the tide of the duel in his favor.
Shaw stepped boldly onto the platform, the air crackling with energy. In an instant, it erupted with a brilliant flash of green light as a Delayed Levicorpus spell and a cunningly concealed tripwire trigger activated simultaneously. The sudden force hurled Shaw backward in a spiraling motion, his spells careening off course as his stance shattered and his control slipped away.
Right on his heels, Alessandro unleashed a mesmerizing Binding Flame Ring, encircling the arena with flickering tendrils of fire that sealed the outcome of the duel. With an air of confidence, he lowered his wand and executed a half bow, accompanied by a playful wink directed at Evie, who stood amid the audience captivated by the display.
The remnants of their clash were evident on Alessandro; his robes were singed and blackened, one sleeve hanging in tatters, while wisps of smoke curled from his tousled hair. Despite the chaos left in the wake of the duel, he strolled away with an infectious grin, humming a catchy tune, having transformed what could have been a moment of brute strength into an amusing blunder.
"Performance score," one assistant murmured incredulously to the other, eyes wide with astonishment, "off the charts."
"Sterling. Hale. Platform One."
As Evie and Ben approached the platform, an unusual hush fell over the gallery. Eyes flickered with curiosity and excitement; the onlookers understood that this pair was more than mere competitors—they were friends, study partners, and occasional co-conspirators during midnight cocoa raids.
They bowed low to one another, a gesture filled with respect and camaraderie. The dome materialized above them, signaling the beginning of their duel, and they wasted no time in launching into action.
Ben initiated the match with incredible speed, unleashing a series of rapid-fire spells—staccato bursts of pressure that aimed to corner Evie, pressing her into a narrow space. He knew that brute strength was not his advantage; instead, he relied on calculated precision to gain the upper hand.
Evie responded with grace, meeting his quick tempo with fluid counters that resembled a dance. Her shield rotations were executed flawlessly, adhering to the textbook techniques she had mastered through countless hours of practice. Each counter she produced traced beautiful arcs through the air—impressive and elegant, yet utterly efficient in their intent.
The duel intensified into a whirlwind of magical energy, with spells ricocheting off shimmering wards, whizzing past their ears, and sizzling through the charged atmosphere. A few eager spectators leaned in, their eyes wide with anticipation, as Ben managed to land a narrow Firelace that came perilously close to singeing Evie's left arm. Quick on her feet, she dodged the fiery attack, rolled to the side, and immediately conjured a mirror-cast Redirector Curse, all in the split second before Ben unleashed a second Stunner.
In a dramatic twist, her spell bent his hex back toward him, milliseconds before his shield spell could have absorbed the impact.
With a loud thud, Ben hit the platform hard, the force of the magic rendering him stunned yet grinning, a testament to the thrill of the duel.
Evie lowered her wand slowly, her chest heaving with exertion, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. "That was close," she exclaimed, her voice a mix of excitement and relief.
"You hit first," Ben admitted with a chuckle, his eyes sparkling with admiration. "Barely."
They exchanged a fist bump as she helped him to his feet, the camaraderie of friendly rivals evident in their gestures.
Harland, observing from the sidelines, nodded in satisfaction. "That's how you duel your equals—with respect and readiness," he declared, his voice filled with approval.
Evie stepped off the platform, her cheeks flushed with the thrill of victory, but her eyes shone brightly, reflecting the exhilaration of the match.
Later in the afternoon, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation. "Connors. Hale. Platform Two."
A palpable shift in energy enveloped the space; Damien Connors stood at his mark, every muscle coiled and ready. His body was still, yet his gaze was as sharp as a blade, focused intensely on the task ahead. If Alessandro was like a dazzling flare, illuminating the room with charisma, and Severus exuded calculated precision, then Damien was a storm—a force of nature contained within flesh, storm clouds brewing just beneath the surface.
Ben offered a brief nod, the gesture conveying both respect and readiness. He might have looked weary, his brow slightly furrowed with the weight of the challenge ahead, but determination sparked in his eyes—a flicker of resolve that could not be dimmed.
The sharp sound of the whistle shattered the tension—and in an instant, Damien unleashed his power, exploding into action with a forceful grace.
There was no time for warm-ups or second-guessing. He launched his attack with a ferocious shield-shatter hex, the air crackling with energy as it tore through the space. Without missing a beat, he followed up with a Stunning Chain, weaving magic that cornered Ben and forced him into a purely defensive spiral. The intensity of Damien's onslaught was relentless; within mere seconds, he had Ben on the back foot—his stance precarious, retreating under the relentless pressure as his shield flickered like a candle in a tempest.
Ben attempted to counter with a Trip Curse, but Damien swiftly dismantled it with a powerful blast, seamlessly transitioning into Disarm-Vault-Wingbind in rapid succession. Each spell was executed with surgical precision, showcasing his skill and intention to dominate.
The final Disarming Burst hit Ben harder than he anticipated, forcefully knocking his wand from his grasp and propelling him to slide halfway across the platform. The duel came to an abrupt end.
With a slow and measured movement, Ben rose to his feet, his jaw set tight and his breath coming in heavy gasps. He avoided making eye contact as he bent down to pick up his wand, the weight of the encounter heavy on his shoulders as he walked off the platform. While there was no sense of shame, the experience left a tangible heaviness within him.
Meanwhile, Damien, displaying an air of calm confidence, lowered his wand and turned away, already directing his attention to the next battle looming on the horizon. Harland, observing the scene intently, made a note on his clipboard.
"Flawless execution," one assistant murmured in admiration. "Not a single wasted motion."
The sun had begun its descent outside the tall, enchanted windows of the dueling hall, casting vivid streaks of gold and soft lavender across the polished wooden floor. The charged remnants of magic from hours of intense sparring still lingered faintly in the air—sharp, raw, and unfinished, humming with energy.
The dueling team stood in quiet rows, their bodies glistening with sweat and marked by the toll of their practice sessions. A few wrestled with dull aches, holding ice packs against bruised shoulders, while others nursed stung wrists, cradling them as if they were fragile. An uneasy silence reigned; the weight of their exhaustion hung heavily in the atmosphere, preventing any conversation.
Professor Harland stepped forward once more, a clipboard securely tucked under his arm. The sound of his boots echoed against the cold stone floor, breaking the stillness of the room.
"Five duelists," he said at last, his voice slicing through the silence like a sharp blade.
He allowed the weight of his words to linger in the air, letting the tension stretch taut like a bowstring drawn back, poised and ready for what was to come.
"One: Damien Connors."
Damien responded with a single, imperceptible nod. His expression remained unreadable, devoid of any trace of a smile. He stood tall, his spine as straight as a rod, embodying the quiet intensity that had characterized every action he had taken throughout the day.
"Two: Severus Shafiq."
Severus remained motionless, his gaze unwavering. He didn't even blink. It was an unspoken expectation—yet hearing his name spoken aloud still ignited a steady warmth in his chest, a reassurance of his place in the unfolding events.
"Three: Evie Sterling."
Evie blinked, her eyes wide with surprise, as if she hadn't anticipated being called so early in the proceedings. A momentary look of bewilderment crossed her face, but then a soft, radiant smile broke through the weariness etched on her features. She nodded in acknowledgment, gratitude shining in her expression as she felt a surge of connection with those around her.
"Four: Jonathan Cooper."
A wave of murmurs surged through the crowd, whispers of surprise rippling across the room like a gentle breeze. Cooper's style in the ring had always been methodical and precise, his movements graceful yet effective. He didn't rely on flashy tactics to win; instead, his polished technique spoke volumes. A few tentative claps broke the tension, echoing momentarily before fading into an uneasy silence.
"Five: Alessandro De Luca."
Alessandro released a long, slow breath, his fingers brushing away beads of sweat that had formed on his brow, a testament to the pressure hanging in the air. "Told you," he muttered softly under his breath, barely audible to those nearby. "Glowing."
Several seventh-years turned their gazes away, disappointment palpable on their faces. For a number of them, this moment marked their final opportunity, a last chance that had slipped through their fingers like grains of sand.
Harland didn't hesitate, his voice firm and unwavering.
"The rest of you fought valiantly," he began, his expression serious yet encouraging. "Some of you will be designated as reserves—your performance was commendable, but still lacks the consistency we need."
His gaze swept across the room, taking in the hopeful faces. "For others… think of this experience as your forge. Learn from it, and allow it to shape you into something sharper and more formidable."
He turned his attention back to the five who remained, stepping forward as if to draw them closer.
Severus. Damien. Evie. Alessandro. Jonathan.
They stood silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air between them.
They didn't need to fill the silence with words; the tension was palpable, a bond of shared challenge and understanding.
Harland studied them intently—each of them showcased distinct styles and unique journeys ahead. He offered a brief nod, a gesture of acknowledgment and respect.
"This was merely the easy part," he declared, his tone shifting to one of foreboding anticipation. "What comes next… will test every ounce of your strength, your resolve. It has the power to break you."
A deliberate pause ensued, deepening the gravity of his message. Then, with a lower, more solemn tone, he added, "Or it could make you unforgettable."
With that, he turned sharply and strode out of the hall, leaving behind a profound silence—a sanctuary that had just borne witness to the forging of its champions.
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