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On the second day, the banners of the three schools fluttered proudly above the dueling grounds, their colors snapping in the crisp air. The headmaster of each school sat together at the judges' table, each wearing a markedly different expression.
Madame Maxime sat with perfect poise, her posture tall and commanding, her elegant gaze sweeping over the assembled students as if weighing each one of them. By contrast, Karkaroff looked restless. His fingers tapped a jittery rhythm against the armrest of his chair, a nervous energy he could not contain. His eyes kept darting toward the line of Durmstrang students, always pausing on the tall, silent figure standing among them: Viktor Krum.
When all had finally gathered, Dumbledore rose from his seat. His kindly voice, carrying both warmth and authority, echoed across the entire dueling field.
"The rules are simple. Each school will send forth eight students to compete in one-on-one duels. The winners advance until, at last, one champion is crowned."
A smile creased his face as he added, "Remember, the purpose of this tournament is not only to display your skills but also to show your grace and composure. The use of any Unforgivable Curse is strictly forbidden! And at every moment, do not forget… you stand as representatives of your school."
No sooner had his words faded than glowing letters carved themselves upon the great stone stele at the center of the arena, revealing the first pair of names. The Gryffindor students erupted into cheers so loud they rolled through the stands like a wave.
Percy Weasley drew in a sharp breath. Almost instinctively, his hand went to his chest to smooth the Prefect's badge pinned there, as though reassuring himself of his station. Straightening his robes, he walked stiffly, each step just a touch too rigid, until he reached the dueling platform.
His opponent was a senior girl from Beauxbatons. She was tall, her figure slender, and her face carried a cold pride that made her look untouchable.
"Random Terrain?" Percy asked, seeking confirmation with a trace of formality.
"Agreed," the girl replied coolly, giving the slightest nod.
The stone stele shimmered, the words "Fountain Square" flaring briefly before the entire slab sank into the ground with a deep rumble.
The arena transformed in an instant. Several enormous fountains burst upward from the floor, their carved basins gleaming as water shot skyward in powerful jets. Mist spread thick across the square, clinging to skin and clothing, veiling the battleground in shifting curtains of silver-white.
The Beauxbatons girl's lips curved faintly at the corner, a hint of superiority in her smile. With a graceful flick of her wand, she traced an arc through the air. At her feet, a loose stone slab suddenly shuddered, then shot upward like a catapulted boulder.
Percy reacted at once. His training and long hours of study showed as he raised his wand in a perfectly textbook stance and cried, "Protego!"
An invisible barrier shimmered into being before him, solid and strong. The stone struck the Shield Charm head-on with a resounding crack, the impact rattling the shield so violently that Percy staggered backward, nearly losing his footing.
He quickly countered, voice sharp and commanding. "Expelliarmus!"
A jet of scarlet light burst from his wand, cutting cleanly through the mist as it streaked toward his opponent.
But the girl was swifter than he had anticipated. With a graceful sidestep, she slipped aside, the hem of her skirts brushing against the swirling fog. Her wand swept through the air as she spoke in a low tone, "Incarcerous!"
From the empty air, ropes sprang forth, writhing like living serpents. In the blink of an eye, they lashed around Percy's arms, binding him fast.
"Relashio!" Percy shouted, his tone hurried yet precise.
The cords slackened instantly at his command, releasing his wrists before unraveling into threads of smoke that drifted away into the fog.
Wasting no time, Percy pressed his attack again, determination etched in every movement. "Stupefy!"
Yet the Beauxbatons girl was quicker still. Almost before the word had fully left his lips, she had already flicked her wand in silence, her spell wordless but exact.
The ground beneath Percy's boots softened without warning. A patch of stone gave way, melting into a sucking mire. With a startled cry, he sank at once, his legs swallowed by thick mud.
In the nick of time, he flung himself to the side, rolling clumsily across the ground. He tore himself free from the sucking pit, but his robes were left smeared with wet earth, heavy with mud that clung stubbornly to the fabric.
"Oh, Percy!" Fred and George wailed in unison from the stands, their voices deliberately exaggerated as though they were mourning his dignity more than the duel itself.
"Nonverbal casting. She's using silent casting, and she's really good at it," Hermione muttered anxiously, her voice taut with worry as she followed the exchange.
"Impedimenta!" the girl pressed on relentlessly. Her curse struck the ground where Percy had just rolled, lifting dust and pebbles in a sudden burst that stung the eyes and clouded the air.
Percy managed to dodge twice in quick succession, his body twisting and tumbling to escape. Yet he could not keep pace with her unyielding rhythm. Forced onto the defensive, he looked increasingly bedraggled, trapped in a constant retreat with hardly a chance to breathe.
From the Beauxbatons stands, thunderous cheers rose like a storm, each cry urging her onward and lending strength to her every movement. Even among the Hogwarts students, murmurs of awe spread as they watched her effortless command of non-verbal spells, each one cast with a casual grace that spoke of true mastery.
The roar of the crowd seemed to press in upon the duel itself, their voices swelling and surging like a tide that could not be restrained. Raindrops began to fall, light and scattered at the start, before growing more insistent as they mingled with the mist. Through the shifting veil of water, Percy's figure appeared half-obscured, his disheveled form seeming all the more diminished beneath the gathering storm.
Under the ceaseless rain of her attacks, Percy had no choice but to twist, stumble, and roll away again and again. His wizard's robes were caked with mud, clinging to his limbs. The Prefect's badge that he had so carefully smoothed at the start of the match was long gone, vanished somewhere amid the chaos.
Had it not been for the grueling "Snowman Battle Royal Training" Kestrel had once put them through, he might already have been defeated by now.
Another stone slab whistled through the air, and Percy rolled across the slick ground to avoid the crushing impact. As he scrambled back to his feet, breath ragged, a sudden flash of memory struck him. Sargeras's voice during the dueling lecture echoed in his mind: "If all you do is dodge, you will only trap yourself in endless retreat. Sooner or later, you will be cornered and beaten down."
The words rang sharp in his ears. Percy's eyes hardened. Without even aiming, he thrust his wand forward and cried out, "Petrificus Totalus!"
The spell-light streaked across the square. It passed so close to the girl that it grazed the ends of her hair. Her pupils contracted sharply, her composure breaking for a heartbeat as the reality of danger pressed against her.
Percy seized that fleeting opening. Without hesitation, he whipped his wand toward one of the great fountains and cast, "Impedimenta!"
The jet of water that had been shooting skyward bent violently, its direction twisted by the force of his magic. In an instant, it became a roaring torrent, blasting forward like the jet of a high-pressure hose straight at his opponent.
Even as the water surged, Percy hurled several more spells through the rushing spray. He did not wait to see whether they struck. The moment the words left his lips, he dropped into another roll, his body instinctively fleeing before any counterstrike could find him.
At that precise moment, the fountains ceased their flow as if cut off by an unseen hand. The ground trembled, and from the center of the arena the massive stone stele rose again, its runes glowing with power.
As though answering the question in every spectator's mind, the stele flared and cast a vast magical image into the air. The projection was crystal clear, replaying the sequence in perfect detail: how Percy had bent the stream of the fountain with his spell, how he had drawn the curtain of water to shroud himself from her sight, and how his twin incantations had pierced that watery veil. One of them, the Full Body-Bind Curse, struck true with flawless precision.
The image froze at the instant Percy tumbled across the ground, capturing the decisive moment of victory in all its clarity.
"Percy Weasley Wins!"
The announcement sent the Hogwarts students into a frenzy. Their cheer was a deafening roar, thundering across the arena. From the direction of Beauxbatons came a more restrained sound, a ripple of polite applause, acknowledging his victory with dignified reserve.
Percy's eyes shone with emotion, though his face fought to remain calm, leaving his expression a little stiff and awkward. His opponent inclined her head toward him in a graceful acknowledgment before leaving the platform. Percy, meanwhile, bent to retrieve his lost Prefect's badge from the mud. Pinning it back onto his chest, he gave a small wave toward the stands before hurrying off the stage.
Fred and George were waiting for him, slapping his back with exaggerated force and shouting their congratulations at the top of their lungs. Even Professor McGonagall, who rarely allowed her composure to crack, permitted herself the faintest smile.
The following duels proved no less dazzling.
A seventh-year Ravenclaw displayed exquisite Transfiguration, turning his opponent's wand into a slick, wriggling eel before the boy even realized what had happened.
Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff demonstrated both dazzling combat instincts and a calm, calculating mind. With flawless timing, he chained an Impediment Jinx into a Disarming Charm, the movements flowing together as seamlessly as a practiced dance. The outcome was swift and decisive. His opponent, a sixth-year from Durmstrang, was cleanly defeated, his wand spinning from his grasp before he could even register the loss, and the stands erupted in the loudest cheers of the day.
Even Madame Maxime inclined her head in faint approval. Turning to Professor McGonagall at her side, she murmured softly, "A young man with real promise. Quick-witted, and possessed of a natural grace."
The Durmstrang students, by contrast, all carried a distinctive stamp. Their dueling style was hard-edged and aggressive, their spells heavy with raw force, marked by the unmistakable imprint of real combat experience. Every duel they fought carried the weight of training that was meant for battle rather than theory.
When Viktor Krum stepped forward, the atmosphere surged to its peak. His arrival was met with a ripple of excitement that spread through the crowd.
His opponent was none other than Terence Higgs, Slytherin's former Seeker.
It became, in that instant, a duel between Seekers.
Higgs attempted to wear his rival down with quick, darting maneuvers, the same way he might harry an opponent on the Quidditch pitch. But Krum's movements were sharp, precise, and ruthlessly efficient. A single Shield Charm brushed aside the incoming spell as if it were nothing, and then, without a word, Krum's wand flicked once. The silent Full Body-Bind Curse shot out and struck with unerring accuracy. Higgs froze mid-motion and toppled stiffly to the ground like a felled post.
The entire fight had lasted only a handful of seconds. Krum had not even taken a step from where he stood.
At once, the Durmstrang camp exploded in thunderous cheers, their voices rising with the rhythmic pounding of boots against the ground. The noise reverberated through the venue like rolling thunder, victory celebrated with raw and unified force.
And with that, the first round of the tournament drew to a close. Twelve competitors had earned their place in the next stage. Hogwarts held only three of those coveted seats, Beauxbatons secured four, while Durmstrang claimed the upper hand with five.
No one could say the result was unexpected.
In recent years, Hogwarts had suffered from the constant turnover of its Defense Against the Dark Arts professors. The quality of instruction rose and fell with each replacement, leaving the students with little in the way of consistent or practical dueling skill. To have three students advance at all was thanks largely to Sargeras and the deliberate training he had pressed upon them during the past two years.
Durmstrang, on the other hand, shone with far greater steadiness. Their professors might not outclass those at Hogwarts in brilliance, but the school's emphasis on battle, drilled over generations, had seeped deep into every student's bones. Even their ordinary pupils could step into the dueling ring and display power that commanded respect.
One could only admit, for a school famed across the world for its dueling tradition, Durmstrang had indeed earned its reputation.
As the sun sank into the west and the last rays of light gilded the horizon, the first day of the tournament came to an official close.
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[Chapter End's]
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