The First Duel

Saturday, 1:45 p.m.

The Great Hall was already packed.

Zhang Wen stood at the edge of the dueling area, watching the students stream in as he silently revised his estimate of the turnout—forty-seven people had signed up, but at least two hundred had come to watch.

Roughly two-thirds of Hogwarts's students had shown up.

News really did spread faster than expected. Fred and George deserved much of the credit—they had thrown a "Dueling Club Warm-Up Party" in the Gryffindor common room and used magical fireworks to write the word "DUEL" across the ceiling.

McGonagall had docked Gryffindor ten points for it.

But the publicity had been outstanding.

Snape stood at the other end of the dueling area, his black robes immaculate, his arms folded across his chest. When he swept his gaze over the audience, several younger students in the front row instinctively shrank back.

Artoria stood in the center of the dueling area—the referee's position. She had changed into a dark blue short outfit today, her blonde hair tied in a high ponytail, with that beechwood stick tucked at her waist.

Not as a weapon.

It was "just in case."

Zhang Wen felt that those four words carried a special kind of intimidation when they came from Artoria.

Two o'clock sharp.

Zhang Wen stepped to the front of the dueling area and spoke with an Amplifying Charm.

"Welcome to Hogwarts's first—Dueling Club."

"The rules are simple. Both sides begin from their assigned positions and duel once the referee announces the start. If one person's wand is knocked from their hand, they fall and cannot continue, or they surrender voluntarily, they lose. Spells not on the approved list are forbidden. Summoning creatures is forbidden. Attacking a fallen opponent is forbidden. Violators will be disqualified."

He paused.

"The referee's ruling is final. No appeals."

Everyone's eyes shifted to Artoria in the center.

She returned their gaze expressionlessly.

No one objected.

"First match." Zhang Wen glanced at the list. "Fred Weasley versus Roger Davies."

Fred leaped out from the Gryffindor crowd, grinning from ear to ear.

Roger Davies was a fifth-year Ravenclaw and the Quidditch captain. He looked composed as he stepped forward, but Zhang Wen could tell he was assessing Fred's threat level.

The two took their places.

"Salute your opponent," Artoria said.

Fred gave an exaggerated ninety-degree bow. Davies nodded politely.

"Begin."

Fred moved faster than Zhang Wen had expected.

"Impedimenta!"

A flash shot toward Davies's feet. The floor suddenly became as slick as ice, and Davies stumbled.

But he reacted quickly too—before he could fall, he flicked out a Disarming Charm. Fred twisted aside to evade it, then cheerfully fired a second spell.

"Tarantella!"

Davies had no time to dodge. His legs began tap-dancing against his will.

Laughter erupted from the audience.

Davies's face flushed red. While dancing, he raised his wand and used a counterspell to break the effect, then immediately struck back.

"Expelliarmus!"

The red light hit Fred squarely on the wrist. Fred's wand flew away—

But Fred had been prepared. With his left hand, he pulled a second wand from his sleeve.

Wait.

"Pause," Artoria's voice rang out.

The entire hall fell silent.

"Mr. Weasley." Artoria walked up to Fred. "Rule Seven: each contestant may use only one wand."

Fred put on an innocent smile. "This isn't a wand. It's George's spare—"

"Rule Seven," Artoria repeated. Her tone did not change, but its weight doubled.

Fred wisely handed over the second wand.

"Wand disarmed. Fred Weasley loses," Artoria announced.

Fred spread his hands and shrugged. A wave of disappointed groans rose from the Gryffindor side, but no one protested—the referee's ruling was final.

Besides, no one wanted to argue with that blonde referee.

George gave Fred a thumbs-up from the stands, then caught the "spare wand" Fred tossed over. It was George's wand in the first place.

Zhang Wen sighed inwardly. The Weasley twins were always testing the boundaries of the rules.

Second match. George Weasley versus Marcus Flint, a sixth-year Slytherin.

This duel was far more violent than the first. Flint was the Slytherin Quidditch captain, broad and powerfully built, with an aggressive fighting style. He opened with a string of offensive spells, giving George no chance to catch his breath.

George's strategy differed from Fred's—he did not rely on tricks. Instead, he used rapid movement and precise Shield Charms to wear down his opponent. Flint's spells were powerful but inaccurate, and George kept exploiting that weakness to widen the distance.

Three minutes later, Flint began to pant. His stamina was clearly worse than George's—the effects of physical training showed themselves here.

George seized the gap while Flint caught his breath and landed a precise Disarming Charm. Flint's wand flew out of the dueling area.

"George Weasley wins," Artoria announced.

Gryffindor cheered. Slytherin was silent.

Snape remained expressionless at his end, but Zhang Wen noticed his gaze linger on Flint for a moment—he was probably dissatisfied with Flint's stamina.

Third match. Neville Longbottom versus Hannah Abbott.

This was the match Zhang Wen cared about most.

Neville's palms were visibly sweating as he stepped into the dueling area. He gripped his wand tighter than usual—far too tight.

Hannah Abbott on the other side was equally nervous. She was a second-year Hufflepuff with a round face and blonde braids, and she looked as though she had been pushed onto the execution block.

The two most nervous people in the entire hall were about to duel.

Zhang Wen thought the sight had a strange sort of harmony to it.

"Salute your opponent," Artoria said.

Neville and Hannah bowed to each other. Their angles were nearly identical—the kind that said, "I don't want to hurt you, but I have to fight."

"Begin."

Three seconds of silence.

Neither of them moved.

Whispers began to spread through the audience.

Someone on the Slytherin side laughed.

Zhang Wen glanced at Artoria. She stood at the referee's position without urging them on, simply waiting in silence.

Another two seconds passed.

Neville moved first.

"Expelliarmus!"

His voice was louder than usual. Red light shot toward Hannah—wide, but only slightly.

That jolted Hannah into action. She raised her wand and countered.

"Protego!"

She did not attack.

She chose to defend.

Neville continued attacking. A second shot. A third.

The first two missed. The third—he used the "don't look at the target" method—hit Hannah's Shield Charm. The shield shattered.

Hannah took two steps back and raised her wand again.

"Expelliarmus!"

Her Disarming Charm flew toward Neville. Neville did not use a Shield Charm—he knew his was not stable enough.

He shifted aside.

It was not a standard sidestep dodge. It was a body turn marked by swordsmanship training—his center of gravity lowered, his upper body tilted right, and his feet slid half a step sideways.

The red light skimmed past his left shoulder.

The audience fell silent for an instant.

Artoria's eyes narrowed slightly.

That was approval.

Neville did not hesitate after dodging. He immediately counterattacked.

"Expelliarmus!"

This one hit dead on.

Hannah's wand flew from her hand, spun twice in the air, and landed at the edge of the dueling area.

"Neville Longbottom wins," Artoria's voice echoed through the hall.

The Great Hall was silent for one second.

Then deafening cheers erupted from the Gryffindor side. They were not polite applause, but real, heartfelt cheers.

Harry whistled from the crowd. Ron clapped until his hands turned red. Hermione put down her notebook and applauded hard. Fred and George shouted together from the back, "Neville! Neville! Neville!"

Neville stood frozen in the middle of the dueling area.

He had probably never had so many people cheering for him at once.

His lips trembled.

Zhang Wen thought he might cry.

But he did not. He took a deep breath and held out his hand to Hannah.

"Good match," he said, his voice a little hoarse.

Hannah took his hand and smiled. "You too. That dodge was amazing."

Neville's face turned red, but he stood very straight.

As he left the dueling area, he passed Artoria.

Artoria said nothing.

She merely looked at him and gave a slight nod.

That single nod carried more weight than all the cheers in the hall put together.

Neville nodded back.

Then he returned to the Gryffindor crowd, where Fred and George slung his arms over their shoulders and lifted him up.

Fourth match. Harry Potter versus Terry Boot, a third-year Ravenclaw.

Zhang Wen had arranged this one to be relatively easy—Terry was an average student and would not put Harry under too much pressure.

That was indeed how it went. Harry ended the fight in only forty seconds. Two Disarming Charms: the first was blocked by a Shield Charm, while the second landed directly. Clean and decisive, without any hesitation.

The audience's reaction was interesting. Gryffindor naturally cheered, but no one on the Ravenclaw side objected—being knocked out in forty seconds made the gap too obvious.

Malfoy watched the entire match from the Slytherin stands. Zhang Wen could not quite read his expression—there was competitiveness there, but also something else.

Maybe respect.

Maybe just unwillingness to accept it.

Fifth match. Ron Weasley versus Blaise Zabini.

Zhang Wen felt the least certain about this one.

Ron gripped his wand tightly as he stepped into the dueling area. Facing a Slytherin opponent, he was clearly more emotional than when facing targets.

Zabini stepped forward with an indifferent expression. He was the sort who neither picked fights nor feared them—he kept to himself in Slytherin, did not hang around Malfoy's group, earned good grades, and never sought attention.

"Begin."

Ron attacked first.

"Expelliarmus!"

Zabini did not use a Shield Charm. He stepped back half a pace, turned aside to let the red light pass, then calmly raised his wand.

"Impedimenta."

Ron's feet slipped, and he nearly fell. He flailed an arm to steady himself, but his posture was already a mess.

Zabini seized the chance.

"Expelliarmus."

A precise hit. Ron's wand flew away.

The entire exchange took less than twenty seconds.

"Blaise Zabini wins."

A sigh rose from the Gryffindor side. Ron's ears were as red as tomatoes.

But Zabini did something no one expected—he walked up to Ron and held out his hand.

"You're quick to cast," Zabini said evenly. "But you're too impatient. When you're impatient, it's easy for someone to counter you."

Ron looked at the offered hand and hesitated.

Then he shook it.

"Next time, I won't be so impatient," Ron said.

Zhang Wen let out a breath beside them.

A Gryffindor and a Slytherin shaking hands. That was probably not a common sight in Hogwarts history.

Hermione wrote something in her notebook. Zhang Wen glanced over—she had written, "Zabini: calm type, skilled at counterattacks, weakness yet to be observed. Ron: needs more emotional control training."

Typical Hermione.

Intermission.

Zhang Wen and Snape met beside the dueling area.

"The first five matches didn't have any major problems," Zhang Wen said.

"Weasley's double-wand stunt doesn't count as a problem?" Snape's tone was bland.

"The referees already dealt with it."

Snape gave a "hmph" and swept his gaze over the stands.

"Your referees are very efficient," he said.

Coming from Snape, that counted as extremely high praise.

"Does anything need adjusting for the second half?" Zhang Wen asked.

"The seventh match," Snape said. "You arranged for a fourth-year Gryffindor to face a fourth-year Slytherin—Angelina Johnson against Adrian Pucey. Those two are mortal enemies on the Quidditch field."

Zhang Wen flipped through the list. He had not noticed that connection when making the arrangements.

"I suggest replacing one of them," Snape said. "Or moving this match to the end, with both you and me standing nearby."

Zhang Wen nodded.

That was the advantage of co-hosting—Snape knew the relationships among Slytherin students inside out and could predict in advance which pairings might cause trouble.

"Move it to the end," Zhang Wen said. "We'll both keep watch."

Snape voiced no objection.

This was probably the closest they had ever come to "working in perfect sync."

The second half began.

The duels from the sixth through eighth matches were all fairly routine. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students were technically steady but lacked aggression, making the matches feel more like academic exchanges than battles.

But the final match—Angelina against Pucey—was indeed thick with tension.

The moment they stepped onto the field, the two glared at each other. Angelina was a Gryffindor Chaser: tall, forceful, and fiercely competitive. Pucey was a Slytherin Chaser, equally determined to win. They had collided on the Quidditch field more times than anyone could count.

"Begin," Artoria said.

The two acted almost simultaneously.

Spells crisscrossed through the air. Shield Charms shattered and re-formed. Disarming Charms, Leg-Locker Curses, and Petrification Charms came one after another—all within the rules, but clearly a whole level more forceful than the earlier matches.

In the stands, Gryffindor and Slytherin students began shouting encouragement at one another. The atmosphere heated up rapidly.

Pucey's Petrification Charm grazed Angelina's ear. Angelina's Disarming Charm smashed Pucey's shield, but did not strike his hand—he twisted aside and rolled away.

The distance between them was closing.

Zhang Wen stood to one side, his palms faintly sweating. Snape stood on the other, expressionless, but his body had leaned forward by five degrees.

Pucey suddenly accelerated toward Angelina. Not with a spell—with his body.

He reached out his left hand—

"Stop."

Artoria's voice was not loud.

But the entire venue fell silent in an instant.

She had appeared between Pucey and Angelina.

No one had seen how she moved over. A moment ago, she had been standing on the center line of the dueling area, at least three meters away from them. But now she was there, her right hand resting lightly on Pucey's outstretched left arm.

"Rule Five," Artoria said. "Physical attacks are prohibited."

Pucey's face flushed red.

"I wasn't going to hit her—"

"Your left hand reached toward your opponent. Regardless of intent, the action itself violated the rules." Artoria released his hand.