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On the barren mountainside arena, two colossal beasts wrought from living stone clashed in a brutal struggle, their massive bodies grinding together with the weight of mountains. Each thunderous impact split the ground apart and hurled jagged shards of rock into the air.
The cries of the students rose in waves, each louder and more frenzied than the last. Their fevered excitement seemed to pour into the duel itself, driving it to a maddening peak. Under the weight of this surging energy, even the arena could no longer hold its form. Fissures snaked across the hardened floor, and from those widening cracks burst forth tongues of molten earthfire.
At the very heart of the arena, the floor bulged upward with startling speed, swelling and distorting as though some monstrous force beneath the surface was straining to break free.
Sargeras had no intention of letting this drag into a battle of attrition. With a sharp slash of his wand across the stone floor, the ground beneath the struggling badger and serpent suddenly softened. It was as if two massive waves of mud and rock had come crashing together, surging upward and collapsing at once, swallowing the battling stone creatures in an instant.
Yet before the dust could settle, Professor McGonagall's wand flickered again, swift and precise as the wind. Several broken boulders lying near the edge of the arena leapt up at her command, twisting midair into hulking black panthers. Their bodies were sleek yet massive, their movements impossibly fluid for creatures of such weight.
Silent as shadows, they padded forward, encircling Sargeras from several angles, their eyes glinting with a predatory's hunger.
Sargeras' response was just as quick. With a decisive sweep of his wand across the ground in front of the oncoming panthers, the earth turned treacherous. A patch of glistening black mire spread beneath their paws, thick and clinging as tar.
The foremost panthers, caught mid-leap, crashed down into the bog and sank at once. They thrashed and clawed desperately, but the more they struggled, the faster they sank. Sargeras gave another sweep of his wand, and in a heartbeat the mire hardened to stone. The panthers froze where they were, trapped to the neck, their enormous heads straining and twisting in vain.
But McGonagall's assault was far from over. More and more of the arena yielded to her command. Stones, tangled shrubs, even the soil itself stirred and warped under the sweep of her wand. From the shifting terrain emerged a host of terrible forms: snarling stone wolves with jagged fangs, massive earthen bears roaring as they lumbered forward, sharp-winged falcons of flint shrieking from above.
A wild army of beasts, all born from the art of Transfiguration, surged forward like a flood bursting through a shattered dam, thundering down upon Sargeras.
The young wizards and witches watching from the stands could scarcely believe their eyes. Their mouths hung open, their gazes locked in awe, as if afraid that blinking might make the spectacle vanish. None of them had ever imagined that Transfiguration could be wielded in combat like this. What they were witnessing was nothing less than a magical feast, one that overturned everything they thought they knew.
What struck them even more deeply was not only the sheer power Professor McGonagall displayed, but also the relentless pace of her assault. Against an opponent as formidable as Sargeras, she did not falter, did not yield ground. Instead, she seemed to seize hold of the rhythm itself, forcing the tempo of the duel into her hands.
And just as the army of stone beasts was about to pounce down upon Sargeras, the crowd's cheers reached their highest peak…
BOOOOOM—!
A deafening roar split the air.
The mound at the very center of the arena, swollen to its utmost limit, finally burst apart like a volcano that had strained against its prison for far too long.
A thick pillar of black smoke billowed upward, carrying with it the sharp stench of sulfur, and then came the fire. Magma surged forth in a furious torrent, like a dragon loosed from the pit of hell, its blazing wrath unleashed upon the world.
The stone beasts charging at the front were the first to suffer. They were struck head-on by the erupting force and hurled high into the air, their colossal bodies tossed about like toys in the grip of a raging giant.
Scorching lava rained down from above, scattering across the arena. Each blazing drop struck the ground with a violent hiss, searing holes into the stone where it landed.
Yet what should have been a natural catastrophe, a tide of destruction no mortal could resist, became in the hands of these two masters of Transfiguration nothing more than new weapons to wield.
Professor McGonagall's wand flashed like lightning. She pointed at a stream of flowing lava, and the seething, molten rock suddenly obeyed. It rose from the ground in a violent surge, twisting and stretching as her magic shaped it into form. In a heartbeat, an eastern dragon wrought entirely of living magma lifted its head, its molten body glowing with unbearable heat. With a roar that shook the arena, it threw its head back and bellowed to the sky.
It had only just begun to spread its wings when Sargeras answered. His wand struck down upon a boulder falling from above, still glowing with lava and trailing thick smoke. In an instant, the stone writhed under his power and reshaped itself into a colossal hand. It came crashing down with the force of mountains breaking, its five fingers spread wide. Ignoring the searing heat, it swatted at the lava dragon's skull as casually as a man might strike a fly.
BAAANG!
A deafening crash shook the arena. The massive hand collided with the dragon's head, and the explosion sent showers of sparks and molten fragments blasting across the battlefield.
Professor McGonagall's face did not waver. The magma dragon struck by the blow did not collapse. Instead, its head dissolved in an instant, melting seamlessly back into flowing lava, only to surge forward once more. That flood of molten rock rippled as though alive, and in the blink of an eye it shaped itself into a monstrous mouth. With a sudden lunge, the molten jaws snapped shut.
CRUNCH—!
The fanged maw bit hard into the wrist of the basalt giant hand. Under the blazing heat of magma and the sheer force of its bite, the thick stone split apart. The hand crumbled, half of it torn away and sent crashing to the ground with a roar.
Sargeras' expression remained calm, his wand already moving in another sweeping arc. A mass of lava, still tumbling from the sky, twisted violently under his command. In mid-fall it elongated and hardened, drawn tight into the shape of a massive arrowhead glowing red with molten light.
WHOOSH—!
With a piercing hiss, the fiery projectile shot forth. It streaked across the air with a tail of crimson light, tearing the silence with a shrill whistling cry, before striking its mark. The arrow pierced clean through the molten dragon's head, pinning it to the ground and holding it fast.
However, even that decisive strike did not end the duel.
Professor McGonagall did not waste her strength on trying to wrestle control of the pinned magma beast. She released it without hesitation, her wand instead sweeping toward the river of lava that roared between her and Sargeras.
The burning current shuddered and then froze, as though time itself had halted its flow. The molten torrent gathered and rose in a single surge, stretching upward until a monstrous serpent reared above the ground. Its scales glowed red from within, lines of molten fire running between them, its twisted head hissing as it rose to strike.
Sargeras, however, was far from idle. He too raised his wand and cast his will upon the very serpent that McGonagall had conjured and held under her command. His Transfiguration collided with hers, seizing hold of the creature's vast, sinuous body.
And then, before the astonished eyes of the crowd, the impossible came to pass. The serpent's form writhed under the strain of his magic, twisting in violent convulsions. Its coiling tail warped and stretched, flesh and flame contorting until, in the span of a single heartbeat, it bore not one head but two.
A second serpent's skull, burning with molten flame, rose from the end of its tail. The moment this new head fully formed, it snapped about with startling speed and lunged at its original master, fangs bared and dripping with fire.
For the first time, a shadow of gravity flickered across McGonagall's stern features. Her face remained composed, yet there was a sharpness in her eyes, a weight in her expression that had not been there before. She moved her wand in a flurry, her arm slicing the air so fast it left a blur of afterimages.
Under her rapid succession of spells, the flesh and fangs of the serpent's head began to ripple and squirm. The grotesque maw writhed as if it were unraveling, and then, piece by piece, its fangs split apart, reshaping themselves into dozens of smaller serpents. Slender and fierce, each fiery snake tore itself free, peeling away from the great serpent's skull with a hiss of molten light.
Her wand thrust sharply forward. The swarm of fire snakes shrieked as they burst into motion, streaking across the air like burning meteors, every one of them aimed straight at Sargeras.
Faced with this blazing storm, a swarm so vast it seemed to blot out the sky, Sargeras' expression remained unchanged. Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face. He merely lowered his gaze, then tapped his wand lightly against the ground beneath his feet.
The earth answered. With a deep rumble, the ground he stood upon surged upward as though bowing to a sovereign's command.
The land heaved and lifted, thrusting him skyward upon a sudden lone peak. In a matter of breaths he stood high above, raised dozens of feet into the air, a solitary figure upon a pillar of stone.
The fire serpents swarmed and crashed below, hurling themselves against the jagged base of his conjured mountain. They struck with fury, but their efforts were wasted. All they achieved was an eruption of sparks and fragments, hissing explosions of fire that fizzled uselessly against unyielding stone. Even the lava serpent, whose body he had seized and twisted into his own weapon, writhed and snapped in vain at the towering crag.
Sargeras stood poised at the summit, utterly indifferent to the trembling ground beneath him, as though the unstable foundation could crumble away at any moment and it would mean nothing to him. Lifting his wand, he fixed his gaze upon the half-serpent and the swarm of lesser snakes that still writhed through the air.
With a cold flick, he wrenched Professor McGonagall's construct once more from her grasp. At once, the fiery serpents convulsed and twisted, their shapes wrung unnaturally out of form by his will. Their bodies stretched and hardened until they became a storm of immense crimson spears, each one glowing with searing heat, their jagged tips all trained downward upon Professor McGonagall.
His wand dipped with the lightest of motions.
The sky split with a piercing shriek. The magma spears tore through the air, descending like a storm of falling stars, screaming as they fell upon her with lethal precision.
McGonagall met the assault head-on. She did not falter, did not step back. Her wand swept toward a nearby outcropping of granite. The rock shuddered, then twisted and rose, transforming into a wall of massive shields. Jagged-edged slabs of stone layered themselves before her, shield upon shield, a fortress of granite rising to meet the storm.
The first of the molten spears struck.
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—!
The impact was like meteors colliding with the earth. Spears of fire slammed into the granite shields with earth-splitting force, and the sound of the collisions rang out again and again, one after another, deafening in its fury. Lava hissed and crackled as it met unyielding stone, sending explosions of sparks and fragments blasting outward in showers of searing light.
The first shield held only a moment before it shattered under the barrage, crumbling into a rain of burning rubble.
The second shield followed, then the third…
One by one, the stone barriers collapsed, breaking apart under the relentless assault. The ground before McGonagall was soon littered with shattered stone, glowing fragments rolling like coals, lava trickling between the cracks. Smoke rose in choking plumes, filling the arena with a thick haze.
And Sargeras' attack was not finished.
The scattered debris of shattered rock responded once more to his command. Under his will, each fragment sharpened, warping into jagged spikes. Then, with a surge of magic, they shot forward like a hail of bullets, whistling as they tore through the air, all of them aimed straight at Professor McGonagall.
Even as the barrage rained down, he raised his wand again. The heavy smoke swirling in the arena twisted violently at his command. It thickened, congealed, and in moments reshaped itself into an enormous foot, dark and terrible. The colossal shadow blotted out the light above, then came crashing down toward her, threatening to stamp her into the ground.
"Merlin's beard!" gasped one of the young witches in the stands.
The students sat frozen in their seats, wide-eyed and pale, unable to look away from the chaos raging before them.
With a sharp pop, a puff of black smoke burst out. Just an instant before the colossal foot could stamp her into the ground, Professor McGonagall's body dissolved into smoke and vanished from sight.
BOOOM!
A thunderous boom followed. The smoke-born foot slammed into the ground, shaking the entire platform as stone cracked and flames licked out in the impact.
At the very same moment, her figure wavered back into existence on a massive boulder a dozen yards away. She landed heavily, staggered a step, and caught herself. Her breath came uneven, a faint sheen of sweat breaking across her forehead. Only now, standing at a safer distance, did she see clearly: hidden within that descending smoky foot had been a volley of shadowy spears, ready to pierce her the moment she faltered.
The duel platform was a battlefield of fire and smoke. Dust roiled in suffocating waves, the air thick and choking, with black mist swirling endlessly between them.
"I concede." Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together, her voice low but steady. "Your gift for Transfiguration is indeed undeniable. Truth be told, I caught the first glimpse of it all the way back when you first walked into Hogwarts as a student."
Sargeras inclined his head without hesitation. His expression was calm, almost detached. "I did pour quite a lot of myself into the art. Transfiguration has… always been my anchor."
McGonagall studied him for a moment, her sharpness softened. Her voice lost its usual stern edge. "Tell me then, Sargeras… coming back to Hogwarts now, after everything… what is it you're really after?"
"Hmm…" He seemed to think it over, but only briefly. When he spoke, his tone was almost casual. "To finish the books I never got around to reading. And maybe, along the way, to change a few things inside this castle that ought not remain the way they are."
He paused, then added quietly, "At least, that was how I thought of it at first."
A flicker of something unreadable passed over McGonagall's face. For once, it wasn't severity, but something tinged with memory, maybe even regret. "I am sorry you had to go through what you did… I should have been there for you back then."
"That was never your fault, Professor." With a casual wave of his hand, Sargeras dissolved the battlefield at once. The warped creations, the spears, the smoke, the fire-born serpents, all shuddered and broke apart, crumbling back into nothingness.
He strode to the center of the dueling platform and lifted his wand toward the ancient stone stele. "Besides…" he continued, his voice calm yet edged with a faint, wry undertone, "being cast out of Hogwarts may not have been such a curse. Without that, I doubt I would ever have driven myself this far in pursuit of magic."
His wand traced a fluid arc, and with that gesture, two bright characters carved themselves into the stone:
"DRAW!"
Professor McGonagall's lips parted, as if she wanted to say something more. But before the words could form, Sargeras simply lifted a hand in a dismissive, almost carefree gesture. "Let it stand as a draw. That way the little lions won't grow resentful. It's better for both of us this way."
As soon as his words fell, the dust and smoke evaporated as if swept away by an unseen wind.
Together, Sargeras and Professor McGonagall turned, faced the audience, and bowed. Their duel ended not with victory or defeat, but with a quiet acknowledgment. And as they stepped down from the stage side by side, the arena filled with the thunder of cheers from the young witches and wizards, their voices carrying the two duelists calmly out of sight.
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[Chapter End's]
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