Harry's eyes opened to the soft golden light filtering through the ornate French windows of his hotel room. For a moment, he lay still, letting his mind adjust to the weight of the day ahead. The European Youth Dueling Championship would begin in a few hours, and sixteen of the most dangerous young duelists in magical Europe would be competing for supremacy.
He rolled out of bed with practiced efficiency, his body moving through the familiar routine of morning preparation. A quick shower, followed by stretching exercises to loosen muscles still tight from yesterday's travel. His tournament robes hung pressed and ready - deep black with subtle red and gold trim, the colors of his Hogwarts house but styled for combat rather than ceremony.
As he dressed, Harry's mind drifted over the profiles from the previous evening. Ivan Volkov's brutal curse work, Marco Rossi's psychological illusions, Fleur Delacour's technical perfection - each opponent would require a different approach, a different mindset.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. "Harry?" came Sirius's voice. "Breakfast is ready."
The hotel's private dining room had been reserved for their use, and Harry found Sirius and Professor Flitwick already seated at a small table laden with croissants, fresh fruit, and strong coffee. The morning light streaming through tall windows gave everything a crystalline quality that seemed almost surreal.
"Sleep well?" Flitwick asked, his eyes sharp despite the early hour.
"Well enough," Harry replied, settling into his chair. He reached for the coffee, needing the caffeine to fully shake off the last vestiges of sleep. "Ready to go over the tournament structure again?"
Flitwick nodded approvingly. "Indeed. While you studied your opponents last night, it's crucial you understand exactly how today will unfold."
The diminutive professor conjured a small magical diagram that hovered above the table, showing a tournament bracket with sixteen names arranged in pairs.
"The European Youth Dueling Championship follows a traditional elimination structure," Flitwick began, his academic tone taking over. "Sixteen participants, four rounds total. Round of 16, Quarterfinals, Semifinals, and the Final."
The professor waved his wand, and the diagram shifted to show empty slots. "However, the matchups aren't predetermined. Opponents are drawn through ballots before each round. Only the participants themselves are present for the draw—no coaches, no spectators. It prevents any possibility of manipulation or advance preparation for specific opponents."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "So we won't know who we're facing until right before each duel?"
"Precisely," Flitwick confirmed. "The ballot drawing happens thirty minutes before each round begins. You'll have just enough time to make final mental adjustments, but not enough to completely restructure your strategy."
"Each duel has specific rules," Flitwick continued, waving his wand to highlight different sections of the diagram. "First, the arena is a circular platform, thirty feet in diameter, with protective barriers to contain spell effects and prevent audience injury. Stepping outside the circle results in immediate disqualification."
"What about the spells themselves?" Harry asked, spreading jam on a croissant.
"Restricted list applies," Flitwick said seriously. "No Unforgivables, obviously. No permanent maiming hexes, no spells designed to cause lasting mental damage. Incapacitation is the goal—knock your opponent unconscious, disable them sufficiently that they cannot continue, or force them to yield."
Sirius leaned forward. "What constitutes yielding?"
"Verbal surrender, dropping one's wand, or being unable to cast spells for more than ten seconds." Flitwick's expression grew more serious. "However, healers are standing by, and medical magic has advanced considerably. Injuries that would be crippling in a real battle can be treated between rounds."
Harry absorbed this information methodically. "Time limits?"
"Fifteen minutes per duel. If neither participant is incapacitated by then, victory goes to whoever has demonstrated superior magical control and tactical thinking, as judged by a panel of international magical combat experts."
The diagram shifted, showing the tournament schedule. "Round of 16 begins with the ballot draw at nine-thirty this morning, followed by the first duels at ten. Winners advance to the Quarterfinals this afternoon, with another ballot draw. Semifinals tomorrow morning with its own draw, and the Final tomorrow evening between the two remaining champions."
"Interesting system," Harry observed. "So studying the other participants was useful for general knowledge, but we can't rely on specific battle plans."
"Exactly," Flitwick said with approval. "It tests adaptability and general dueling competence rather than who can prepare the most elaborate counter-strategy. You need to be ready for anyone."
"By design," Flitwick confirmed. "It prevents extensive preparation between rounds and tests adaptability under pressure. You'll have perhaps an hour between duels to rest and receive healing if needed."
Harry finished his breakfast in thoughtful silence, his mind already running through scenarios. As he drained his coffee cup, something shifted in his peripheral vision—not physical movement, but something that made his magical senses tingle with familiar energy.
-Side Quest Triggered-
The notification appeared in his mind's eye, text forming with the same ethereal quality he'd grown accustomed to over the past months.
-Side Quest: Dueling Champion-
-Description: Win the European Youth Dueling Championship-
-Progress: Round of 16 (0/4 rounds completed)-
-Rewards Based on Performance:-
Round of 16 Completion:
5 Stat Points
8 Skill Points
Quarterfinals Advancement:
Additional 3 Stat Points
Additional 6 Skill Points
Semifinals Advancement:
Additional 4 Stat Points
Additional 8 Skill Points
Finals Advancement (Runner-up):
Additional 5 Stat Points
Additional 10 Skill Points
Tournament Victory:
Additional 8 Stat Points
Additional 15 Skill Points
Points Special Bonus: Advanced Elemental Magic Mastery Unlocked
Total Potential Rewards (Complete Victory):
25 Stat Points
47 Skill Points
18 Experience Points
Elemental Magic Advancement
-Time Limit: 2 Days-
Harry paused, his coffee cup halfway to his lips, as the implications of these rewards settled in his mind. Twenty-five stat points represented months of intensive training compressed into two days. The skill points alone would advance his magical abilities significantly, and the elemental magic mastery could unlock entirely new avenues of power.
"Harry?" Sirius's voice seemed to come from far away. "You alright? You've gone rather still."
Harry blinked, returning his attention to the present. "Sorry, just... thinking through strategies." It wasn't entirely a lie—the quest notification had certainly given him more to think about.
"Remember, Harry," Flitwick said, his sharp eyes studying him. "The goal is to win, but these are fellow students, not enemies."
"I understand," Harry said.
"Good." Flitwick vanished the diagram with a flick of his wand. "The opening ceremony begins in thirty minutes. Time to make final preparations."
Harry stood, checking his wand holster one final time. The familiar weight of his elder and phoenix feather wand was reassuring against his forearm. His mind was clear, his body ready, and now—thanks to the system's quest notification—he understood exactly what he was fighting for.
"Ready?" Sirius asked, rising from his own chair.
Harry nodded, his expression calm but determined. "Ready."
They left the hotel, stepping out into the crisp morning air of Place Cachée. The tournament venue was a short walk away, a sleek, modern structure of polished black marble and enchanted, smoked glass that seemed to absorb the morning light. As they approached, the low, powerful hum of containment wards was a palpable presence, a vibration in the very air.
They entered a grand, circular hall, the antechamber for the champions. The walls were floor-to-ceiling panels of one-way enchanted glass, allowing them to see the blurred shapes and colors of the vast, cheering crowd already gathering in the arena beyond, while remaining unseen themselves. The air was thick with ambition, anxiety, and raw magical power.
Harry's eyes swept the room, his strategic assessment from the previous night now being tested against reality. He saw Ivan Volkov near the far wall, a mountain of a boy in heavy Durmstrang furs, cracking his knuckles with a brutish impatience. Across the room, Marco Rossi, the Italian illusionist, was all theatrical charm, laughing as he spoke with a French Ministry official, his hands gesturing with a flourish.
And then he saw her. Fleur Delacour stood in the center of the room, a picture of serene, untouchable confidence. She was surrounded by a small entourage of Beauxbâtons staff, but she seemed to exist in a world of her own, her expression cool and appraising as she surveyed her competition.
Harry took a deep breath, his senses sharp. He could feel the different magical signatures in the room—the cold, heavy presence of the Durmstrang contingent, the light, artistic flair of the Beauxbâtons students, the chaotic energy of the illusionist.
His lips curved into a small, confident smile. It wasn't the open, Gryffindor grin anyone would have recognized. It was a different smile, one he had learned from the fractured memories of a boy who knew how to project absolute, unshakeable self-assurance. A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but held a chilling certainty.
Across the room, a few of the other champions noticed. Ivan Volkov's brutish expression tightened with a flicker of annoyance. Fleur Delacour's cool, appraising gaze narrowed almost imperceptibly. They saw a sixteen-year-old boy, the youngest in the competition, looking not nervous or intimidated, but like he already knew the outcome.