Chapter 68: No Rules
Elian stood in a relaxed dueling stance, but the energy around him was coiled and lethal. The casual friend was gone; in his place stood a predator assessing a herd. The D.A. members felt the shift viscerally—a sudden, cold pressure that silenced their chatter and made their wands feel heavier in their hands.
Colin Creevey, ever eager and fiercely loyal to Harry's cause, broke the tension with a gulp. "I'll… I'll go!" he squeaked, stepping forward, his knuckles white on his wand.
A murmur of relief went through the others. Good. Colin would test the waters.
As people shuffled to clear a space, Elian moved. His wand flicked up, not in a formal salute, but in a sharp, efficient jab.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The spell shot out, a bolt of grey light. It struck Colin square in the chest before the boy had even fully raised his own wand. Colin stiffened, eyes wide with shock, and toppled to the floor with a thud, rigid as a board.
Silence. Then outrage.
"Elian!" a Ravenclaw girl shrieked. "That's not fair! He wasn't ready!"
"You can't just start like that!" a Hufflepuff boy yelled. "There are rules!"
A chorus of angry protests filled the room. They were students, used to duels that began with bows and "Wands at the ready!"
Elian didn't lower his wand. A cold, disdainful snort escaped him. "Naïve," he said, the word cutting through the noise. "Did you forget why you're here? I said real combat. Treat me like a Death Eater. Do you think they'll wait for you to finish adjusting your robes?"
His icy gaze swept over them. "Are you here for a game? Do you think when the Death Eaters come, they'll give you a sporting chance? A fair start?" He gestured with his chin toward Colin's prone form. "That is what happens when you're unprepared. You fall. Instantly."
The truth of his words, harsh and undiluted, doused their anger like cold water. They stood, chastened and suddenly uncertain. This wasn't a club meeting anymore.
Seamus Finnigan, never one to back down from a challenge, rallied. "Fine! I'll have a go, then! I don't believe a first-year can—"
"Petrificus Totalus."
Another grey bolt. Seamus, hand half-raised, mouth still open, joined Colin on the floor with a grunt of impact.
Elian didn't even blink. "A fourth-year and a fifth-year," he remarked, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. "Taken down by a single, simple Body-Bind. Is this the progress you've made? Is this what makes you feel strong?"
The dual insult—to their skill and their pride—was the spark. Understanding dawned, followed by a surge of collective indignation. He wasn't playing by their rules. Fine. Neither would they.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Incarcerous!"
"Stupefy!"
"Expelliarmus!"
A volley of spells—jets of grey, ropes of light, a blinding red Stunner, a disarming charm—erupted from the crowd, a chaotic, colorful barrage aimed directly at the figure standing calmly in the center of the room.
The lesson, it seemed, was about to get very practical, very fast.
(End of Chapter)
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