Orion and Sokolov faced each other across the ring, the noise of the crowd fading into a tense silence. Then, almost in perfect sync, both of them inclined their heads—a formal bow, sharp and respectful.
And just like that, the duel began.
Sirius leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he studied Sokolov.
He had to admit it—the Russian heir was good.
No… more than good.
His dominant leg was slightly forward, his stance grounded, weight perfectly balanced. There wasn't a single unnecessary movement, not a single wasted shift.
*Textbook perfect.*
Everything Sirius had ever been taught in his heir duelling lessons… Sokolov executed it flawlessly.
But then—
There was Orion.
Sirius frowned slightly, his gaze sharpening.
His father stood balanced too, feet apart, posture relaxed—*too* relaxed. To an untrained eye, it might even look careless. There were openings. Small ones, subtle ones—but they were there.
And yet Sirius knew better.
Because Orion Black didn't fight like others.
He didn't believe in defence as a strategy.
He believed in *ending things*.
Fast. Sharp. Decisive.
He didn't just fight bodies—he fought minds. Confuse them, pressure them, overwhelm them… and then strike when they faltered.
No hesitation. No games.
That was what Sirius had learned from him.
On the screen, Sokolov moved first—his wand rising, lips parting to cast—
But Orion was faster.
A whisper of magic—barely audible.
Two shields snapped into existence in front of him, clean and precise, intercepting Sokolov's incoming spell before it could fully form.
At the same time—
Something unseen struck.
Sirius's eyes widened slightly.
There was no incantation. No wand movement.
A *wordless, wandless* spell.
Sokolov let out a sharp cry, his wrist jerking unnaturally as if crushed by invisible force. The wand nearly slipped from his grip.
Sirius let out a low whistle.
"Bloody hell…"
But Sokolov didn't crumble.
Not even close.
In one smooth motion, he switched his wand to his other hand—no panic, no hesitation. A quick healing spell followed, stabilising the damage just enough for him to continue.
*Ambidextrous,* Sirius noted, impressed despite himself.
Sokolov's counter came immediately—his spell shattering Orion's shields with force.
But Orion had already moved.
He stepped forward into the opening, closing distance instead of retreating—aggressive, calculated.
A fireball burst from his wand, blazing toward Sokolov.
But Sirius caught it instantly.
"A distraction…"
Because behind it—
Another spell slipped through.
Subtle. Quiet.
A laughing charm.
Sirius almost smirked.
There it was.
A pattern.
Orion wasn't using dark magic—not yet. Every spell so far had been classified as *light*. Basic, even.
But the way he cast them…
The power behind them…
It twisted their purpose.
Made them dangerous.
*Deadly.*
Sirius tilted his head, eyes glinting.
"Are you proving a point…" he murmured, "or just taking the piss out of the light families?"
Because if there was one thing Orion Black loved—
It was showing that power didn't depend on *which* magic you used.
Only on *who* was using it.
Then again, there was always that stereotype—Durmstrang students, for all their mastery over dark magic, lacked finesse when it came to light spells.
Sirius narrowed his eyes slightly.
*Maybe that's what he's testing…*
But Sokolov proved that assumption wrong almost immediately.
The laughing charm barely lasted.
It didn't overwhelm him, didn't break him—but it *did* do exactly what Orion intended. It disrupted. For a fraction of a second, Sokolov had to fight his own body, suppress the instinctive reaction to laugh.
And that—
That was enough.
Orion moved in that gap like a predator.
A shield spell—something meant purely for defence—was *thrust forward* with force.
Sirius blinked.
"…what—"
The impact slammed into Sokolov like a physical blow, sending him skidding back across the duelling platform.
*A shield… used like that?*
Sirius leaned forward, completely hooked now.
Sokolov recovered quickly—he didn't fall, didn't lose composure. Instead, he pushed off the ground and leapt back, light and controlled, landing with the grace of a falcon regaining height mid-flight.
No wasted motion. No panic.
He retaliated instantly—a sharp hex cutting through the air toward Orion.
But again—
Too slow.
Orion's shield snapped into place, absorbing the attack seamlessly, and before Sokolov could chain another spell—
A jinx shot forward.
Sokolov's feet locked to the ground.
And then—
Another wandless shield.
But this time, it wasn't protection.
It was *force*.
It struck him full-on, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground.
Before Sokolov could even react—
His wand was gone.
Pulled cleanly from his grasp, flying into Orion's waiting hand.
Silence—
And then the stadium erupted.
Cheers thundered through the arena, banners shifting instantly—Hogwarts colours blazing across the stands, declaring their victor.
Sirius exhaled slowly, only now realising he had been holding his breath.
"…two minutes," he muttered.
That was all it took.
Two minutes.
No grand displays. No flashy, forbidden spells.
Just—
Precision.
Control.
Understanding.
On the screen, Orion didn't bask in the victory.
Instead, he stepped forward, casually tossing Sokolov's wand back to him before offering a hand.
Sokolov took it.
And then—
They *laughed*.
Actually laughed.
And to Sirius's disbelief—
They pulled each other into a brief hug.
Sirius leaned back against the couch, staring at the screen.
"…you're kidding me."
But even as he said it, he understood.
That hadn't been a fight to destroy.
It had been a *test*.
And neither of them had gone all out.
Sirius's gaze sharpened again, mind racing.
Because he could see it now—
All the spells Orion used had been simple. Basic. Almost *boring* on paper.
But in his hands?
They became something else entirely.
Faster. Heavier. Sharper.
A laughing charm that felt like a curse.
A shield that struck like a battering ram.
It wasn't about the spell.
It was about *intent*.
Sirius let out a quiet breath, eyes still fixed on the screen.
"…so that's what you meant."
Magic didn't need to be dark to be dangerous.
In the right hands—
Even the light could become lethal.
With the duel concluded, the old man stepped back into the ring—staff in hand, beard swaying, and that *atrocious* hat still firmly in place.
Sirius groaned.
"Merlin… did no one tell him?"
But despite the fashion disaster, his presence commanded attention. The crowd slowly quieted as he raised his staff once more.
"What a spectacular display of magic by Heir Black," he announced, his voice echoing across the stadium. "A performance worthy of the legacy he carries. Surely, a wizard who will take the magical community of Britain to even greater heights."
The cheers that followed were deafening.
"And an equally commendable show of skill and sportsmanship by Scion Sokolov. A duel fought with honour."
Sokolov inclined his head slightly, composed even in defeat.
"And thus," the old man continued, striking his staff lightly against the ground, "the victor of this year's duelling championship—Heir Black."
The stadium *exploded*.
Flowers once again rained down, banners shifting and glowing, Hogwarts colours blazing proudly across the stands.
Sirius watched as Orion was handed the medal—gold gleaming under the enchanted lights.
And yet—
He wasn't looking at it.
Of course he wasn't.
His gaze was already elsewhere.
Locked.
Sirius followed it instinctively.
His mother.
She stood there, arms crossed lightly, a small smirk playing on her lips. Not impressed. Not overwhelmed.
Just… *amused.*
Orion raised an eyebrow at her.
A silent question.
She rolled her eyes in response.
A silent answer.
Sirius blinked.
"…what the—"
They were far apart. Not close enough for whispers, not close enough for even subtle expressions to be clear to anyone else.
And yet—
They understood each other *perfectly*.
It made absolutely no sense.
And somehow—
It made complete sense.
Sirius leaned back slightly, shaking his head.
"How are you even doing that…"
Back in the arena, Orion gave Sokolov a firm handshake—quick, respectful. No arrogance, no lingering superiority.
Then he turned.
And without hesitation, without even acknowledging the crowd still chanting his name—
He walked straight toward the stands.
Toward *her*.
Sirius watched him go, something oddly warm settling in his chest despite himself.
"…alright," he muttered under his breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"I'll admit it."
"They're… kind of cute."