The roar of the crowd softened into a collective hum as the clean-up charms finished clearing away the debris from the first semifinal.
The Romanian champion was escorted offstage, bruised but triumphant.
Across the hall, Fleur Delacour was already approaching the stairs leading to the stage—chin high, expression composed, every step a wordless proclamation of elegance.
Cassius rose from his bench.
Flitwick patted his elbow.
Sirius slapped his back.
The two coaches could not have been more different—one composed, one vibrating with chaotic pride—but both were unmistakably worried.
Fleur Delacour was fearsome.
Not because of her dueling.
Because of her Veela blood.
Cassius stepped into the staging corridor, and the air faintly shimmered.
Her allure.
Not a full Veela's.
Weaker.
Muted.
Indirect.
Nothing overwhelming.
More a subtle atmospheric pressure, a gentle push of instinct—notice me, bend toward me, hesitate.
Cassius felt it brush over him like a stray breeze.
And dissipate.
He kept walking.
Behind him, Sirius whispered, "Remember, pup—smolder—"
Cassius didn't even turn around.
"No."
"RUDE!"
The arena brightened with gold flame as the announcer's voice boomed:
"SECOND SEMIFINAL MATCH! FLEUR DELACOUR OF FRANCE—VERSUS—CASSIUS SNAPE OF GREAT BRITAIN! Best of five rounds!"
Cassius took his place on the left platform.
Fleur stepped onto the right, her robes fluttering in an artificial breeze, silver hair catching the light as though she were illuminated from within.
Her eyes met his.
Cool.
Confident.
She expected him to be affected.
He wasn't.
A flicker of genuine confusion crossed her face.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then she masked it with poise.
The referee raised her wand. "Contestants—bow."
They bowed.
"—Begin!"
~
ROUND ONE
Fleur moved first—fast enough that most would assume she blurred.
A wave of charmwork—beautifully cast—rolled from her wand in a shimmering fan of rose-gold light.
Half glamour.
Half mild compulsion.
All Veela technique.
The crowd swooned.
Cassius did not.
He fired a single, precise spell:
"Diffindo—minor."
A clean arc.
Not directed at her.
At her spell.
The rose-gold wave split down the center like silk.
Fleur's eyes widened.
Cassius stepped forward.
A snap of his wrist—"Expulso."
A shockwave struck her shield—
Her shield cracked.
Her balance faltered.
He followed with a quiet, controlled—
"Stupefy."
Direct hit.
It ended in under ten seconds.
A gasp cut through the stadium.
The referee blinked in shock. "ROUND ONE—VICTOR, CASSIUS SNAPE!"
Fleur sat up almost immediately, blinking rapidly, utterly stunned—not by the spell.
By him.
Her lips parted.
"…you do not react."
Cassius gave a polite, minimal nod. "To what?"
Her jaw clenched.
It was like he had denied not only her spellwork but her looks as well.
She didnt like it but you use the tools you have so if her opponents were weak enough to have been afffected that was their problem not hers.
But for years she had competed and for years not one of her fellow youths had resisted... until now.
The audience buzzed with low whispers—surprise, confusion, intrigue.
Fleur rose, expression no longer serene.
The same thought echoed through her posture, her narrowed eyes, her suddenly sharpened stance:
She had underestimated him.
~
ROUND TWO
The referee raised her wand again.
"Begin!"
Fleur didn't hold back this time.
She spun, wand in a tight arc—Transfigurare impetus! Metallic petals burst from the floor, folding into razor-edged constructs—avian shapes of enchanted steel.
They launched at him in synchronized formation.
Cassius reacted instantly.
"Ventus Maxima."
A controlled, rotating burst of air erupted around him—shredding the constructs mid-flight.
Fleur was already moving, launching into a barrage of precise charmwork—pressure spells, force vectors, even a clever misdirection charm that nearly slipped around his guard.
She was good.
Better than her previous matches—far better.
Her wand moved like a conductor's baton, every motion purposeful, elegant, deadly.
Cassius parried—
Redirected—
Countered—
Spell after spell exchanging in rapid, crackling arcs across the arena.
The crowd was on its feet.
Fleur skidded sideways, breathing hard but burning with focus.
"You fight like a much older wizard," she snapped.
"You rely too heavily on distraction," Cassius replied simply.
Her nostrils flared.
She twisted her wrist—sharp and dangerous—
"Lancea Ardente!"
A blazing spear formed midair—hurling forward with molten heat.
Cassius stepped into its trajectory—
And split it with a precise cutting charm.
The spear disintegrated into sparks.
His follow-up hit before she could fully shift stance.
"Concussum."
A shockwave—not enough to injure, but enough to blast her backward and crack her shield in three places.
She hit the boundary hard.
A heartbeat later—
"Stupefy."
Clean.
Direct.
Unavoidable.
The referee didn't even need to check.
"ROUND TWO—VICTOR, CASSIUS SNAPE!"
The arena exploded with noise.
Fleur's hand tightened into the floor as she pushed herself upright, chest rising and falling—not from exertion, but from something almost like outrage.
He wasn't looking at her like the others did.
He wasn't flustered.
He wasn't hesitant.
He wasn't even impressed.
He was merely evaluating her.
And defeating her.
Her gaze sharpened into something fierce—almost predatory.
She rose.
"This… will not happen again," she said quietly.
Cassius offered a faint shrug. "We will see."
Her teeth grit, but she smiled—a tight, dangerous smile.
Now she understood:
He wasn't prey.
He wasn't dazzled.
He was her first real opponent.
~
ROUND THREE
The air practically crackled.
The referee lifted her wand a third time.
"BEGIN!"
Fleur unleashed everything.
Everything.
A rapid-fire storm of charmwork, transfiguration, heat spells, pressure variations—she layered offense in a way she never had before.
Her Veela traits flared subtly—hair lifting in a shimmering aura, eyes bright like molten quicksilver.
The ground around Cassius warped under the force of her spells.
But Cassius—
Cassius adapted.
His countersequences were precise, efficient, and increasingly aggressive.
She tried to overwhelm him—
He broke her momentum.
She tried to misdirect—
He ignored every illusion.
She tried to pin him—
He slipped out like smoke.
The duel escalated to a level neither had shown earlier in the tournament—flashes of light, rippling air distortions, bursts of transfigured matter colliding mid-flight.
Fleur darted left—right—twisted—
And then she saw it.
His opening.
She struck—
Too slow.
Cassius was already there.
A disarming sequence—elegant, clean, devastatingly fast:
"Percutio…Pressura…Expelliarmus."
Three spells, one continuum.
Her wand ripped from her hand.
Fleur froze.
Her breath hitched.
The wand clattered across the arena floor.
Silence.
The referee exhaled, almost relieved.
"ROUND THREE—AND MATCH—VICTOR: CASSIUS SNAPE! Cassius Snape advances to the CHAMPIONSHIP FINAL!"
The arena detonated with applause, cheers, shouts.
Fleur stood perfectly still for three seconds.
Then she bowed—deeply, sharply, with unmistakable respect.
Her eyes lifted to meet his.
"You are… not what I expected."
Cassius returned a polite bow.
"You fought well."
She huffed, cheeks flushed—not with attraction, but frustration and admiration tangled together.
"I'll beat you next year, you better watch out!"
Then she turned, collecting herself, posture regal even in defeat.
Cassius stepped off the platform.
Sirius tackled him in a hug.
"YOU DIDN'T EVEN WINK, YOU BRICK-WALL OF UNROMANTIC DOOM!"
Cassius considered smothering him.
Flitwick wiped his eyes. "Marvelous work, my boy! Absolutely marvelous!"
Cassius only nodded once—calm, steady, already shifting mindset.
There was one more match.
One final duel.
One last opponent.
The championship awaited.