Year 2 Part 7

  … …

  (Vesta Malfoy POV)

  She moved as quickly as her aching legs would allow, still recovering from her victory in the generally accepted opening round of the Junior Wand Duelling Tournament. The Third Year she'd been drawn against had proven far more tenacious than expected, and the effort of overcoming him had left her muscles trembling and her magical reserves uncomfortably low.

  In the Tournament, it was first to score five points and, in the end, she'd squeaked out a five-to-four victory. Afterwards, she had collapsed, her vision swimming, her wand arm numb, and been taken to the medical tent that had been set up under one of the stands surrounding the arena. Technically, it wasn't an arena; they were using the Quidditch stadium, but with the Junior and Senior leagues concluded, it had been converted into a vast open space for the duelling tournaments.

  For the Senior Tournament, the ground was allowed to be altered, and, from what she'd witnessed in First Year during the later rounds, sections of it were transformed into random environments. She'd have loved to test herself in that. Unfortunately, as she was only in her Second Year, she'd have to wait until at least Fourth Year to experience it—though she was uncertain if she'd advance far enough that year to see the arena shift into something approaching an international duelling venue.

  She'd get the chance to witness such spectacles this summer. Along with her family, they were heading to Venice for a holiday, and while there, they'd be attending the bi-annual European Duelling Tournament. The mere thought of it sent a thrill through her chest. She knew she wasn't as great a duellist as her brother or father, but the rush she got when pushed beyond her limits under fire, that electric surge when survival depended on the next spell, excited her in ways little else could. The duel she'd just won had offered a taste of that; however, it hadn't compared to the one she'd had earlier this year with Dòmhnall MacLeod.

  It still irritated her that she had lost, but she'd given everything she had attempting to win, while Dòmhnall had done likewise, pulling out what had turned out to be a Fourth-Year charm. When or where he had learnt it, she didn't know, but much like the Whirlwind Shield she had used, he had cast it silently and with both power and precision.

  If she hadn't already set her sights on Dòmhnall, then that duel would've had her do so. Because she had already staked a claim on him, even before her father had her brother make an offer of betrothal, it only enhanced her certainty that he was the one for her.

  Since defeating her as the Second Year's top wand duellist, Dòmhnall had been assured of his position. The only one who could've challenged him was her, but she'd turned her focus to the tournament, aware that if she advanced further than Dòmhnall, she'd reclaim her ranking. She had to watch out for Enya Delaney, Lucian Mortigast, and Victor Maddox, however. Just as she could overtake Dòmhnall if she reached a higher round, each of that trio, ranked third to fifth, could overtake her in the same manner. Those from sixth to tenth had to finish two rounds ahead of her. Those in the next ten had to finish three rounds ahead, but the chances of any managing that were limited.

  As she reached the stands and began the long climb to where her housemates, some of whom she considered friends, were gathered, she went over the rules of the Junior Tournament. The general rules were the same as the club, with elemental spells and transfiguration costing the caster either one or two points. The arena for them was simply a wide-open space where the duellists could move around freely, and almost every other spell, charm, or hex was permitted. The ones that could not be cast were, beyond those outlawed or deemed dangerous by the DMLE and Wizengamot, spells that shouldn't be attempted by inexperienced casters. In theory, that ruled out almost every spell from Fifth Year onwards, but she knew her brother had learnt a handful of Fifth Year charms that he planned to use if required.

  Given that almost every student in Second to Fourth Year was a member of the wand duelling club, there were limits on who could enter the Tournament proper. In most years, including this one, the Tournament was limited to no more than one thousand and twenty-four places. That meant all the Third and Fourth Years were allowed in, with the rest of the places being filled by Second Years. To clean up the numbers, most Second Years had to compete against each other to gain access, while the top one hundred in the year were entered automatically.

  The first official round, the Ten-Twenty-Four round as it was officially called, though most called it the warmups, had taken place over the last few days with students ideally matched up against someone from their year at random. It was meant to be random, but rarely did any student in the top fifty of their year take on another similarly highly ranked student.

  The Five-Twelve round, which Vesta had won earlier today, was more unbalanced. The draw was random, meaning that, just as in her case, a Second Year could be drawn against a Third Year, or a Third Year against a Fourth Year. Very, very rarely did a Second Year have the misfortune of drawing a Fourth Year, though she had heard from her tutors that it happened every few years. In the cases of a year mismatch, generally the older student emerged victorious, though not always. Something she had proved with her earlier hard-fought victory.

  The majority of the following rounds also went via random draws. That was, according to the Professors, designed to add an air of uncertainty and mystery to the event. If they ranked students by years, then every year the tournament would quickly become nothing more than a Fourth-Year event. It did anyway, but the randomness allowed for a few surprises to slip into the middle rounds.

  Once the Round of Sixty-Four was reached, the positions of the duellists were locked in, and a clear bracket was set. It was from there that the real betting, something the Professors officially discouraged but never actively moved to stop, kicked in. Occasionally, a Second Year got beyond the round of Sixty-Four, but that was it. Even a Third Year making the Quarterfinals was considered a rare occurrence; however, it did happen, with the last being Bellatrix Black, who had managed to win the Junior Tournament that year. She was the first to do so in several decades, and the first two-time champion since someone called Tom Riddle, a halfblood Slytherin who'd been a student at Hogwarts several decades earlier.

  She hoped her brother might manage to make the Semifinals this year, and so long as he made the Round of Sixty-Four, which he should, she'd be placing a bet on him to do so. Lucius was skilled at casting, more so than her if one compared their grades from the same year, and had been top of his year since almost from the moment his year could join the duelling club.

  The sounds of cheering filled the stairwell she was climbing, suggesting whatever duel was taking place had ended. Based on the cheers being somewhat muted rather than thunderous, she had to assume that either the duel hadn't involved a Slytherin, or that if it had, that student had disappointed the house.

  Emerging into the stands, she looked around, seeking out her friends. A wave from Adilene caught her attention, and she moved towards them. First, that meant heading up a few flights of stairs, seating was arranged on a first-come, first-serve basis, and then she began slipping past others to reach the group of about thirty.

  "What an enjoyable duel, and we'll see Miss O'Brian in the next round." The voice of Professor Flitwick rang around the stadium as the cheering died down. A quick glance towards the arena let Vesta see several members of staff casting spells to clean the area of debris that had been sent flying. "For our next match, first up we have…" There was a long pause, and like most in the stadium, Vesta looked up at the floating display that hovered over the arena. It was there that the names of those due to compete were displayed randomly. "Avos Andellie!"

  The Gryffindors in the crowd erupted into cheers as the member of their house was called, though it was a few minutes before he stepped into the arena. Judging by his robes, he was a Fourth Year and had a cocky smirk on his face as he waved to the audience. Vesta felt her stomach turn at how many older girls, including, it seemed, some in her house, grew louder in their cheers. Yes, Andellie seemed attractive, but from what she'd heard, he was an arrogant toad who looked down on everyone not in Gryffindor.

  "Sorry, I needed to get checked out by the nurses," Vesta said as she reached where her fellow Second Years were gathered and moved towards Adilene, who had saved a seat for her.

  "It's okay."

  "Yeah, you did great, Lady Malfoy."

  She turned to the second speaker, who was a few rows back, and gave the boy a nod. Cooper was an odd muggleborn. Not just because he seemed to have adapted and accepted the way the world worked, but because he was doing far better than a muggleborn normally would.

  That was, without doubt, the work of Dòmhnall. She didn't entirely agree with Dòmhnall's ideal that muggleborns could be useful contributors to their world, but she would admit, if only to herself, that Cooper understood his place. The fact that he was changing the views of a handful of other muggleborns or muggle-raised students in his house and others was unimportant to Vesta, but it seemed to be to Dòmhnall, and thus she allowed the boy to sit at the edge of the group of Slytherins she controlled, along with Dòmhnall.

  "What was that spell you cast to win?"

  Vesta turned to Godwine, her eyes flicking to where his fingers were interlocked with Adilene's hand. A tremor of irritation, that they were betrothed already and she wasn't, not because she desired Godwine, rose inside her and was brutally crushed. Godwine would become the Lord of the Most Ancient House of Suthsax, but he had never interested her. Few boys had, and she was pleased that her parents, in particular her mother, had allowed her time to examine the options in her year before seeking a match for her. Now, if only Dòmhnall would consent, she would have the man she felt was worthy of her attention.

  "And his opponent is…" Professor Flitwick's voice cut Vesta off from replying to her friend, and she looked towards the display. As the face of the one challenging Avos Andellie appeared, her heart stuttered in her chest. "Dòmhnall MacLeod!"

  "Oh Merlin," she heard Enya mutter while others in their group offered similar words of concern. From the Gryffindor sections of the crowd, a thunderous roar erupted. A Second Year, even the top-ranked one, going up against any Fourth Year, never mind one ranked in the upper half of the year as Andellie was, was a massive mismatch. That they could knock out one of the best Second Year Slytherins only encouraged the Gryffindors.

  The students of the other houses were less enthusiastic, while the watching Slytherins seemed resigned to Dòmhnall's defeat. Yet as she watched him, Vesta swore she caught something that everyone else missed. "He'll be fine," she whispered to herself, though it was more hope than conviction. "Maybe."

  "Yes! He's dead!"

  Vesta's brow creased at the words, and for a moment she considered turning and hexing that fool Carrow with the vilest spells she knew. She resisted the urge, as beyond it costing her points for her house, Carrow wasn't worth the energy it would take to destroy him. He might be the heir to House Carrow, but he was nothing more than an ignorant slug; one with very limited influence in their year, given his repeated defeats, verbal and in duels, against Dòmhnall, along with his abysmal academic performances.

  "Care to make a bet on that?" Vesta kept her face neutral as Damien Blackwood responded to Carrow. Her focus remained on Dòmhnall.

  She watched as he moved into the arena, his face unreadable, or almost. To anyone who barely knew him, he'd seem either unconcerned by the drawing or accepting of his expected defeat. Vesta, however, had been watching Dòmhnall for nearly two years now. She understood most of the tells he allowed to slip out.

  "Easy money!"

  Right now, Dòmhnall moved to his starting point with conviction, shoulders squared, stride unhurried but purposeful. She didn't know what he had planned, but she was certain Dòmhnall had something prepared for dealing with Andellie. At least something that should give him a chance at victory.

  "A Galleon if Dòmhnall scores two points. Sound good?"

  Vesta leaned forward, her hands coming to rest under her chin. "What are you planning?" she mumbled to herself, keeping her voice low so others didn't hear. Her mind raced, cycling through every spell she knew, including those she'd learnt from her family's library and grimoire, trying to determine what Dòmhnall was planning. He had to have spells he'd learnt over the break in mind for this, and she could think of several that would be legal in a duel at their level but not taught in Hogwarts that he could use. However, all of them needed time to cast. Time he might not have if Andellie came out with a full-frontal assault.

  "Done!"

  "Duellists ready?" Professor Flitwick called out. Dòmhnall and Andellie raised their wands, saluting each other.

  They snapped them down at the same time, and Vesta felt her skin crawl at the sneer the Gryffindor wore. It was as if he was already dismissing Dòmhnall, possibly even considering his next duel. What unearned arrogance. She found herself watching with fierce hope that Dòmhnall didn't just win but wiped the floor with this egotistical simpleton.

  A chime echoed around the arena and stadium, signalling the start of the duel.

  "Flipendo Tria! Incarcerous! Levicorpus! Colloshoo! Tentaclifors!"

  A quintet of jinxes and hexes erupted from Andellie's wand in rapid succession, spiralling together into a corkscrewing swirl of colour that streaked towards Dòmhnall. Vesta recognised all five spells but frowned: the Gryffindor should be able to cast them silently. Or at least she could cast four of them that way. He had, however, cast his Shield Charm silently, and the small defensive ward, about the standard size for someone in the Junior bracket, had formed over his free hand.

  Dòmhnall, on the other hand, had begun with silent casting of quick-fire bolts. Vesta frowned—while he'd cast over a dozen of the bolts in the time it had taken Andellie to cast his five hexes, there was no hue on any of them. What made it worse was that each bolt was moving forward in a perfectly straight line without the slightest hint of deviation. Or at least nothing that she could make out.

  To make things worse, Dòmhnall hadn't cast the Shield Charm, seemingly focusing everything on offensive production.

  Andellie smirked as he continued to cast, going silent as colours swirled out from his wand. At the same time, he shifted his body, bringing his shield around in readiness to defend himself. Dòmhnall was still casting, focusing mainly on quick-fire bolts, though at least now Vesta saw hues appearing over them as they raced almost as a continuous streak from the tip of Dòmhnall's wand. The issue was the opening salvo of curses Andellie had cast, and that Dòmhnall still hadn't cast the Shield Charm.

  Vesta's main focus was on Dòmhnall, silently demanding he cast his Shield or move to avoid the incoming hexes and jinxes. A light bloomed around him, and the chime echoed around the arena.

  "Point, MacLeod!"

  The surprise in Professor Flitwick's voice was matched by the gasp of shock that swept through the audience.

  Vesta blinked, watching as the light cleared around Dòmhnall before she inhaled sharply. Something mirrored by many around her. Dòmhnall had cast a Shield Charm, but it was the Bulwark version—a shimmering wall of azure light that curved around him like a fortress rampart. Something not taught until Fifth Year.

  "That's cheating!" someone in the crowd called out, and for a moment, Vesta feared they might be right.

  "No. It's just that most lower years don't have the power and control to cast it." She recognised the person responding. The voice, which carried a hint of admiration, was Asmodeus Wessex. "Now be quiet and watch!"

  As spells raced between the two duellists, Vesta's mind worked overtime. While most of her thoughts focused on the unfolding combat, part of her replayed the last few moments of the duel. As she did, she saw how Dòmhnall had scored the opening point.

  The bolts he had cast, the ones lacking any hue and thus seemingly as basic as they could be, were something different. The intensity of the colour from them was greater, concentrated, almost solid, and as they'd struck Andellie's shield, they'd rapidly cracked and shattered the charm like hammer blows against thin ice. The Gryffindor had barely managed to twist aside in time to avoid being struck by one of the latter bolts in that initial volley, narrowly saving himself from losing another point.

  All of that had forced Andellie to stop casting, granting Dòmhnall time to counter and block the Gryffindor's attacks. Vesta saw that he had then gone on to keep casting, trying to capitalise on Andellie's defensive scramble while shifting around himself.

  Dòmhnall continued to favour the quick-fire bolt, though he was varying the hues now, and Vesta caught sight of different spells seemingly woven into the streams of bolts. Andellie was moving, countering each incoming spell while seeking to recover his stance and begin attacking Dòmhnall again. The Gryffindor had, while moving, managed to recast his Shield Charm, though this time it was larger and looked more solid. That suggested the Fourth Year had not given Dòmhnall the respect he deserved, which had led to Dòmhnall acquiring the first point of the duel.

  The chime rang out again around the arena.

  "Point, MacLeod!"

  Vesta felt a ripple of amusement at the excitement creeping into Professor Flitwick's voice. The fact that Dòmhnall now had two points also meant Carrow had lost his bet within a minute of the duel starting. However, what drew Vesta's focus more, without taking her attention away from the ongoing duel, was the rippled hush that had fallen over the arena.

  Down below, Dòmhnall and Andellie exchanged spells, the Fourth Year finally managing to regain some initiative and launch attacks at Dòmhnall. Yet within the crowd, Vesta could feel the shift in the air, a collective held breath, a mounting tension. Without delving deeply into her mind to pull up the statistics, she couldn't give an exact date, but she knew it had been at least two decades since a Second Year had defeated a Fourth Year in the Junior Tournament.

  The air around Andellie seemed to thicken and shimmer, and Vesta noted that Dòmhnall's attacks, or at least the quick-fire bolts, weren't reaching the Gryffindor. Instead, they seemed to flicker out about half a foot from the older boy, dissolving into wisps of fading light. Her brow creased as she wondered what spell the Fourth Year had cast, but knowing this wasn't the time to focus on that, she pushed her curiosity aside.

  Dòmhnall, rather impressively given the kaleidoscope of colours filling the air between himself and Andellie, seemed to sense this. As Vesta watched, along with the rest of the crowd, Dòmhnall shifted his pattern, moving away from the quick-fire bolt.

  The bursts that erupted from his wand, at a speed Vesta couldn't recall seeing him cast before, not even during their duel for the top spot in their year, came one after another in a relentless torrent. The various colours and shapes of whatever he was casting flowed together with an almost choreographed beauty. Yes, some of the colour transitions weren't aesthetically pleasing, but each spell began to emerge almost as soon as the last had begun its flight towards Andellie.

  At the other side of the arena, Andellie was casting rapidly, too. He was moving around, favouring avoidance over deflection of Dòmhnall's spells. Vesta's eyes narrowed as she saw the darker colours of whatever Andellie was sending back, deep crimsons and sickly yellows shot through with threads of black. Without hearing the incantation, both were casting everything silently, which was mostly expected for a Fourth Year but definitely not so for a Second Year, even if she, Dòmhnall, and others could do so, she couldn't be certain what the Gryffindor was hurling at her betrothed, but she felt her body tense. She suspected everything was a hex or jinx. And not necessarily simple hexes and jinxes, but ones that could do serious damage if they struck.

  Vesta didn't know if Andellie had the power and control to make the spells as dangerous as they could be, but the fact that he was assaulting Dòmhnall with such things made clear he was not just taking the duel seriously, but was embarrassed by losing two points to a Second Year.

  One of Andellie's spells suddenly banked sharply just before it reached Dòmhnall, curving like a hunting falcon diving for prey, and Vesta inhaled sharply. Dòmhnall was alert to the sudden shift, and in an impressive display of control, not only rolled to one side but continued to send spells back at Andellie. However, in the same move, his shield arm had trailed behind, and before he could pull it with him, a quartet of hexes slammed into it in rapid succession.

  "Point, Andellie," Professor Flitwick called out as Dòmhnall's shield failed, shattering into fading motes of blue light.

  Vesta saw that Dòmhnall was lucky. The last of Andellie's hexes had missed striking him or his robes by the narrowest of margins. Yet it didn't seem to concern Dòmhnall that his shield was gone, and even as he regained his balance, his wand continued to spew spells at his opponent.

  A faint smirk rose on Andellie's face, and a moment later, Vesta and the others watching understood why. Dòmhnall was countering and attacking with his wand; however, he had failed to recast a Shield Charm, leaving him dangerously exposed.

  The intensity of Andellie's casting grew, and while she couldn't hear what he was chanting, Vesta caught the movement of his lips. As Dòmhnall fired off a burst of counterspells mixed with a handful of charms, a larger and clearly more powerful spell emerged from Andellie's wand.

  The Gryffindor used his Shield Charm to deflect the spells from Dòmhnall that he couldn't avoid, focusing on casting the spell coalescing before his wand. The air in front of Andellie grew bright, turning an intense yellow that hurt to look at directly, like staring into a summer sun. As whatever he had cast moved towards Dòmhnall, the globule bigger than the boy's head and pulsing with barely contained energy, Vesta felt an intense dislike of the Gryffindor spread through her at the vicious smile he wore—along with a tremor of concern for the one she had chosen as her husband.

  Dòmhnall sensed the danger of the incoming spell, choosing to shift entirely to casting counters. The initial curse he sent towards the large lemony oblong that raced towards him dissipated against it with no effect—swallowed up like a pebble thrown into a river.

  "Cast a shield!" Vesta heard someone nearby whisper with dread, but she knew that wouldn't work. Whatever Andellie had cast had a great chance to shatter a Shield Charm, particularly if it wasn't cast quickly enough or lacked reinforcement.

  Dòmhnall seemed to understand this and began to move even while his wand danced in his fingers, the subtle movements of the tip carrying an almost artistic flair in Vesta's eyes. For a brief moment, she remembered watching the British Duelling Championship last year. The winner, a man from House Scudamore, had moved with similar grace. Every motion purposeful, every spell an extension of intent rather than mere incantation. Yes, he was older, far more experienced, and a million times more infuriating with how he behaved, but the style that Dòmhnall was displaying bore a striking resemblance to the current British Champion.

  What Dòmhnall lacked, beyond experience and unlocked pathways, was a mature body. As such, the spells he was casting to try and destroy Andellie's latest attack were unable to do anything—they simply lacked the raw power needed. To make matters worse, behind the globule, Vesta saw that Andellie had shifted his approach. He was now copying Dòmhnall's earlier tactic and launching a bombardment of quick-fire bolts.

  Vesta didn't know if Dòmhnall was aware of this or not, but she could tell that if he was, he couldn't do anything about it. The yellow shape bearing down on him required his full attention, particularly as nothing he cast seemed to affect it. To make matters worse, the spell was tracking Dòmhnall's movements, turning with him like a predator locked onto prey, ensuring he couldn't escape.

  Vesta focused intently on Dòmhnall, trying to read any hint on his face as to his intentions. The fractional tightening of his lips, along with the narrowing of his gaze, made clear that he understood his predicament. Just before the incoming spell reached him, cutting off her sight of his face, Vesta swore she saw a twitch of excitement.

  The chime rang out as the lemony spell struck Dòmhnall with a flash that made Vesta flinch.

  "Point, Andellie," Flitwick called out, which drew a cheer from a good portion of the crowd.

  No doubt the Gryffindors were enjoying seeing their duellist tie the mat—

  "Point, Andellie!"

  That set off more cheering, and Vesta felt herself scowl. One of Andellie's quick-fire bolts had struck Dòmhnall as well, meaning the Fourth Year was now in the lead.

  As the chime sounded again, Vesta felt her heart get stuck in her throat. It seemed as if Dòmnh—

  "P-point, MacLeod!"

  Vesta's eyes widened in shock, matching the amazement in Professor Flitwick's tone. She'd been so focused on Dòmhnall, along with everyone else, including Andellie, that they'd missed something. A glance at the Gryffindor showed him stumbling back after being struck, his expression one of stunned disbelief. Vesta had no idea what spell Dòmhnall had used, but he'd ensured that he stayed in this.

  "Come on, Dom!"

  The shout erupted from her before she realised it. Regaining her composure, she pushed her excitement, along with a sliver of embarrassment for acting as she had and using a shortened form of Dòmhnall's name, deep inside her. She could feel the gaze of several nearby fall upon her and knew Adilene, Enya, and the others would tease her about her outburst, but she didn't care. For the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, she found herself not just wanting to see someone other than a member of her family win a duel, but praying to magic itself that it occurred.

  A faint flutter inside her chest was ignored and pushed down to join the emotions that had sprung forth a moment ago. She could deal with all that, and she wasn't foolish enough to pretend she didn't have some understanding of what the flutter meant, later. For now, she needed to focus on the duel to see how Dòmhnall would win this. Something she knew in her bones he would.

  Andellie's shock had given way to anger, a flush spreading across his cheeks, his jaw clenched tight enough she could see the muscles jumping. The fact that he had been struck just as he took the lead seemed to infuriate him. What no doubt made it worse was the smirk that Dòmhnall was displaying. A smirk that Vesta had seen on many occasions and was part of why she knew he would win. It was a tell of Dòmhnall's, but one she suspected he was aware of and used to his advantage.

  Spells erupted from the Gryffindor's wand in a furious barrage, turning the air before him into a chaotic maelstrom of colour. Dòmhnall was casting as rapidly as he could as well, though Vesta saw he had used the moment to cast a new Shield Charm; this time a more basic one that at the same time seemed so solid that she couldn't see his fist behind it: the azure light dense as tempered steel.

  The power needed to make such a shield was intense, particularly for a Second Year, and keeping magic flowing into it was a strain. That Vesta knew from her training. Yet it seemed Dòmhnall, even at this point in what was easily the most intense duel she'd seen today, if not so far in the Tournament, was able to cast and sustain it. She didn't know how long he could maintain it, but he had to have a reason for pushing so much magic into it.

  A smirk, one Vesta found arrogant and condescending, slipped onto Andellie's face, and as Vesta watched, his spells grew more intense—brighter, faster, more numerous. Dòmhnall's, by contrast, seemed weaker and less regular. To anyone watching, it appeared he was struggling to maintain his Shield Charm, and as Vesta watched along with the rest of the crowd, Andellie began targeting the shield directly.

  The assault of spells hammered at Dòmhnall's shield, and while he tried to ensure they didn't strike, for every two that he managed to avoid, one did. Each impact sending ripples of light across the shield's surface. At the same time, the intensity of his spells slipped further, and as Vesta watched, he was forced to take small but steady steps back.

  Given the size of the stadium, there was little danger of him being forced from the area, still Vesta felt the weak grasp of something closing around her heart with each retreating step Dòmhnall took. What gave her comfort and had her believing that Dòmhnall remained in control was the fact that his shield never wavered, nor that any of Andellie's spells struck him directly.

  Her gaze narrowed, and she leaned forward, quickly confirming that Andellie was hyper-focused on the shield. In the space of a few seconds, there had been three times Dòmhnall had left himself open when Andellie didn't try to exploit it. Vesta was certain that Dòmhnall was leaving them intentionally, or at least he was extending those openings, yet Andellie refused to take them.

  The pressure in her chest lessened, and Vesta felt a smirk creep onto her features. Dòmhnall was leading Andellie, though where and why she couldn't say. What was clear was that Andellie had lost his focus slightly and seemed intent on destroying Dòmhnall's powerful Shield Charm to claim victory. She could understand the logic as it would prove Andellie was the superior duellist and that Dòmhnall's early points had been a fluke. Yet she knew on an instinctual level that Dòmhnall was aware of it and had exploited it by casting such a seemingly overpowered Shield Charm.

  Dòmhnall continued to move back slowly, though Vesta saw that for each step he took back, Andellie was taking two or more forwards, closing the distance. There was logic in such a move, as it granted the opponent less time to counter anything you cast. However, as Andellie was telegraphing his intentions, he was leaving himself just as open to a lack of time to counter as he wanted to deny Dòmhnall.

  The crowd was growing tense, expecting this unexpectedly exciting duel to end soon, yet Vesta knew that most were still fooled by the flow of the duel. They didn't realise that with each step he took, Dòmhnall was leading Andellie to the slaughter. However, she also understood that Dòmhnall couldn't be overconfident. There was a chance that Andellie might know he was being led and have a counter ready to turn the trap into one of his creation.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Dòmhnall's wand shifted from casting counters, and he turned his body so that his Shield Charm was directly facing Andellie. The Gryffindor grinned, teeth flashing, and started pushing more magic into his spells, targeting the very centre of the shield. Around the arena, a hush had fallen, and Vesta could feel the expectation in the air—thick as fog, heavy as the moment before a storm breaks. They were reaching the end phase.

  Vesta watched as the tip of Dòmhnall's wand, now hidden from Andellie's sight by his body and everything crashing into the Shield Charm, glowed orange. A small shiver ran down her spine, realising what he intended to cast and remembering the power she'd felt when she'd faced off against that charm.

  As the assault of light against Dòmhnall's Shield Charm grew brighter, and through it all, Vesta swore she saw the shield grow larger and more intense in response, an orange streak raced from Dòmhnall's wand. However, it didn't move towards Andellie, instead angling away to Dòmhnall's right.

  Andellie's gaze flicked to the spell, though his focus returned to targeting Dòmhnall's shield as the orange bar raced away from them both. In the arena, Vesta heard a few chuckles of amusement; the fools thinking the spell was wasted.

  Another orange bar emerged from Dòmhnall's wand, this time pushing directly up into the air. Again, Andellie tracked it, though he stayed with it long enough for a flicker of confusion to spread over his face as the bar split into four, each piece arcing like the petals of a deadly flower.

  A gasp emerged from the crowd, suggesting many didn't realise what Dòmhnall had cast or they had forgotten about him using it against her before the April break. Understandable as that was the only time Vesta knew he had cast it, save for likely displaying it to Professor Flitwick as she had with her Whirlwind Shield. Yet their failure to predict the charm, along with Andellie's shift to focusing on the four arrows that changed direction and darted towards him, was what ensured the duel was already over.

  Andellie easily countered the four arrows, and his eyes returned to Dòmhnall. A smirk of arrogance came onto the Gryffindor's face as he sent another yellow globule at Dòmhnall, with a collection of quick-fire bolts emerging behind it.

  The air grew heavy as everyone waited to see how Dòmhnall would deal with the spell that he'd failed to handle earlier. Everyone knew this was the end, and a collective intake of air occurred as Dòmhnall chose not to try and counter the lemony oblong racing towards him. Instead, he shifted his stance, bracing for the strike, and Vesta could only marvel as his Shield Charm grew brighter, and perhaps even a little bigger.

  Yellow crashed into blue, and a blinding flash engulfed Dòmhnall, followed by a chime. As a second chime came quickly after, a roar began in the stands, no doubt from the Gryffindors. Yet it died before reaching its peak as another chime sounded.

  As the light faded, Vesta smiled as Dòmhnall appeared. He was kneeling about a yard to his right from where he'd been when the blinding light had swallowed him. His Shield Charm was gone, but he retained his wand and was pointing it at Andellie, not that it mattered. The Gryffindor was on his back, his wand knocked from his hand, and as Vesta dared to peek at the display to confirm the score, the arena erupted.

  The Slytherins in the audience exploded into life, cheers and shouts of shock and joy echoing around the stadium. They were joined by many of the other students, and while the Gryffindors were the quietest, Vesta saw several, including the Black Heir, shouting like madmen and women.

  "Point, Andellie! Point, MacLeod! Point and match, MacLeod!" Professor Flitwick called out excitedly, his voice having risen an octave in shock. "Students of Hogwarts, I cannot say when it last happened, but it is the first time as a Professor here that I have witnessed a Second Year emerge victorious over a Fourth Year! Please give it up for the victor, Dòmhnall Fionnlagh MacLeod!"

  "YES!"

  The shout erupted from her lips as she stood, joining the others in cheering for Dòmhnall's victory.

  "That was amazing!"

  "How did he manage that?"

  "I want to kiss him!"

  "Do you think he can win the tournament?"

  "Wicked!"

  "What was that spell?"

  Those statements, questions and more filled the air around Vesta, but she ignored them. Well, most of them. Any declaration about taking Dòmhnall or doing something with him was remembered. She would find those who said such things and educate them on who Dòmhnall belonged to.

  She understood that her father had not yet managed to convince Dòmhnall to accept the offer of betrothal between them, but she was aware that, unlike many of the other offers he'd received, he wasn't averse to the idea. Morgana, from what she had heard, Dòmhnall hadn't yet accepted an offer from House Black, but even if he did, Vesta was prepared to share. At least so long as she was his first wife. As for the harlots and trollops that had suggested trying to take Dòmhnall from her, well, she needed to practice before her next duel, and they had all just volunteered.

  Her eyes and thoughts centred on Dòmhnall as he stood slowly. Even as the cheers once more rose, he seemed to ignore them, choosing instead to dust himself down. Vesta couldn't help but feel pleased at his behaviour. Yes, he should enjoy the moment, but he understood that he needed to look presentable while doing so.

  As everyone watched, Dòmhnall moved across the arena, heading towards Andellie. Vesta's jubilant mood stilled instantly as she saw the expression on the older boy's face. He wasn't quite staring at Dòmhnall with murderous intent, but it wasn't too far off. Yet Dòmhnall approached him slowly, his wand pointing down but critically, still in his hand.

  Andellie spun and grasped his wand, and Vesta's breath caught in her throat, fearing he might try something. Dòmhnall continued to approach, a smile on his face as Vesta saw his grip on his wand tighten and his shoulder tense, as if readying himself to continue fighting. Thankfully, Andellie seemed to realise where he was, and a smile spread across his face.

  He slipped his wand back into his holster, causing it to vanish from sight, and when Dòmhnall offered him a hand up, he took it. Vesta relaxed, though her eyes watched the defeated Andellie carefully. Regardless of what else happened in this year's tournament, just as Dòmhnall's name would be on everyone's lips for several years to come, so would Andellie's. He was the Fourth Year who had lost to a Second Year. The shame of that could easily drive him to do something he shouldn't. That was something Vesta wouldn't tolerate.

  It wasn't official, or anywhere near settled, but she knew now that her decision to pursue Dòmhnall had been the correct one. She wouldn't let anyone, not another girl, her father, or an embarrassed older student, deprive her of what she wanted.

  … …

  … …

  (Dumbledore POV)

  "I see I have managed to make it on time," Dumbledore stated as he stepped into the staff box, his robes billowing around him. They shifted with each step he took, the enchanted fabric flowing through an endless procession of patterns, constellations giving way to migrating birds, then to wind-swept leaves, thanks to the magic imbued in them. "How delightful."

  The robes, one of a collection he kept in his chambers, had been a creation of an old friend within the United German States. Since he had been required to attend a meeting with several members of the Wizengamot and the Ministry, he had decided to wear them. There were times he might prefer to wear something less flashy and grandiose, but ever since his defeat of Gellert, he was expected to ensure he drew attention.

  Given his intentions for the magical world, he was quite content to do that. However, there were times when he did wish he could wear something of equal stature without the need to draw the attention of everyone present. His arrival into this box that sat above the Quidditch grounds was one such occasion.

  "I'm sad to report that you have already missed the first semi-final," Professor Inkwood reported with a smile dancing on her lips. "I'm pleased to state that Mister Newmarch will be representing Ravenclaw in the Junior Final."

  Dumbledore offered Professor Inkwood a warm smile. "My congratulations to you and your student, Edieth. I'm sure Mister Newmarch will acquit himself excellently on Saturday." He gave a nod of thanks to Minerva as he reached his seat and then turned to Professor Rhys. "Please pass along my congratulations to Mister Wood, Owain. Both students are examples of how dedication and commitment to one's studies matter more than when and where one is born."

  "I will, Headmaster," Professor Rhys replied with a smile; one that Dumbledore knew was born of the fact that Owain had been something of an outcast within his House. He had come from the main branch of House Rhys; however, he had married a lovely muggleborn girl. That choice had seen him ostracised from his House, though thankfully not to the point that he had been expunged.

  Given his talent and skill as a registered Beastmaster, Dumbledore had happily offered him a position at Hogwarts over a decade ago. Beyond being a skilled educator, Owain was a willing supporter of the lofty goals Dumbledore sought, and, as a bonus, Lord Llewelyn had shifted his stance and moved into the Scholar faction of the Wizengamot and often backed proposals suggested by Dumbledore's allies. At least where they didn't push too heavily against the traditions and customs of their world.

  The other Professors present today were all also of a like mind with Dumbledore regarding the direction their world had to move, though some were less proactive about espousing it than others. Beyond Professors Inkwood and Rhys, and his Deputy Minerva, also present were the heads of Hufflepuff and Slytherin; Dennis Elsworth and Octavius Morgan, respectively.

  Neither was concerned about blood status overmuch, though as head of Slytherin House, Octavius had to present a far more traditional stance. Most of the students in Slytherin were, as had been the case since before Dumbledore had been a student at this great institution, from Clans and Houses in the Seeker or Traditional factions. As such, the students in Slytherin were, by and large, generally supporters of those positions. There were, as with any political or societal concept, varying degrees of difference in how one interpreted an ideal. Still, of the four houses, Slytherin was the most traditional in stature, which is why Dumbledore made sure the Head of House was always a pureblood.

  It would be some years yet, but he already had Professor Slughorn prepared to take over once Owain decided to retire from education or seek out some other calling. It might be a decade or two before that happened, but it behoved Dumbledore to continually consider the long-term picture, which was in part why he chose to remain at Hogwarts after defeating Gellert instead of using his then newly gained influence and power to begin altering society towards a kinder and more nurturing one than it was.

  If he had tried to enact his beliefs over where the magical world, starting with the British Isles, should head, then many would openly oppose him. They would no doubt recall his long and storied relationship with Gellert and attempt to stifle his goals. By staying at Hogwarts and working to shape the minds of generations of students that passed through its halls, he could slowly convert the newer generations of the Wizengamot and Ministry officials.

  Regarding the two students who had just competed in the now-finished semifinal, Mister Newmarch was a pureblood and came from a cadet branch of his house. House Newmarch was one of those that placed no stigma on marriages to halfbloods or even muggleborns, though the Lord and Heir both had spouses who were purebloods as well. House Wood was more relaxed than House Newmarch on such matters, and the entire House was halfblood save for those who had married into it. They were also happy to adopt any muggleborn into their House without question.

  The fact that both Houses were members of the Progressive and Builder factions of the Wizengamot was another factor that improved Dumbledore's mood. The better those from such Clans and Houses performed at Hogwarts, both academically and within the various clubs and societies within the castle's walls, the easier it was for him to guide the British Isles towards the goals that he sought.

  It was not a perfect plan, as no such thing existed, but he was certain the path he was travelling was the correct one. Everything he had done had all been for the greater good of the magical world.

  Eventually, the muggles would start learning about the magical world in larger numbers. When that happened, the magical world had to be ready to embrace the muggle world, else a great war would be unleashed. Dumbledore did not doubt that magicals could defeat muggles; after all, they lacked even the ability to sense the flow of magic that moved around them. However, the muggles were advancing rapidly and making great strides with their tools to overcome their inherent weaknesses.

  Gellert had been right that muggles would one day become a threat towards the magical world. However, he was flawed in believing that the way to solve this was to exterminate them. Not only as the muggles do great damage to the world, much of which, it was true, magic could reverse and restore, but that many witches and wizards might side with the muggles. Gellert's war had shown the chaos a war between wizards could unleash, and if such a thing befell the entirety of the magical world, then all would be lost.

  "You must be most pleased by his presence in the semifinals, Octavius."

  Dumbledore ignored the conversation going on and recalled that Abraxas had been much the same when he had been a student at Hogwarts, though at least when comparing the first three years of their time at the school, the son had surpassed the father in reaching the semifinal of the duelling tournament. Indeed, rarely had a Malfoy shown such prestigious skill with charms and hexes as the young Mister Malfoy.

  "Indeed, I am Minerva. Young Mister Malfoy has been at the top of his year ever since First Year. Along with his betrothal to Andromeda Black, and the connections he has made with others in his house, I expect great things from him in the coming decades."

  That the Third Year had gained control over his yearmates within Slytherin was hardly a shock, either. Every year, within Slytherin, one or two students ended up stepping forth and assuming control of their yearmates. Such behaviour did on occasion occur within the other houses; however, it was within Slytherin that such practices were most common. Again, hardly a surprise, but something that Dumbledore watched carefully ever since a young Tom Marvolo Riddle had been a student at Hogwarts.

  "I heard that he has already reached the final of the Sword Duelling Tournament for the junior years."

  Dumbledore had not seen or heard of Mister Riddle since he had approached Dumbledore to become a professor of the Dark Arts nearly a decade ago, but the Headmaster remained certain that it had been the correct decision. He easily recalled the discussion he had held with Professor Slughorn over the then Fifth-Year's interest in Horcruxes. While there was nothing wrong with a student showing interest in abstract branches of magic, it was one of several minor moments during Mister Riddle's time at Hogwarts that, to this day, concerned Dumbledore. However, since Mister Riddle had not been heard from since his application to become a Professor of the Dark Arts at Hogwarts was rejected, Dumbledore's concerns regarding the former student had never risen beyond a feeling that he had failed the boy.

  Mister Malfoy, while powerful and influential, was not another Mister Riddle. Beyond the vast gulf in their birth statuses, Mister Malfoy wasn't nearly as persuasive or charming as Mister Riddle had been. In time, Dumbledore knew that Mister Malfoy would grow to become someone of importance, and not just because of his position as heir to House Malfoy. However, that would not yet be for another few years, nor would he ever have the ease of public speaking and charisma that Mister Riddle had used to unite Slytherin under his control before reaching Seventh Year.

  "He has, and rather interestingly, he defeated the opponent he is facing today."

  Dumbledore slipped from his thoughts on the young Mister Malfoy and rejoined the conversation as if he had not been focusing most of his attention elsewhere. "It is a shame that outside of those from certain magical families, and those of noble muggle lines, few others involve themselves with sword duelling. While I myself never held a passion for it, there is much of the way one wields a sword that can influence how you perform magic."

  "Indeed so, Headmaster," Colm Donnellan replied. Unlike the other Professors in the box with them, he was the only one not Head of a House or a member of the school's senior-most positions. However, as the Professor in charge of the duelling club—both of them, in fact—he was considered the most knowledgeable about the skills of the students in the clubs. "Beyond the strengthening of the wrist that comes from wielding a blade, there are still times when a wizard is expected to use both blade and wand in combat."

  "Wasn't it seven years ago that the last such duel took place?"

  "It was, indeed, Edieth," Colm replied to the question from the Head of Ravenclaw. "The exact details remain murky to this day, but the duel was one where the use of a blade proved decisive."

  Dumbledore nodded, remembering the duel in question. The victor, a nephew of the then Chief of Clan MacNamara, had defeated his opponent by using a blade to slice through a rather vicious hex and then struck with his wand to disarm and defeat his opponent. That the duel had ended with both combatants surviving was an unusual event for such contests. Dumbledore would prefer if such occurrences became the norm; however, even among the more Progressive elements of the Wizengamot, there remained many Builders and Scholars who felt the rules regarding duels, and how they could be enacted, were not worthy of being altered.

  "And his opponent," Professor Flitwick's voice cut in, ending the discussion in the box and drawing Dumbledore's attention fully back to the arena, "is another from Slytherin. His defeat of Mister Andellie in the opening round of the tournament remains something that I and others still speak of, and if that was as far as he got, it would remain in Hogwarts history for some time.

  "However, our second duellist not only defeated not just one Fourth-Year in his ascension to the semifinals but three of them!" Dumbledore chuckled, amused at how easily Filius was getting swept up in the rising excitement. Given how there was an undercurrent of anticipation in the stands, it was clear he was not the only one in such a situation.

  "For the first time in thirty-one years, a Second-Year student has managed to reach the semifinals. I give to you, Dòmhnall MacLeod!"

  Another cheer rose from the Slytherin seats, though Dumbledore noted that it was slightly subdued. Understandable given the Third Years would be backing Mister Malfoy, and the Fourth Years likely remained irritated that Mister MacLeod had managed to defeat three of their number on his way to today's duel.

  What slightly wrong-footed Dumbledore was the fact that many of the younger students seemed more enthused for Mister MacLeod than they might otherwise be. Indeed, he noted significant sections of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor cheering loudly for the Second-Year Slytherin.

  "It appears the lower years have their favourite," Owain commented, picking up on the support from his lions for the Second-Year Slytherin.

  His eyes picked out that one of them more vocal, was young Sirius Black, which was not unexpected if Dumbledore considered the facts. Mister MacLeod had been, in many ways, raised alongside Mister Black following the terrible tragedy of the Summer Solstice Massacre. That Mister Black would support a friend and a slightly distant cousin was hardly a surprise. What was, was that many of the other First Year Gryffindors were doing so as well, including several muggleborns and muggle-raised wizards and witches.

  "Hardly a surprise. He might be a Slytherin, but he is, more so than Mister Malfoy, upsetting the expected order." That came from Edward Juniper, the head of Hufflepuff. While his students weren't as vocal as those in Ravenclaw and Gryffindor in their support for Mister MacLeod, it seemed a more uniform backing was being given to the younger duellist, including a rather loud young girl who, if Dumbledore was not mistaken, was Miss Evans.

  Her name had come to his attention several times already, with Professor Flitwick enthused by her talent for charms and desire to learn more about spells and their origins. It also came up in reference to the group of students, rather interestingly across all four houses, that were spending time studying together in the Library. Most of that group was from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, while some were from Hufflepuff, but a handful were from Slytherin.

  "I suspect that many are simply backing the underdog. It is something I have observed in both muggle and magical societies, that people find a desire to back someone who isn't expected to do well."

  From what he had learnt about the unexpected group, they had come together because of a friendship the young Miss Evans had with Miss MacDougall and the O'Conor twins. The latter three being friends wasn't a surprise; like Mister MacLeod and others, Miss MacDougall had lost her family in the Summer Solstice Massacre. As her mother had come from Clan O'Conor, it was hardly a surprise that she was close to the twin girls from that House. It was their connection to Miss Evans that still left Dumbledore perplexed.

  The most likely reason was that they had met in Diagon Alley at some point, possibly when the muggleborn had headed there to collect her school supplies. Yet Dumbledore felt there was more to the friendship that predated Hogwarts than simply that. The way Miss Evans and her friends were cheering for Mister MacLeod as he walked towards the centre of the arena, where Mister Malfoy stood, was perhaps a clue, yet he could not determine why, beyond perhaps meeting through Miss MacDougall, the pair would have any interaction.

  "There might also be the issue that Mister MacLeod is, unlike any other student, already a figure of importance in our world, and has shown interest in helping anyone regardless of their status."

  The comment from Minerva carried some warmth. That was not entirely unexpected, as while she had no connection to Mister MacLeod, she always encouraged students to interact with those in other houses. That Mister MacLeod also had a talent for Transfiguration, Minerva's subject of choice, only helped make her liking of the Second Year more obvious.

  Dumbledore's thoughts drifted slightly with the comment, moving on a perhaps tangential thread of thought regarding Mister MacLeod. The young Slytherin had, in his First Year, done two things Dumbledore had not expected from a Slytherin, particularly one educated by Lord Arcturus Black.

  First, he had chosen to help a muggleborn Ravenclaw, Bradley Cooper. Mister Cooper was easily the top-rated muggleborn in Second-Year, and he was skilled at Potions and Herbology. Yet, it was the ease with which Mister Cooper interacted with those of more traditional values and seemingly understood the rules that governed the magical world that made it clear that he knew more than he should. That education could only have come from one versed in the subject, which had to be Mister MacLeod.

  That House Cooper had accepted a muggleborn into their ranks, or at least allowed them to retain their name, did not surprise Dumbledore. Lord George was a firm member of the Builders. Yet Lord George had reached out to Mister Cooper earlier than Dumbledore had expected, which made the Headmaster certain Mister MacLeod was involved. A belief that was driven home by how he helped and accepted the two muggleborn MacLeods at Hogwarts, which was the second unexpected action he had taken in the First Year and, along with his unusual familiar, what had drawn Dumbledore's eye more firmly onto him.

  "Mister MacLeod has shown a wider worldview than most in my house," Octavius remarked; his words matching up with where Dumbledore's thoughts currently were. "He seemingly respects those who wish to push themselves beyond their limits, going so far as to admit to being friends with muggleborns."

  "I would have expected such behaviour to have cost him standing in Slytherin," Owain remarked. "However, it seems that beyond a small fraction, all the Second Years are cheering rather enthusiastically. Including, if I am not mistaken, Miss Malfoy."

  Octavius chuckled at the observation, even as Dumbledore's mind wove that thread into the tapestry that was Mister MacLeod. "You are not. Nothing has been made official, but from what I have learnt, Lord Abraxas is one of two, the other being Lord Arcturus Black, who are the most likely to gain a betrothal with Mister MacLeod. At least if he chooses to accept one in the coming months."

  Dumbledore kept a frown from his face, not wanting to let his distaste for such arrangements be viewed by his staff. All of them were people he trusted, but Octavius, Colm, and Owain all came from pureblood houses where such customs were standard. Indeed, it was how they, along with Edieth, had met their spouses. While none disliked their spouse, the fact that the choice had been made for them was something Dumbledore did not approve of, as it robbed many of the chance to experience young love without restriction.

  "I still assert that teenagers should not be forced into arranged marriages. Most assuredly at such young ages." Minerva made no effort to hide her issues with the matter, which, given the issues her parents had experienced when she was born, was hardly a surprise to Dumbledore or the other members of staff.

  "There is, perhaps, room to push such announcements off until students have completed their OWLs," Edward replied with slight agreement. "However, Mister MacLeod is in the most unique position in that he can select his future bride without having to risk going against his father or Chief."

  "Something Miss Malfoy has taken advantage of," Colm added with a hint of amusement. "The pair are often combative with their comments and actions, yet it is clear to many that they are growing closer."

  Dumbledore nodded, taking in the information that was new to him. He was kept aware of the betrothals among the students so that he might gain insight into the political fallout, if any, of the unions. However, he rarely interested himself in the daily affairs of his students.

  "Then there is the fact that due to ancient laws, ones that predate the Wizengamot and even the Council of Wizards, Mister MacLeod has the ability to take several wives."

  "I'm not sure if that's a blessing or curse," Owain responded to Octavius' comment, drawing chuckles from everyone in the box. Yet even as they laughed, Dumbledore added that to his understanding of Mister MacLeod.

  Taking Miss Malfoy as his first wife, and then one of the available daughters of House Black, potentially Narcissa in Third Year, as a second wife, would create an interesting little shift in Wizengamot politics. Or it would once Mister MacLeod passed his OWLs and was able to appoint someone to speak in his stead. Together, the three families had some power, but adding the vassals that Clan MacLeod held, along with the various Houses sworn to either House Black or House Malfoy, they could form a small but significant bloc within the more Traditional and Seeker factions of the Wizengamot.

  A gong sounded, and the cheering and shouting from the crowd died down quickly. In the time that the other students had been voicing their opinions, and Dumbledore had been considering the two students below while his Professors discussed the pair, it seemed that Misters Malfoy and MacLeod had stood close enough to speak with each other.

  What was said between them, Dumbledore had not heard. Casting a listening charm would be extremely difficult in such a loud environment while the students spoke, aware of their surroundings, with a hand covering their mouths. As they broke apart and moved to their starting positions, Dumbledore didn't sense any hint of animosity or distaste between the young duellists, only a desire to give it their all.

  "Duellists ready?" Filius called out. Both students raised their wands and saluted the other. Along with everyone else, Dumbledore watched as the wands snapped down and the two young duellists readied themselves to begin.

  The chime to signal the start sounded, and a cheer of anticipation rose from the crowd. Mister Malfoy cast his shield, choosing to prioritise defence from the get-go, while Mister MacLeod, as had been the case in almost all his duels in the tournament, began casting offensively from the get-go.

  "Most impressive," Edieth remarked, and Dumbledore had to agree. Beyond simply casting the basic quick-fire bolt—a spell that even he still used in his arsenal when he deigned to duel others—every bolt that left Mister MacLeod's wand carried a hue. Adding to that was the speed at which he was casting them.

  Mister MacLeod had only opened two new pathways, yet the velocity with which he was casting the bolts was several steps above what would be expected of a Second Year. Given the defeat of three Fourth Years to make the semifinal, the skill of Mister MacLeod's casting was not unexpected to Dumbledore. Nor even was the addition of the hues to the quick-fire bolts: it was, after all, an exploit in the rules that every skilled duellist was expected to use. No, it was the ease with which Mister MacLeod cast the bolts, using only the slightest of shifts of his fingers on his wand to send them racing towards his opponent that stood out.

  Dumbledore regularly saw students in the middle years of Hogwarts unable to cast with such precision and grace. Merlin's beard, even some of the weaker Sixth and Seventh years struggled to cast with the ease being displayed by this Second Year. Yet, for all that Mister MacLeod was putting into his opening salvos, his opponent was a match for it currently.

  The heir to House Malfoy had, after casting an impressively powerful base Shield Charm, begun casting bolts as well. These bolts, however, were not intended to target Mister MacLeod but were instead focusing on the barrage that was coming towards him.

  Even as the opening stanza of the duel truly began, Dumbledore could see that these two had earned the right to be in the semifinal. Oh, they were nowhere near ready to take on many of the senior students, to say nothing of a Professor or most adults, yet it was clear that both had the potential to be impressively powerful duellists. At least they would be if they could adapt more into their castings beyond the basic bolt.

  Almost as if he heard Dumbledore's thoughts, Mister Malfoy shifted his casting. As he began to overpower the bolts that were coming his way, he started launching a series of Stunning Charms at his opponent. Mister MacLeod, sensing them incoming, chose to move. While doing so, he kept casting, not surrendering any slight advantage he had in the opening moments of the duel.

  In response, Mister MacLeod began sliding other spells into his bolts. Dumbledore's eyes easily picked out the stunning, knockback, and tickling charms, along with several jinxes in the Second Year's offensive. Mister MacLeod finally cast a shield, and Dumbledore's brow rose slightly.

  "I had heard he managed that, but to see such casting from a Second Year…"

  Edward's words trailed off, and Dumbledore found himself agreeing. There was nothing against using variants of the Shield Charm in the Junior tournament, but rarely did any but the odd Fourth Year have the skill and power to cast such a thing. Yet here was a Second Year once again casting the bulwarked version of the Shield Charm.

  Not to be outdone, and even as his spells slammed against the large shield of his opponent, Mister Malfoy's shield changed. A few gasps from elsewhere in the audience reached Dumbledore's ears, and they were not without merit. Mister Malfoy had shifted his shield from a single charm centred around his left hand to four shields of comparable size that floated around his body like orbiting moons.

  "It appears we are in for a show today."

  Owain's comment was greeted with agreeing murmurs from the other Professors in the box. Dumbledore stayed silent, placing most of his considerable mental faculty on determining what spells were being cast, the logic behind them, and the tactics the two young duellists were deploying.

  Mister Malfoy was starting to find his feet offensively and was slowly driving back Mister MacLeod. Yet for all that he was ceding ground, it didn't appear as if the Second Year was overly concerned. Indeed, as Dumbledore watched, a small smile slipped onto Mister MacLeod's otherwise calm expression. A sign that he was enjoying himself.

  Such a response was not uncommon during student duels. However, most of the time, such expressions only appeared when one was taking a decisive advantage over their opponent, not when they were ceding ground and the initiative. Without having realised it, Dumbledore found himself leaning forward. It made no difference to his ability to observe the duel, yet he couldn't help but be intrigued as to what the Second Year was planning.

  Mister Malfoy's spells erupted from his wand with speed and precision that Dumbledore wouldn't expect from a Third Year. Merlin's beard, there were times he'd seen adults unable to either reach the speed of the Third-Year's casting or the variety of spells being produced.

  Tickling charms were hidden within a flurry of hexes designed to either trip up or render an opponent sick for a few hours. The Bubblehead and Colour Changing Charms were launched in great numbers to hide a rather nasty-looking jinx that, if Dumbledore was reading the faint fluctuations in the spell as it raced through the air, would vanish the clothing of whoever it struck. At least if their clothing wasn't heavily charmed against such things.

  "How positively splendid," he said softly, impressed by the combinations and patterns being produced by Mister Malfoy. Yet for all of the Third-Year's ingenuity, for the moment, his opponent was matching and countering the assault.

  Mister MacLeod wasn't using as wide a variety of spells as Mister Malfoy, though he seemingly was placing more power into his casting. It was hardly a surprise that the Second Year favoured the quick-fire bolt, but the way he altered the hues of them, using that to hide other spells within flurries being cast, was worthy of praise.

  "Fifty points to both students," he whispered. Normally, he would not offer up house points during a duel, yet both combatants deserved recognition that went beyond their achievement of reaching today's semifinal. The points didn't matter that much either, as, in large part because of the two students duelling below, Slytherin had all but claimed the Junior House cup. Only with defeats for both Slytherin teams in the final round of Quidditch fixtures by a combined score of some four hundred points would they fail to claim the cup.

  The Senior Cup was closer, with all four Houses still in contention, though it would depend on the outcome of the Senior duelling tournaments and again the final round of Quidditch fixtures. Gryffindor currently held a slender lead over Ravenclaw. Slytherin was not much further back with Hufflepuff, rather unexpectedly, if Dumbledore was being honest, nipping at the tails of the snakes.

  Such matters, however, were things to be determined in the last month of the school year. For now, as the chime sounded twice in quick succession, and Professor Flitwick called out that both duellists had scored their opening point, Dumbledore would observe the performance of two of the more promising young minds under his tutelage. It was, after all, exceedingly rare to see such a matchup this late in the duelling tournament.

  … …

  … …

  (Dòmhnall's POV)

  I settled into my seat on the Hogwarts Express, my chest stored overhead, and waited for the train to depart. Xenocrates leapt into my waiting lap and started his usual ritual of circling while using his claws in an attempt to fluff up his latest resting place. His attempts at damaging my robes and clothing, as usual, because of the runes and charms within them, failed, though that never stopped the raiju from trying.

  Around me, the others in the cabin settled down as well. I raised a single brow as Vesta Malfoy sat down beside me. She wasn't quite close enough that our bodies were touching, but it would only take the slightest of movements to change that.

  "I thought perhaps you would be sharing a cabin with your brother," I said as she leaned over and scratched Xeno behind one of his ears. Over the year, my familiar had grown to enjoy the company of others, though I did my best to ignore the fact that he preferred it when one of several girls attended to him. The one whose company he enjoyed the most was Bellatrix Black, followed closely by her sisters, though I wasn't around either Andromeda or Narcissa as often as I was Bella. After her, it was probably a tie between Vesta or áine that Xeno preferred the most, but those three were the clear favourites if he was forced to choose.

  "Why? Simply because he defeated you and won both Junior tournaments?" Vesta shot back with a knowing smirk even as my familiar leaned into her touch. "I'd rather spend the last few hours of the school year with my friends than my brother."

  I ignored her attempt to irritate me, though I would admit that, while it irked me that in both duelling tournaments I'd lost to Lucius Malfoy, I was content with my overall performance. I had hoped to reach the quarterfinals of both events, so to make the semifinals was a worthy accolade. The case of the wand duelling tournament stood out prominently as I had defeated several Fourth Years in the process. Furthermore, though I only had it confirmed after my defeat to Lucius, was that I was the first Second Year to reach the semifinals for wand duelling since a certain Tom Riddle.

  It was amusing, concerning, and interesting to be mentioned in the same breath as the man who would soon emerge as Lord Voldemort. None of my fellow students seemed to see anything wrong with such comparisons, but I expected that Dumbledore—and perhaps several of his Professors—might be worried. I knew of Riddle's activities at Hogwarts in the other timeline. From what I had discovered about him—using the comparisons after my defeat as an excuse to investigate his legacy at Hogwarts—it seemed that he had done many, if not all, of the same things in this timeline, at least those that were publicly known.

  I hadn't, as yet, formed any sort of official group around myself, but given that I had influence, either directly or through those I considered friends and allies, over about seventy per cent of my year in Slytherin, I could see why I might do so next year. The trick was going to be finding those I could trust implicitly to not just help me secure control over our year in our house, but expand it outwards. Riddle had focused his attention on those in Slytherin that he could control and influence, and while some were likely heads of their Clans or Houses, most wouldn't be.

  The same was true for me in that sense, though both Francis Bickerstaffe and Amycus Bickerstaffe were the heirs, while a handful of others were firstborns of the heir. Amycus was a lost cause at this point, and frankly, I was considering removing him from the board before he graduated Hogwarts; however, that would have to wait, at least for now.

  The five Seventh Years that I had abducted into the Fearann na Scáthanna were still treated as missing, and even an investigative search by the DMLE had yet to turn up any leads. They wouldn't find anything that could be used against me, not unless someone from Clan Mac Uidhir revealed that their clan wasn't the only one that could enter and manipulate the Shadow Realm, which they wouldn't.

  Access to the Fearann na Scáthanna was, according to Aífe, considered family magic. The reason she had revealed that much to me was because I could already access the realm, and then because her father had reached out to me via an introductory letter. I had no idea if that letter would lead to anything more than an acknowledgement by one of the two oldest magical families in the Isles, but so far, there hadn't been any hint that they were against me continuing to use the Shadow Realm.

  Even if, by some miracle, the DMLE was able to trace the usage of Shadow Magic in the boys' dorm, they wouldn't be able to find those in question. All five had, after revealing everything I wanted to learn, been disposed of deep inside the Forbidden Forest. Part of me would've preferred they had been conscious when I dropped them close to an acromantula lair, but I couldn't risk them trying to escape by apparating away. I'd not seen them die directly, but as I'd watched from within the Fearann na Scáthanna, all five had been cocooned and dragged into the spider's lair.

  With the DMLE having staff in Hogwarts at random hours to search for the missing boys, I couldn't currently take out the ringleader, though, as it was already a name on my hit list; it was only a matter of time until I would be forced to deal with them. Learning that Rodolphus Lestrange was the one who convinced the others to attack me wasn't a huge surprise, though his name wasn't the highest on my list of suspects for the mastermind behind the attack.

  The fact that he had graduated from Hogwarts would make it harder to seek revenge on him, but I would have it eventually. Not just because I still wanted Bella for myself or that he would be one of Voldemort's more trusted younger members, but because he was, like Amycus Carrow, the sort of wizard I couldn't stand. Perhaps even worse if half of what Bella had told me during our tutoring sessions was true.

  Interestingly, Bella had defeated her betrothed in the Senior Tournament final and, thus, won the event as a Sixth Year. She was the first Sixth Year to win the Senior Wand Duelling Tournament in several decades, and the first witch to win in an even longer period. No matter how some might complain about it, it was a fact of nature that wizards were, all things being equal, more powerful than witches. Since Bella had defeated not only her betrothed but other wizards in the tournament, it had become a major moment in Hogwarts. Hell, it had even been widely reported in the papers.

  What wasn't mentioned anywhere, but I was aware of due to my friendship with her, was that this was the second time Bella had defeated her intended in a formal duel. That meant she only had to do so once more to escape her arranged marriage to him. However, with Rodolphus having graduated, the next time they duelled, they would do so under full rules, meaning that almost any form of magic was acceptable, and in those duels, the risk of death was extremely high.

  That had made me more interested in taking out Rodolphus quickly, but I couldn't. Bella had revealed to me, only because it wasn't restricted knowledge, that just as Arcturus had arranged betrothals for the daughters of his house that were slightly open-ended on who could fulfil them, Lord Reginald Lestrange had made the agreement that the heir of his house would marry a daughter of House Black. Thus, if I killed Rodolphus before Bella managed to defeat him again, then she would simply be matched with Rabastan.

  The younger Lestrange brother wasn't, from what I'd seen and heard, as bad as the older brother or Amycus. He was, however, still an ardent believer in the superiority of blood when it came to magic, meaning he was almost certain to be swayed by Voldemort's words. Even if I took Rabastan out as well, Bella would then be betrothed to their cousin, a Sixth Year named Raphael. All that meant that the only way I could claim Bella was either for her to defeat Rodolphus once again, or for me to defeat him in a full duel for her hand, which wasn't anywhere close to ideal.

  "Earth to MacLeod." I blinked at the words, and someone waving a hand in front of my face snapped me from my thoughts. "You okay?"

  I glanced out of the window, seeing that the train had not just left the station but already passed through the tunnel that led to the valley where Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and the Forbidden Forest were located. "Yeah. Sorry, I was just… thinking on a few things," I replied to Damien Blackwood, who was the one who'd waved his hand in front of my face. "What were you asking?"

  "We were going over our summer plans, and we were just curious about what you intended." That came from Francis as he sat on the seat opposite me. Next to him, Angus MacLean was watching intently. Godwine Suthsax and Adeline Pontius were resting against each other, Godwine whispering something into his intended's ear while Lasadh sat at the end of the seat, his head, as almost always, half-buried in a book.

  "Ah. Well beyond returning to Sparta, I haven't made any."

  "Then, if you'd like, you could come with my family to Venice. We're attending the European Duelling tournament." I turned to Vesta, searching her expression for a hint of why the invite was being made. Certainly, knowing why it was she was offering beyond the fact that her father was the one I was most heavily negotiating with over a betrothal could make quite the difference.

  While there had been other offers from daughters of higher-ranked Clans and Houses than House Malfoy, Vesta was the girl I was closest to, at least concerning the offers I'd received since my thirteenth birthday. Given we were in the same year and house at Hogwarts, that was hardly a shock, but she had gone almost out of her way in the last year, particularly since the Winter Break, to slide into my closest circle of friends and allies while also ensuring that others found it hard to spend as much time close to me as she did.

  I'd say I was closer to áine than Vesta, but that was a matter of blood, and her guardian hadn't approached me about a betrothal. Which was a blessing but also a concern. While I didn't consider áine a suitable option—not least as she had her Clan to restore as well—I was all but certain that her uncle and Guardian, Marcas, intended for his son, Raghnall, to marry áine and secure control of Clan MacDougall. I wasn't certain if that was a good pairing. Raghnall was an arrogant prick even for a Ravenclaw, but there was no rush on the matter as áine couldn't be forced into the arrangement given her position as Chiefess-Presumptive.

  "Thank you for the offer; however, I think it would be best if I spoke with your father about that," I replied to Vesta cordially. The suggestion was appealing as it would not only let me strengthen the possible friendship between myself and Lucius and let me spend time with Vesta, but would allow me to see how adults duelled on the continental circuit. "If it is alright with you, I could owl him once home today?"

  Vesta smiled warmly. "Or, perhaps, once we reach the station, you could speak with him again? He should be there to collect my brother and me."

  "If there's time," I answered, ignoring the looks several of those in the cabin with us wore. It wasn't exactly a surprise that Vesta was working her way closer to me, or that I was allowing it. However, nothing had been agreed officially with Lord Abraxas, though with the summer upon us, perhaps it was time to move beyond sending owls to discuss the matter and deal with the matter face-to-face.

  Vesta wasn't Bella, nor was any other girl or woman I'd met in this universe, but she was far from a bad person. Besides, I thought to myself, as I kept the smirk I felt like displaying internally, I had the rare option to take more than one wife, to say nothing of paramours if I was so inclined. I wasn't sure I would, but already a plan was forming within the depths of my mind that would see me linked to Houses Black and Malfoy, thus ensuring they would remain unavailable to Voldemort in the future. Even if I couldn't wangle things to gain Bella's affection, she wasn't the only daughter of House Black. Just the one I wanted.

  … …

  … …

  ...

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