"Young Master, the bag you requested." Aldrich presented a simple leather pouch to Sean. "I engaged the services of a local elven alchemist. The work was rushed, so he was quite dissatisfied with the rough appearance and refused to put his mark on it."
He paused, holding the bag out. "However, he assured me the Undetectable Extension Charm is flawless and the quality of the leatherwork is exceptionally sturdy. It will meet your requirements perfectly."
"Thank you, Aldrich. Excellent work."
"It is my duty, Young Master."
"Alright, then," Sean said, glancing at the clock. "It's seven-thirty. Let's not keep them waiting."
When they arrived at the dueling room, the atmosphere was starkly different from the previous duel. The central platform was gone, leaving a wide, empty floor. Schiller stood in a corner with three other boys, all of whom carried themselves with the familiar, haughty air of pure-blood scions. Sean knew his opponent was among them.
Schiller detached himself from the group and approached. "There will be few spectators this time," he announced, his voice stiff. "And the entire room is now the dueling area."
Sean raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Is this to prevent me from repeating my old tricks?"
A flicker of discomfort crossed Schiller's face. "Adjusting one's strategy based on intelligence is a common practice in dueling, is it not?"
"Adjusting a strategy is one thing," Jensen blurted out before Sean could speak. "Getting rid of the dueling stage entirely is something else!"
Sean raised a hand, silencing his attendant. He turned his calm gaze back to Schiller. "It's fine. This is your home ground; it's only natural you'd want to leverage that advantage. We'll proceed according to your arrangements."
If Sean had argued, Schiller would have felt justified. But this easy acceptance, this acknowledgment of their tactics, made him feel a fresh wave of shame.
Sean had taken his measure during their last encounter. He knew exactly which buttons to press. "Sorry," Schiller mumbled, looking at the floor. "I couldn't control this decision. But I can guarantee that aside from this, there will be no other unfairness."
"It doesn't matter," Sean said with a dismissive wave. "This has nothing to do with fairness. Go on, don't trouble yourself over it."
The casual magnanimity made Schiller feel even smaller. He gave a curt nod and retreated to the entrance to act as a guard.
Sean led his attendants to the side of the room. The opposing group made no move to greet them, and Sean was content with that. If he got to know them, he might be tempted to go easy, and that wouldn't do at all.
As the clock ticked toward eight, a crowd began to gather outside, but Schiller held them back, explaining that for safety, the number of spectators was limited. Barre and Fleur, however, were waved through, along with a few other older students whose families the challengers clearly couldn't afford to offend.
At eight o'clock sharp, one of the boys from the opposing group stood up. He was the tallest of the three, with a muscular build and a severe buzz cut.
Fleur, who had positioned herself near Sean, leaned in to whisper. "Sean, that's Cecil Hild. He's a fifth-year, one of the strongest in his year. Be careful. But if you find you are outmatched, surrender immediately. He is an honorable duelist and will not take the opportunity to harm you."
"Thank you, Fleur," Sean said with a confident smile. "But you should have a little more faith in me. Perhaps I can win."
Fleur was taken aback for a moment by his unwavering self-assurance. Then, a small, genuine smile touched her lips. "You are right. My apologies," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I will wait for you to win."
The words hung in the air between them. Fleur felt a blush creep up her neck at their unexpected intimacy. Sean found the phrasing a bit awkward, but a wish for his victory was welcome, no matter how it was delivered.
He walked to the center of the room. At twelve, Sean was already tall for his age, but Cecil Hild towered over him, his frame broad and powerful. So, Sean thought with dawning realization, they chose him to counter my physical strength. They were underestimating his Giant Strength talent. A costly mistake.
"Beauxbatons, Cecil Hild!"
"Hogwarts, Sean Bulstrode!"
They bowed, retreated to opposite corners, and as Schiller's count reached zero, they attacked.
Both wizards chose the Petrification Curse, but Cecil's was a fraction of a second faster. The two grayish-white beams collided closer to Sean, fizzling out. Cecil immediately pressed his advantage. His feet were a constant blur of motion as he advanced, his wand weaving through the air in short, economical movements, unleashing a relentless barrage of spells.
This speed...
Gritting his teeth, Sean was forced onto the back foot. He met the assault with a rapid-fire combination of Shield Charms and his own Petrification Curses, a desperate defense against an overwhelming offense.
Bang! Pop! Crack!
Ripples of blue and white light bloomed in the air before him, each one forcing him a step back. Soon, his back was nearly to the wall. He watched Cecil advance, a relentless storm of magic, and a cold certainty settled in his gut.
In a pure contest of magic, without resorting to the Smoke Rope Curse, he stood no chance. He was utterly outclassed. He was no match for Cecil.
***********
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