"Sean Bulstrode! You're insane!"
Dorian clutched his nose, his eyes watering, a constellation of bright, painful stars exploding behind them. A mixture of tears and blood streamed down his face, dripping from his fingers onto the dusty ground of the Quidditch stands. He could feel the sickening, grinding crunch of bone. It was broken.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Dorian fumbled for his wand. His first attempt at a healing spell failed, his incantation distorted by the injury. On the second try, he managed to stop the bleeding, but it was a temporary fix. The underlying damage remained. He would need to see Madam Pomfrey.
"Sean Bulstrode," he snarled, his voice a nasal whine, "what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing!"
"Doing?" Sean's voice was dangerously calm as he advanced on him. "Andy is here. That sniveling traitor Robbins is over there. You're here. What do you think I'm doing?"
Dorian's eyes flickered to Robbins, who was already looking pale and flustered. He knew exactly what Sean was doing, but he couldn't admit it. "I have no idea what madness has seized you," Dorian blustered, trying to regain his composure. "Andy and I are simply business competitors. Now that he can't compete, you've decided to resort to thuggery?"
Sean stopped, a cold, dismissive smile on his face. "It doesn't matter whether you admit it or not, Dorian. It makes no difference to me. I came here today to beat you half to death." He paused, his smile widening. "Of course, if you have the ability, you are welcome to try and do the same to me. It all depends on whether you have the skill."
He drew his wand from his sleeve with a smooth, practiced motion. He offered Dorian a curt, mocking bow, then struck. A jet of red light shot from the tip of his wand, aimed directly at Dorian's chest.
Realizing with a jolt of panic that Sean was serious, Dorian threw himself back, his wand coming up even as he stumbled. With no time to talk, he fired back. "Stupefy!"
"Protego!" Sean countered, his voice a low chant. A ripple of blue-white energy materialized before him, easily deflecting Dorian's spell. With his Nimble Casting talent, the motion was fluid and effortless. He transitioned from defense to offense in a single, elegant arc of his wand, sending a jet of grayish-white light hurtling toward Dorian. "Petrificus Totalus!"
Dorian jabbed his wand at the ground. The wooden planks of the stands seemed to soften and warp, rising into a makeshift wall that blocked the Petrification Curse.
Transfiguration? Sean thought, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Heh. Let's play.
With a sharp, twin flick of his wrist, two of the spectator chairs beside Dorian came to life. They twisted and reformed, their wooden legs becoming grasping fingers, their seats becoming massive, crushing palms that lunged for him.
Dorian reacted quickly, slashing his wand through the air like a swordsman. The enchanted chairs exploded into a cloud of splinters. But Sean just laughed. With another wave of his wand, the cloud of fragments froze in mid-air, sharpening and elongating into a swarm of deadly iron skewers. Another flick, and they rained down on Dorian.
Bang! Clang! Thud!
Dorian frantically waved his wand, casting a flurry of defensive spells, but it was a desperate, losing battle. He managed to deflect most of the skewers, but not all. Two of them found their mark, one piercing his right leg, the other his left shoulder. He cried out in pain, tumbling down the stands like a discarded toy, landing in a heap at the bottom.
Sean stood on the upper level, looking down at the groaning, injured boy below. He waved his wand lazily, a predator toying with its prey, a half-smile on his face.
Dorian, his face contorted with pain and rage, pushed himself up. He glared at Sean, who stood above him, a figure of calm, condescending power. Ignoring his injuries, Dorian fiercely raised his wand. "Stupefy!"
"Expelliarmus!" Sean replied, his voice still calm.
Two jets of red light, one from above and one from below, met in midair with a crackle of raw magical energy. In a direct contest of power, Dorian had been confident. He was years older than Sean; his magic should have been stronger. But as their spells clashed, he felt a sickening realization dawn on him. He was weaker. In both skill and raw power, he was utterly outmatched.
Sean's Disarming Charm, a brilliant, focused beam of crimson light, began to push Dorian's spell back. No matter how much Dorian roared, how much power he poured into his wand, he could not stop the inevitable. The red light of the Expelliarmus overwhelmed his own, striking him squarely in the chest and blasting him from the stands. He flew through the air and landed in an unconscious heap on the Quidditch pitch below.
Sean walked to the edge of the stands. He saw some of Dorian's friends rushing onto the pitch to check on him. With a casual flick of his wrist, Sean tossed a small vial of healing potion down toward them. It was enough to make sure Dorian wouldn't die from his injuries. Then, without looking back, Sean turned and left the Quidditch pitch. Blaise and Andy followed silently behind him.
As they walked, the familiar notification popped up in Sean's mind.
[Duel Won!]
[Conditions Met: Victory Against Dorian.]
[System Commencing Random Ability Extraction from Defeated Target: Dorian.]
[Extracting...]
He felt the familiar mental buzz.
[Extraction Complete!]
[New Ability Acquired: Transfiguration (LV2)]
Hmm, Transfiguration, Sean thought, checking the notification as they walked. Dorian's use of the art had been decent, but pretty basic compared to Sean's own. Sean was already starting to get into the third stage of Transfiguration, while Dorian was still just a beginner in the second. But getting this wasn't useless. Even if their skills were 90% the same, that remaining 10% was a different way of understanding things, a new perspective. It was these small, little gains that would eventually lead to becoming a true master.
They returned to the castle and made their way back to the Slytherin Common Room. But before they could even reach their dormitories, a third-year student hurried up to Sean, his expression urgent. "Sean," he said, "Professor Snape is looking for you. He wants to see you in his office."
[Chapter Complete]
***
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