"Alright, now it's your turn, Hermione, Draco."
Nathael looked at them both with an expression that was serious yet encouraging. They stood in the same snow-covered clearing where Carrie had just completed her trial moments earlier. The air was cold, but neither seemed to notice. Both held their wands firmly, eyes locked on each other, ready.
"The rules are simple," Nathael continued. "You may use any spell you've learned so far, in any way you see fit. The duel ends when one of you concedes defeat—or when I decide it's over. Remember: don't hold back. Celestia and I have healing supplies ready in case you're injured."
Hermione and Draco nodded simultaneously. They walked to opposite sides of the clearing, stopped about ten meters apart, and turned to face each other.
There was no arrogance in Draco's gaze—only focus. This was his first real magical duel. The one with Harry and Ron in the Trophy Room didn't count. Harry and Ron had been pathetic. He'd defeated them easily, barely exerting himself—or so Draco thought. But now, standing before him, was Hermione. They'd trained together. He knew her strengths: brilliant in theory, a genius at learning spells, with flawless logical and analytical thinking. But he also knew her weakness: she always thought before acting, rather than reacting instinctively.
Hermione, for her part, had never dueled before. She was analyzing. Draco is intelligent, cunning, and has excellent spell control—a very skilled wizard for his age. But he's also overconfident. And in a real duel, overconfidence can be fatal.
Nathael positioned himself in the center between them.
"Salute," he said.
Both raised their wands parallel to their bodies and gave a slight nod—a gesture of respect. It wasn't empty ceremony. It was acknowledgment: they weren't enemies. They were rivals, yes—but worthy ones.
"Begin."
Draco didn't waste a second. He raised his wand and cast:
"Expelliarmus!"
A small red jet shot toward Hermione. Nathael gave an almost imperceptible nod as he observed: Draco's understanding of the spell has grown significantly. At first, Expelliarmus was just an invisible flick that disarmed an opponent. Now, his version is visible, potent—capable of knocking someone out if aimed precisely.
Hermione moved instantly. She dove sideways and evaded the spell with agility. Without losing balance, she raised her own wand and said:
"Expulso!"
A blue flash erupted from her wand—but it wasn't aimed at Draco. It struck the snow directly in front of him, blasting a cloud of white that momentarily blinded him.
"Clever," Nathael murmured. "Targeting vision instead of the body."
Though blinded, Draco didn't stand still. He rolled quickly to the side—a smart move. Just then, he heard:
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Hermione's spell passed through the space where the snow cloud had been—but Draco was already gone. He sprang to his feet and, without hesitation, cast:
"Reducto!"
A blue bolt shot straight at Hermione. She reacted swiftly:
"Finite Incantatem!"
The two spells collided midair. A silent explosion rippled outward, knocking Hermione back several steps. Draco, however, didn't budge. The slight edge in raw magical power was evident.
Now, Draco began moving in sharp zigzags, constantly shifting direction to make it harder for Hermione to land a hit. As he moved, he considered his next move. His magical reserves weren't abnormal like Carrie's—he was, after all, only eleven. A few more spells, and he'd be drained.
Hermione cast another Expulso, trying to predict his path. The spell grazed his arm—no real damage, but enough to make him pause for a split second. Draco seized that moment and fired another Expelliarmus. Hermione dodged it with a backward leap.
In that instant, Hermione remembered something Nathael had told her weeks earlier, while they'd been relaxing in his Hogwarts office:
"Senses are essential in a duel. If you can neutralize them, your chances of winning increase exponentially."
She'd tried that earlier—but only briefly and in a small area. Now, she needed something bigger, more effective.
Meanwhile, Draco recalled a lesson Celestia had given him during a game of wizard's chess:
"Overwhelming your opponent is a highly effective tactic. You launch multiple spells at once. If your enemy is weaker, they'll make a mistake and take at least one. Then—checkmate."
(And, as always, Celestia had won that game.)
He decided to go all in. It was a risk—but worth it. He'd pour his remaining magical reserves into a multi-spell barrage. If even one landed, he'd win. If not, he'd be defenseless—but there was no time left for hesitation.
Both their gazes sharpened. It was as if they'd reached the same conclusion at the exact same moment: It's time to end this.
Draco moved first. He sprinted diagonally and laterally, making his spell trajectory unpredictable. In under ten seconds, he unleashed:
"Expelliarmus!"
"Reducto!"
"Expulso!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The four spells flew one after another. Draco collapsed instantly—completely drained. His control had weakened from casting so fast; the spells weren't as strong as he'd hoped. But he only needed one to connect.
Hermione didn't stand still. She'd started running the moment Draco released the first spell. She barely dodged the Expelliarmus. She ducked behind a rock to avoid the Reducto—which shattered the stone into flying fragments. She moved again, raised her wand, and shouted:
"Finite Incantatem!"
The spell neutralized the Expulso midair. But then came the Petrificus Totalus. She had no time to dodge or counter. The spell struck her legs.
Yet Draco's exhausted, poorly aimed curse wasn't strong enough. Instead of immediate petrification, the effect crept slowly. Her legs numbed—but her arms were still free.
Without losing a second, she aimed at the open space between them and cried:
"Oleum!"
Thick, black oil gushed from her wand, spreading across the snow. Immediately after, she cast:
"Incendio!"
Flames ignited the oil instantly, creating a roaring wall of fire. As it hit the snow, it generated a massive cloud of scalding steam that blanketed several meters. Draco was completely blinded—literally unable to see anything. And now, with no magic left, he was an easy target.
But Hermione could already feel the Petrificus creeping up her arms. Her fingers stiffened—and her wand clattered to the ground with a soft chime.
"Enough!" Nathael said.
With a subtle flick of his hand, the steam vanished—along with the fire. The clearing cleared instantly.
"It's a draw," he announced.
The scene was clear: Hermione stood fully petrified, eyes wide but immobile. Draco knelt, exhausted, breath ragged, wand still in hand—but utterly drained of magic.
Celestia, who had been watching from a snow-dusted log, smiled.
"That was an excellent duel."
Nathael nodded. "I agree."
He made another gesture. Hermione felt the petrification fade—she could move again. Draco, meanwhile, sensed a gentle surge of energy that eased his fatigue and restored a little strength.
"I'm proud of both of you," Nathael said, walking toward them. "You applied everything I've taught you: control, strategy, adaptation, observation. This wasn't a duel of brute force—but of intelligence. And that… that is what truly matters."
Hermione picked up her wand and took a deep breath. Draco rose to his feet—shakily—and gave a silent nod. They looked at each other, and something between them had shifted.
"And now," Nathael said, his expression turning more solemn, "I have something to tell you."