A wizard's duel is a formal combat between two wizards, conducted in the presence of witnesses, pre-arranged, and permitting the use of any spell—including dark magic.
Before the duel begins, both parties must first face their opponent and bow to show respect, then assume the standard dueling stance.
Only after the referee declares the start may the combatants officially begin fighting.
The conditions for victory in a wizard's duel are refreshingly straightforward.
Victory is achieved the moment one side disarms, knocks unconscious, kills, or forces the opponent to surrender.
As for seconds—if one of the duelists dies, their second immediately steps in to continue the fight.
For first-year little wizards, however—with the possible exception of a certain Albus Dumbledore—the most they can usually manage is shooting a few harmless sparks at each other.
The chances of anyone actually dying are astronomically low.
Unless, of course, Ron went completely off the rails, borrowed "Heaven-Destroyer" and "Earth-Extinguisher" from his two older brothers, and unloaded a full burst right into Draco's face.
So, barring any unforeseen disasters, the duel between Harry and Draco would, in the end, still come down to who could land the first solid punch.
"Sorry to interrupt."
Harry and Ron looked up from their whispered battle plans to see Hermione Granger standing there.
"Could people maybe eat their dinner in peace for once?" Ron grumbled.
Hermione ignored him completely and spoke directly to Harry. "I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying…"
"I knew you were eavesdropping," Ron muttered.
"You absolutely cannot go wandering around the school at night!" Little Miss Beaver said sternly, looking for all the world like a miniature Professor McGonagall. "Just think how many points Gryffindor will lose if the two of you get caught!"
"This really has nothing to do with you," Harry said firmly. Right now his head was full of visions of driving his fist straight into Draco's smug nose; Hermione's warnings went in one ear and out the other.
"See ya." Ron shoveled the rest of his dinner into his mouth at record speed and fled the table.
Meanwhile, over at the Hufflepuff table, the four Marauders-in-training were huddled together once more, plotting something.
Ever since the start of term, when George and Fred had "borrowed" a full quarter of his personal armory, Kyle had been waiting for them to unleash whatever grand scheme they'd been cooking up.
Several weeks had passed, and today was finally the day the twins revealed their masterpiece.
After dinner, the two of them solemnly lifted a massive wooden crate from beneath the table—a crate that looked suspiciously like a coffin.
With exaggerated, almost possessed steps, they wobbled their way down to the edge of the Black Lake, the whole procession radiating strong "funeral procession" vibes.
"It is my great honor to present to you—" George placed a dramatic hand on the lid.
Fred and his brother flung the lid open in perfect sync. "The First-Generation All-Purpose Threat Response Combat Armor!"
The moment Kyle heard that painfully familiar name, a chill of foreboding ran down his spine.
And sure enough, the next second he was staring at what had to be the most crudely cobbled-together alchemical puppet in the history of crude cobbled-together alchemical puppets.
Limited budget, limited materials, limited everything—the result was a Frankenstein's monster of Muggle weaponry brutally welded together.
Shoulder-mounted rapid-fire machine guns, the infamous Heaven-Destroyer and Earth-Extinguisher bolted to its arms… it was ugly on a cosmic level.
Crooked rivets barely held a few steel plates in place, offering the barest pretense of armor.
And nearly all of that armor was on the front; the back was a mess of exposed magical circuits and vulnerable joints.
Kyle's glare could have sliced steel as it stabbed toward the twins: This is how you treat my precious weapons?
Cedric Diggory, who had never seen anything like it in his life, had stars in his eyes.
"This… this is art!" Cedric exclaimed in pure awe.
He practically threw himself onto the puppet, running his hands all over it like a lovesick teenager. Then he turned back, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What can it do?"
The moment the question left Cedric's mouth, George's face turned the color of overcooked beets.
"Er… I can make it salute," George mumbled, sounding deeply embarrassed.
Fred burst into roaring laughter.
"I told you not to waste time on alchemical puppets! True art should bloom gloriously for one brief instant, like Filch's fireworks!"
"Bullshit! True art is eternal!" George snarled, getting right up in Fred's face and glaring daggers at his identical twin.
In the blink of an eye the two were at each other's throats.
This was the first time Kyle and Cedric had ever seen the Weasley twins genuinely disagree about anything.
Listening to the increasingly unhinged artistic philosophies flying back and forth, Kyle felt the corner of his mouth twitch uncontrollably.
Why did the two of them suddenly remind him more and more of a certain pair of explosive artists from the Akatsuki…?
Rolling his eyes at the brawling brothers, Kyle reached toward the war machine still lying in its coffin.
Wisps of magic flowed from his ten fingertips, condensing in the air into ten visible threads of ghostly blue light.
Chakra threads—acquired!
Cedric watched with rapt attention. Even the twins stopped trying to strangle each other.
Kyle hooked the magical threads onto the puppet and instantly seized control of every joint and magical core.
With a sharp tug of both hands, the corpse-like machine sat bolt upright as though shocked back to life.
Under the subtle dance of Kyle's fingers, the alchemical puppet began walking, running, jumping, and crouching—flawlessly executing every basic movement.
"Wicked! How are you doing that?!" George cried, genuinely stunned.
He knew exactly how brain-dead his own creation was.
Forget running and jumping; the thing could barely shuffle along like a drunk grandmother.
Kyle manipulated the puppet's arms, had it raise the twin M16s bolted to its forearms, and fired a short burst across the frozen surface of the lake. Only then did he turn back to George and explain the principle behind chakra threads.
All three of them had already mastered tree-climbing and water-walking; producing chakra threads was child's play by comparison.
George managed to form his own threads in just five minutes.
The problem came when he tried to control the puppet—his threads were nowhere near as precise as Kyle's.
"You should seriously consider specializing in puppetry," Kyle told him with a perfectly straight face.
"Imagine controlling a hundred of these puppets at once… each one with the combat power of an elite Auror…"
Yes—he was painting a picture of the ultimate puppet master technique capable of annihilating an entire country.
Akatsuki member Sasori of the Red Sand's forbidden art—Red Secret Technique: Performance of a Hundred Puppets.
And honestly? George's fiery red hair did kinda match Sasori's vibe.
Staring up at the ridiculously grandiose future Kyle had just blown out of thin air, George was practically drooling.
He completely failed to consider how many tens of thousands of Galleons it would cost to build even one puppet that could trade blows with an elite Auror—let alone a hundred.
And even if he somehow managed to build them, he only had ten fingers.
Even if he used his toes, how exactly was he supposed to control over a hundred puppets simultaneously?
He wasn't about to turn himself into a human puppet like Sasori and control them all through an unlimited core.
But all those insurmountable obstacles were temporarily eclipsed by the glorious dream Kyle had just sketched.
As for Fred, the one who believed art should only bloom for an instant…
Kyle was already wondering when Fred would finally invent exploding clay. Should he drop a few hints?
Although… pure explosive clay without any magic mixed in probably wouldn't be very effective against wizards.
Wizards and shinobi were both glass cannons, but they were still different kinds of glass cannons.
A plain explosion with no magical component could be completely blocked by simple Protego or Protego Maxima.
But since George, Hogwarts' future puppet master, had already taken the "iron-man suit" development route, why shouldn't Fred blaze his own trail?
For example—he could take inspiration from a certain ammo-vomiting lunatic from Poison Milk Powder.
That way, the loving Weasley brothers could even collaborate on weapons in the future.
One builds mechs, the other builds missiles.
And just like that, Kyle's Hogwarts version of the Akatsuki would have three reserve members.
He made a mental note—maybe he should write to old Alfred and have the man procure some Muggle physics and chemistry textbooks?
Decision happily made.
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