Sean understood the limits of his gifts. His Giant Strength and Giant Hide were incredible assets, but they didn't make him invincible. He couldn't simply charge through a barrage of curses and flatten a skilled wizard with a single punch. Magic, true magic, was still the dominant force in this world. Giants and Trolls, for all their might, had been subjugated by wizards for a reason.
His victory over Quirrell was a perfect example. Quirrell had first been crippled by Lily Potter's protective magic on Harry, then ambushed by Sean, who had incapacitated his hands and throat, preventing him from wielding his wand or speaking incantations. Even the remnant of Voldemort had been a shadow of his former self, barely clinging to existence with unicorn blood. And still, it had been a desperate fight.
No, his strength was an advantage, a powerful one, but it had to be leveraged with magic, not against it. It was a tool to create openings that magic alone could not.
Looking at the severed vines littering the platform, Sean's mind worked quickly. He waved his wand in a broad circle, and the thorny tendrils flew into the air, weaving and twisting together, compacting into a crude, living bulwark.
With the shield formed, Sean tucked his wand into the back of his belt, gripped the thorny shield with both hands, lowered his shoulder, and charged.
A stunned silence fell over the Beauxbatons students. They stared, a ripple of disbelief washing over them. They had never witnessed a duel like this. To use a magically created shield as a battering ram was an utterly alien concept. No wizard with a normal mind would do such a thing.
"This is..." Barre began, trailing off in shock.
"It's the same principle Schiller used with his crystal wall," Fleur finished, her eyes sharp and analytical. "For an ordinary wizard, this would be a pointless gesture. But given Sean's strength... it might have a very different effect."
As they spoke, Schiller unleashed a furious volley of spells, blasting the vine shield to pieces. But it had served its purpose. By the time the shield disintegrated, Sean had closed the distance and was right in front of him.
"Stupe..." Schiller began to cast, his eyes wide with panic.
"Too late."
Sean's left hand shot out, snatching Schiller's wand from his grasp. His right seized the front of the older boy's robes. A quick hook of his foot behind Schiller's ankle, a sharp tug, and Schiller was airborne for a moment before slamming onto his back on the dueling platform with a sickening thud. He lay there, dazed, the air knocked from his lungs, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Sean casually tossed Schiller's wand off the side of the stage. He stood over his defeated opponent, his voice calm and even. "You lost."
Schiller slowly pushed himself up, his body aching and his pride shattered. He never imagined he would lose to a first-year, let alone in such a brutal, physical fashion. The plan had been to overwhelm Sean with superior magic, perhaps even concede a point at the end to show his magnanimity.
But from the first exchange, Schiller knew this boy was different. Even among fifth-years, few could match his power and speed. Still, he hadn't thought he would lose. Not until Sean had charged him like a rampaging Minotaur, and the duel had spiraled completely out of his control.
"I lost," Schiller conceded, struggling to his feet. "But this doesn't mean Beauxbatons has lost! I am just one student. There are many here stronger than me! They just aren't at school right now."
"And so what?" Sean countered, looking at him with mild curiosity. "I've only just finished my first year. You have stronger wizards at Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts has wizards stronger than me. What does any of that prove?"
Schiller froze. The full weight of his humiliation crashed down on him. The boy who had just defeated him was only a first-year. His pathetic attempt to save face was meaningless. All it proved was that a fifth-year from Beauxbatons had lost to a first-year from Hogwarts and was now making excuses.
Sean watched him, a slow, calculating smile forming in his mind. The boy was trying to salvage some honor for his school, and in doing so, had handed Sean a golden opportunity. He had been planning to mock Schiller into provoking more duels, but it seemed his opponent was going to do the work for him. When you're sleepy, someone brings you a pillow, he thought. Schiller really is a good person.
"Schiller, I know what you mean," Sean said aloud, his voice carrying through the silent room. "And I'll give you that chance." He raised his head, his gaze sweeping across the stunned faces of the Beauxbatons students. "I will be here for the next month. Duels are a means of progress, are they not? If anyone thinks they can defeat me, come here at ten o'clock every morning. I will be waiting."
He let the challenge hang in the air for a moment before adding the final, cutting remark.
"I believe, in a school as large as Beauxbatons, there must be someone who can defeat me, right?"
Then, under the furious glares of the entire room, he turned, leisurely walked off the dueling platform, and, followed by Aldrich and Jensen, left the chamber and headed for the library.
Fleur watched him go, a hidden brilliance flickering in her silvery eyes. "Barre," she murmured to her friend, "I have a feeling some of our old friends may be returning to school early this holiday. It would be one thing if he were one of us, but he is from Hogwarts. Until one of our own defeats him, I imagine the prouder members of our school won't let him rest."
"Whose fault is that?" Barre sighed. "What he just said was deliberately provocative."
"Those with great ability are often like that..." Fleur mused, her gaze distant. "It's just... I don't understand. The gentle scholar who debated Potions with us, or the ruthless duelist who just walked off that platform... Sean Bulstrode... what kind of person are you?"
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