The official launch of the tournament transformed the arena from a place of mere practice into a crucible of skill and nerve.
Sebastian's announcement was followed instantly by the first-year bouts. Student names were called, and the nervous competitors shuffled onto the raised stages, wands trembling, ready to face off.
"Densaugeo!" "Locomotor Mortis!" "Furnunculus!"
The air immediately filled with a chaotic barrage of petty curses. The noise level was deafening—the sharp cracks of minor spells mingling with the gasps and cheers of the audience. The duels were less about precision and more about sheer magical volume.
However, a core group of highly skilled students managed to reliably execute more potent enchantments, such as the Disarming Charm (Expelliarmus) and the Full Body-Bind Curse (Petrificus Totalus). Yet, even these powerful spells were meaningless if they failed to connect.
After nearly a year of focused dueling practice, no one was foolish enough to stand still and absorb the barrage. The young wizards dashed and weaved across the arena floor, their agility proving as crucial as their spellcasting speed. Some of the more advanced students even demonstrated a surprising mastery of movement, casting minor, distracting hexes while running, aiming to disrupt their opponent's aim even if they couldn't land a direct hit.
Ron watched the chaotic displays from the sidelines, an air of superior judgment about him. He snorted, rolling his eyes.
Childish! Are these people tired of running around like house-elves?
He believed they were wasting valuable time on childish evasion. In Ron's mind, the key was simple: slow down, aim carefully, and unleash a single, devastating curse. Furthermore, he was certain that his ability to cast the Petrificus Totalus and the Expelliarmus reliably put him in a separate, much higher league.
Definitely going to rank well. From where I'm standing… it looks lonely at the top.
When his name was finally called, Ron swaggered confidently onto the stage overseen by Professor Flitwick. His opponent was a small, jumpy Hufflepuff boy.
A Hufflepuff. Piece of cake. Ron settled into a rigid, ready stance, his wand pressed precisely against his chest, awaiting the signal.
"Three—two—one. Duel!" Professor Flitwick's voice chirped.
Ron's wand flashed instantly toward the Hufflepuff. "Petrificus Totalus!"
Got him! Ron thought, already mentally polishing his championship trophy.
Splat!
The crimson jet of light slipped harmlessly through the space where the Hufflepuff had been a millisecond before. The boy had ducked and rolled to the side with the pre-emptive timing of a practiced dodger.
What?! He moved?! Ron was furious. This was completely opposite to his envisioned scenario of immediate, humiliating victory.
He raised his wand again, firing a rapid, angry barrage. "Petrificus Totalus!" "Expelliarmus!" "Flipendo Maxima!"
Despite the rapid succession of spells, he couldn't even graze his opponent's shadow. The Hufflepuff was a blur of frantic, erratic movement—flailing sideways, bobbing up and down like a hyperactive monkey—making focused aiming absolutely impossible.
Ron's frustration mounted, but he stubbornly stuck to his strategy: ignore the opponent's own, weaker spells, stand perfectly still, and meticulously aim for a clear shot.
Then, a sudden, surprisingly accurate jet of light struck Ron's knee.
"Tarantallegra!"
Got me! Ron realized, utterly distraught. His legs immediately began to twitch and jerk uncontrollably, forcing him into a grotesque, rapid-fire tap dance. It became nearly impossible for him to hold his wand steady, and worse, the involuntary movements were propelling him rapidly toward the edge of the dueling platform.
Stop! Stop moving, you idiot legs!
Desperate, Ron threw one last, wild, fully powered curse at the Hufflepuff, trying to obliterate him before he was literally danced off the stage.
"BEEP!"
The final whistle shrieked. Professor Flitwick, with a flick of his wrist, lifted the Dance Jinx on a gasping, sweating Ron and immediately declared the agile Hufflepuff boy the winner.
Hermione, watching from the sidelines, buried her face in her hands. Oh, the sheer embarrassment! She had tried to convince Ron to practice defensive movement and basic counter-jinxes, but his arrogance had made him refuse, insisting they were beneath him. Now, his stubbornness had led to a humiliating defeat by a simple, humiliating jinx.
Nearby, Draco Malfoy watched Ron's defeat. A slow, condescending smile spread across his face.
Heh. Was that the grand display Weasley promised? Malfoy shook his head, utterly unimpressed. I thought he would at least put up a decent fight. Such a pathetic showing. Someone who doesn't even clear the preliminaries isn't worth a second glance.
Malfoy dismissed the Weasley completely and turned his attention to the other arenas, specifically focusing on Harry's inevitable advance.
The First Year duels rapidly concluded, leading to the highly anticipated final. After the third-place match wrapped up, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy stepped onto the main arena floor to challenge for the championship.
Sebastian, acting as the referee for this crucial bout, was intrigued. Malfoy, usually so theatrical, offered no insulting words or taunts. He merely glared at Harry with a focused, cold malice that suggested total conviction in his upcoming victory.
"Opponents, give the dueling salute."
The two boys bowed stiffly, wands held respectfully.
"Three—two—one. Duel!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Harry wasted no time. His wand snapped up, unleashing a blinding flash of scarlet light straight at Malfoy's chest. It was the best, cleanest Disarming Charm he had ever cast.
But Malfoy was ready. The instant Harry began the spell's incantation, Malfoy took a sharp, anticipatory dodge to the right, easily evading the Disarming Spell.
Malfoy grinned—a genuinely wicked, calculating expression. He raised his wand, pointing it at the floor directly in front of him.
"Nebula Profunda!"
A dense, roiling bank of gray fog instantly erupted from the stone floor, spreading quickly and obscuring half of the dueling arena.
The crowd erupted. The roar was deafening, the arena's roof practically rattling from the combined noise.
"Merlin's beard! That's a Nebula spell! Do First Years really know that much? It's a highly advanced, specialized spell!"
"Fascinating! Potter can't see his opponent now. How is he going to manage?"
"But Malfoy can't see Potter either! How is he going to attack?"
"This is a highly tactical, if slightly dishonorable, style of play! I love it! I'm going to try that later!"
"Don't be an idiot, that gray fog is easily dispersed with a strong Ventus jinx. But the caster always gains the initial tactical advantage!"
Harry stood stock-still at the edge of the mist, ignoring the crowd's excited commentary. He was alert, wand held ready, waiting for Malfoy's predicted sneak attack. His eyes searched the undulating edge of the gray curtain, looking for any shift or silhouette that would betray his opponent's position.
To the audience's surprise, Malfoy hadn't merely hidden. The moment the mist deployed, he had dropped flat onto the ground.
Heh heh! Potter, you'd never guess that your young master is going to fight you from the floor, completely invisible beneath my tactical fog!
This was a dirty trick, one he had prepared just for this duel. Malfoy quickly yanked a small, decorative button from his inner robe and, with a quick Vera Verto jinx, transformed it into a thin, half-meter-long metallic rod.
Malfoy shucked off his outer robes and used the stick to prop them up so they were roughly standing upright within the mist. If Harry caught a glimpse, he would assume it was Malfoy himself.
Grinning maliciously, Malfoy took the stick in his left hand and began to crawl silently toward the edge of the fog like a nimble lizard.
Perfect. Potter hasn't detected me.
Malfoy crept to the very edge of the obscurity. He extended his right hand, pointing his wand through the dense fog at the figure of Harry, who was still warily staring at the center of the mist. He then used the metallic rod to subtly nudge his standing robes, causing the illusionary figure to shift slightly and creating a fleeting shadow near the center of the gray cloud.
Harry immediately reacted to the movement and the faint, shifting outline. He snapped his wand toward the suspected location of his opponent.
"Expelliarmus!"
But before Harry could complete the incantation, a blinding jet of red light erupted from the ground, right beneath the mist's edge—far lower than Harry had anticipated and aimed with devastating accuracy.
Harry tried desperately to throw himself sideways, but it was too late. The curse slammed into his arm.
He instantly froze, his body locked, and he hit the stone floor with a painful, solid thud. The wand flew from his paralyzed grip, clattering loudly against the stone.
"BEEP!"
The final whistle pierced the noise.
Sebastian raised his hand high above the ring. "The match is concluded!"
He paused for a dramatic moment, letting the silence hang heavy over the suddenly quiet crowd.
"The First Year Champion is… Draco Malfoy!"