The next morning, the château's stone halls echoed with the soft, rhythmic steps of students filing toward their weekly Magical Defense class. The air held the crispness of dawn, laced with the metallic scent of enchantment wards freshly renewed. In the distance, the low hum of shielding charms being tested rang faintly across the Defense Wing.
Eira walked alongside Marin, who, as usual, carried his satchel slung lazily over one shoulder, his uniform just barely within the bounds of neatness. He yawned mid-sentence, clearly still half asleep.
"Man , it's so boring to wake up early morning just to go and see an old man talk about his experience in his life." Marin asked.
"For Merlin's sake Marin it's 8:30 in morning not 5 in the morning, why are complaining?," Eira said, glancing ahead toward the long corridor. "And besides It's Professor Vaillant. He doesn't waste mornings on stories ."
Professor Gabriel Vaillant had earned a reputation among the Beauxbâtons students for his unshakable composure and a gaze that seemed to weigh one's soul against the scales of discipline. With neatly combed dark gray hair, a finely cut high-collared robe, and a posture like carved obsidian, he was the kind of professor who never raised his voice—because he never needed to.
When they arrived, the Defense Hall's doors were already open.
It was an austere chamber: high stone walls lined with silver-inlaid shields, spell-impact marks preserved in the floor from decades of student dueling, and a suspended chandelier glowing with enchanted blue fire.
Professor Vaillant stood at the center of the room, his arms folded behind his back, his sharp eyes sweeping over the gathered second-years.
"Good morning," he said, his voice cold and crisp like the bite of winter wind. "Today, I will not give you a lecture. Today, I will observe. Today, you will duel."
Some students straightened. Others shifted nervously. Eira and Marin exchanged a glance.
"I will be evaluating your instinct, your spell selection, your ability to hold back… and your ability to act under pressure," the professor continued. "Dueling is not just about winning—it is about control. Strategy. Discipline. If you lose your discipline, you lose the duel."
With a flick of his wand, Vaillant conjured a shimmering chart midair. Names began to move around like chess pieces, pairing students into dueling matches.
"Step forward when your name is called," he said.
One by one, students dueled on the central platform. Most used standard spells: Flipendo, Expelliarmus, Protego. Occasionally someone attempted Stupefy or Lumos Maxima, and the professor would raise an eyebrow if they showed good technique—or raise his wand to cancel the duel if things got out of hand.
When it came time for the next pair, Professor Vaillant's voice rang out clearly:
"Eira White and Armand Leclair."
A quiet ripple of interest passed through the class. Armand was a tall boy from Maison Bellefeuille—quick with his wand, known for his clever footwork. Not arrogant, but certainly confident.
Eira stepped forward calmly, wand already in hand.
The professor nodded to both. "Wands at the ready. Bow."
They bowed formally. Armand offered a small, respectful nod.
"Begin."
For a moment, nothing.
Then Armand moved—swiftly casting, "Expelliarmus!"
Eira countered smoothly, "Protego!" The spell ricocheted off her shield.
She flicked her wand, "Ventus!"
A gust of wind swept Armand backward a step. He slid, rebalanced, and fired back, "Flipendo!"
She sidestepped.
"Gravitas Minuo!" she incanted next.
Armand's body suddenly felt light, his steps unsteady.
"What—?"
"Lumos Orbis!"
A glowing orb flew past him and circled behind. He turned—distracted.
"Depulso!"
The blast caught him squarely in the chest and knocked him flat onto the dueling platform with a thud.
Gasps echoed. The orb exploded above them in harmless sparks.
"Enough!" Professor Vaillant's voice snapped like thunder.
Eira lowered her wand at once.
Armand sat up, blinking, slightly dazed but unharmed. "I'm fine," he muttered, rubbing his elbow.
The professor's eyes snapped to Eira.
"Miss White," he said sharply, walking toward her. "You were instructed to duel, not to humiliate. Your selection of spells was reckless, and your execution excessive."
Eira blinked, surprised. "He wasn't hurt—"
"That is not the point," Vaillant cut in. "This is a class of second-years. This Unfamiliar spell 'Gravitas Minuo` , Lumos Orbis, and Depulso in rapid sequence—intended for duels at least two years above your level."
He narrowed his eyes. "I know your name, Miss White. I am well aware of your… family reputation. But this class is not your battlefield to prove it. You will not make a sport of your peers."
Eira's jaw tightened slightly, but she said nothing.
Professor Vaillant exhaled slowly, then turned back toward the class. "Let this be a lesson. Power without restraint is not mastery—it is immaturity. That is enough for today. Return to your seats."
Eira stepped down in silence. Armand gave her a faint shrug and a half-smile, as if to say, no hard feelings.
As she returned to her bench, Marin leaned toward her with a knowing smirk. "Well. That was… diplomatic."
"I didn't even break anything," Eira muttered, scanning the room. No burns. No injuries. Just a bit of wind and a pratfall.
Marin leaned in closer. "You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think Professor Vaillant doesn't like us."
"Us?" Eira asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"You know—students who actually excel," he whispered dramatically. "It's like he wants everyone to stay at the same mediocre level. So no one threatens the fragile ecosystem of dull spellcasting."
Eira snorted.
"Maybe," she said thoughtfully, "he has trauma."
Marin blinked. "What?"
"You know," Eira said, half amused. "Maybe when he was younger, someone used a cooler spell than he could and he got so jealous he's been holding a grudge ever since. Now every time he sees someone outperform his inner child, he gets all stern and wounded."
Marin stared at her, then broke into quiet laughter. "That is—by far—the most pathetic trauma I've ever heard."
Eira smiled faintly, resting her elbow on the bench. "I said maybe."
"Well, if it's true, we should send him a letter," Marin whispered, "dear Professor, I'm sorry my spells reminded you of that time in your childhood when you lost a duel and cried into your Defense textbook."
Eira chuckled. "Signed, your trigger."
They both tried to stifle their laughter as Professor Vaillant cast a disapproving glance toward their row.
But neither of them looked apologetic.
As the bell chimed and students began to file out, Marin turned to her with a teasing grin.
"So, who's next on your dueling hit list?"
Eira rolled her eyes. "No one. Unless the professor assigns them."
"Or unless someone looks at you the wrong way," Marin added.
She bumped his shoulder with her own as they walked out together.
"You're lucky I don't turn you into a frog," she said sweetly.
"Oh then you can give a princess kiss and turn me back to a prince." Marin replied. "Honestly, I'd kill to see that happen ."
Their laughter echoed down the corridor as they stepped out into the chill of the late morning air.