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Dumbledore rose to his feet, his hands coming together in a measured clap, his eyes alight with satisfaction.
"What a splendid contest that was," he declared warmly. "Though the outcome has once again ended in a draw, I believe this grand display of Transfiguration has already given everyone here a vivid taste of its true wonder."
He let his words linger for a heartbeat before his voice lifted again, carrying clearly across the field.
"And now," he announced with deliberate emphasis, "the next duel shall be between Professor Nixia of Beauxbatons and Professor Baffelus of Durmstrang. This will also be the final exhibition match of the day, and I trust they will bring us a battle every bit as captivating as the ones we have already witnessed."
As soon as his voice fell silent, Nightingale and Baffelus had already stepped forward into the very heart of the dueling platform. The two stood facing one another, the circle of space between them charged with quiet tension. Baffelus' lips curved into a smile, one that carried a hidden edge, as if a private thought amused him.
"Professor Nixia…" he was the first to break the silence, keeping his voice pitched just for the space between them, "the first two matches ended without a victor. If ours produces a clear winner, then today will also see its one and only loser."
He let the words hang, his meaning sharp though unspoken.
Nightingale's expression remained calm and still as water. For the sake of the duel she had removed her customary veil, and now that suffocatingly beautiful face, usually hidden from the world, was revealed in its full, dazzling clarity. It was a beauty so striking that the very air around her seemed to fall silent.
"Are you suggesting," her voice rang cool and even, carrying no hint of emotion, "that I will be that unfortunate loser?"
"Of course not…" Baffelus' smile deepened, his tone slipping into something almost conspiratorial, as though sharing a private jest between the two of them. "I would hardly wish to see Professor Nixia reduced to such a state. But naturally… there is a certain condition to be met."
"It seems Professor Baffelus has a great deal of confidence in his own abilities." Her reply was smooth, steady, her tone utterly unshaken.
"In the realm of potions, I would not presume to measure myself against you. Yet when it comes to dueling…" A low sound, half snort, half chuckle, rumbled from his nose. It carried the unmistakable arrogance that marked Durmstrang's reputation. "Durmstrang's strength has never been in doubt."
"And by that, Professor Baffelus means…?"
"I have heard it said," he went on with deliberate casualness, "that Miss Nixia has no shortage of suitors, yet you yourself have never deigned to grant them the slightest favor." At this he leaned forward a fraction, lowering his voice into something more intimate. "Perhaps… I might be permitted to call you by your given name… Veiliss?"
"I think it entirely appropriate that you address me as 'Professor Nixia.'" Her tone was still even, her voice as smooth and cold as glass, giving away neither anger nor warmth.
"So you mean to reject me outright? Even if it means that today, you might well become the one and only loser?" The smile on Baffelus' face froze in place, his words sharpening into a threat. "Professor Nixia, do not forget that you stand here representing the honor of Beauxbatons, not merely yourself."
"There is no need for Professor Baffelus to trouble himself with such concerns," Nightingale answered softly, her voice as calm and unruffled as ever. Then, with a quiet composure that cut sharper than any blade, she added, "But I should remind you of something. Professor Greengrass made it very clear to me earlier that until both sides have chosen the dueling ground, every single word spoken here can be heard with perfect clarity throughout the entire venue."
Baffelus went rigid, the realization crashing down on him with numbing force.
He snapped his head toward the stands, only to meet the sight of Karkaroff, whose face had darkened to the color of iron. The Durmstrang headmaster's eyes bored into him like frozen spikes, cold and merciless. Around the arena, students from all three schools were staring at him as well, their gazes colored with a strange mixture of curiosity, judgment, and disbelief.
"You…!" His throat strained, and what came out was nothing more than a strangled syllable.
"Professor," Nightingale's voice slid in at that precise instant, her tone calm yet unyielding as she reminded him, "I trust that whatever you choose to say next will be words you have weighed with the utmost care."
"Hehe…" A dry, rasping laugh squeezed through Baffelus' teeth. The muscles of his face twitched uncontrollably as he wrestled down the storm of humiliation boiling inside him. Forcing his tone into something almost steady, he croaked, "Merely a joke… I do hope Professor Nixia will not take offense."
"Of course I would never take offense," Nightingale answered with a faint smile. "After all, it truly was quite amusing."
The brilliance of that smile, dazzling and fleeting as starlight, vanished in the blink of an eye. Yet Baffelus had neither the heart nor the composure to appreciate it.
All he wanted in that moment was to strike her down with the swiftest, cruellest force he could muster, to crush the woman who had made him the object of ridicule before the eyes of so many, and then flee this suffocating arena that had become a seat of torment.
The two of them moved quickly to select a battlefield at random. The runes carved into the great stone stele shimmered with shifting light, whirling through countless possibilities before locking into place upon a single phrase: Shallow Marsh.
At once, the massive stele sank into the ground, and the entire platform began to twist and reshape.
A damp fog rose like breath from the earth, thick and choking. Bubbles of rot broke the surface of the swampy water, releasing a pungent reek of sulfur that burned the nostrils.
On the slick, murky surface, Baffelus' reflection wavered back at him, his own face distorted and ugly. Shame and fury blazed together inside him, setting fire to his already twisted pride.
He would make her pay. He would make this woman, this woman who had dared strip him of his dignity before the eyes of all, pay a price so bitter she would never forget it.
"Blasting Curse (Confringo)!"
Baffelus roared the incantation and slashed his wand forward. A blinding scarlet beam burst from its tip, lancing straight toward Nightingale's beautiful face.
Gasps and cries of alarm erupted from the stands. Some of the Beauxbatons students even leapt to their feet in panic, hands clenched at their sides.
But Nightingale did not so much as blink. Not a flutter of her lashes, not the faintest twitch of hesitation disturbed her stillness. She made none of the dramatic, sweeping gestures the crowd expected.
Her wand, slender and elegant in her pale fingers, moved only in a languid arc through the air. Yet from that unhurried motion burst a pure beam of ice-blue light, striking the crimson curse with unerring precision. The scarlet spell shattered on impact, breaking apart and dispersing into nothingness as though it had never been.
And before the audience could draw breath again, Nightingale's wrist turned with another graceful flick. A wave of frost spilled from her wand, carving veins of ice into the very air itself. The cold spread outward like a living tide, surging toward Baffelus with the relentlessness of a winter sea.
The incantation forming on his lips strangled and died half-spoken, smothered in that instant, for a searing beam of lake-blue light was already streaking straight toward him.
"Protego!"
At that moment, the Durmstrang professor revealed the speed of his reflexes. His wand jerked up, and with impressive precision he conjured a Shield Charm. Though the movement was rushed, almost desperate, the shimmering shield flared into being in time to deflect the incoming spell, driving it harmlessly against the sodden ground.
But the instant the light struck earth, Nightingale's wand darted forward with decisive, merciless speed.
"Glacius Maxima!"
BOOOOM—!
The explosion tore through the marsh with terrifying force. The swampy ground ruptured into a gaping crater, mud and stagnant water blasted high into the air before freezing solid. At the rim of the pit, jagged ice spikes radiated outward like the teeth of some monstrous trap.
The sudden blast drew cries from the stands. The young witches and wizards in the audience flinched back in shock, their eyes wide, their breath catching at the sheer violence of the spell.
And in the hollow at the center of the crater stood a sculpture of ice, gleaming an unnatural blue and radiating a deathly chill.
It was Baffelus.
The spell had frozen him where he stood, capturing every line of his contorted face, his twisted snarl of rage, the raised arm that had been mid-strike. The sculpture was so lifelike that one could see the last traces of disbelief still lingering in his eyes, wide with shock and refusal.
His whole body, together with the heavy fur cloak of Durmstrang that draped his shoulders, was locked inside that unyielding block of ice, hardened to a strength like steel. Not even a single strand of hair had escaped.
Sunlight shone on the surface of the statue, scattering into piercing shards of brilliance.
The cold was still seeping inward, inexorable and slow, creeping deeper into the frozen body of Baffelus. At the very moment when it seemed the duel would end in his complete ruin, Nightingale lowered her wand.
"Professor Baffelus…" she said softly, her voice carrying with calm finality, "appears to be today's only defeated duelist."
With that she turned, dipping into an elegant bow toward the stands. When she straightened again, a white glow flared across Baffelus' body, signaling the end of the match.
The stone stele rose slowly from the muck, its runes shifting as streams of light rolled across the surface. Yet by the time its glow fully bloomed, Nightingale had already turned on her heel and was walking off the dueling ground.
She never once glanced at the result displayed upon the stone.
The audience immediately erupted!
Students of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons were the first to react. They leapt to their feet with a roar, chairs toppling and clattering against the wooden floor behind them.
Applause crashed down like thunder. The pounding of feet against the stands merged with sharp whistles and wild cries that tore voices raw, all of it swelling together into a single, frenzied tide of sound!
Even some of the Durmstrang students found themselves lifting their arms to cheer for her. For in Durmstrang, respect was always given to strength, and Nightingale had just demonstrated strength beyond question.
The young witches and wizards shouted themselves hoarse. Among the professors, Madame Maxime allowed herself a reserved but satisfied smile. Facing the cluster of reporters who were snapping photos one after another, she explained with dignified pride:
"Professor Nixia, who teaches Potions at Beauxbatons, is exceptionally gifted in every field. In less than a year, she has already raised her students' Potions grades to remarkable new heights…"
Only Karkaroff sat unmoved. His expression, never pleasant to begin with, had grown uglier still. He clearly had no intention of lingering for Dumbledore's announcement of today's results. Scowling, he rose abruptly and swept out of the arena without a word.
The students, however, could not calm down. Excitement ran too hot in their veins, sparking conversations that tangled and overlapped into a riot of voices.
"Merlin's beard! Just one move! Only one move!" Ron was practically shouting himself hoarse, sloshing pumpkin juice all over without even noticing.
"That big oaf from Durmstrang made a complete fool of himself…" Even Hermione, usually so composed, could not hide the rush in her voice. Her eyes were shining, bright with a rare spark of exhilaration.
"Too right!" Neville, rarely so loud, added in an eager shout. "After all, Professor Nixia took him down in an instant… completely!"
"Didn't he say before the duel that Professor Nixia had a whole line of admirers chasing after her?" someone called out.
"No surprise there!" another seventh-year boy declared, his eyes practically glowing. "Because I've just become one of them myself!" His bold announcement sent a ripple of laughter bursting out around him.
"Count me in," George leaned forward, grinning ear to ear.
"Better include me too…" Fred chimed in immediately. With a flick of his wand, a huge bouquet of roses appeared in his arms, each blossom singing off-key love songs. "And while we're at it, put down Percy and baby Ron's names for the list as well."
"Stop spouting nonsense, Fred!" Percy barked, his face turning crimson as he tried to look stern.
"Hey, add me too!" Kestrel suddenly poked her head into the group, grinning shamelessly as she threw in her own vote.
Harry and Ron were still cupping their hands to their mouths, shouting cheers at Nightingale's retreating back with all the breath in their lungs. Not far away, Hermione had quietly snapped her book shut. With her eyes fixed on the figure leaving the dueling platform, she raised her hand and, almost shyly, made a small cheering gesture of encouragement.
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[Chapter End's]
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