Amid the sudden explosion of cheers and whistles from the entire student body—
Viktor's figure flickered slightly. In the next instant he stood calmly in the exact centre of the platform.
His movement was light and fluid—sharp contrast to Snape's billowing black robes and brooding menace.
Snape's lip curled even further downward. His ink-black eyes locked onto Viktor without a flicker of warning—his wand snapped up.
Almost simultaneously, Viktor's wrist—hanging relaxed at his side—gave the tiniest, almost imperceptible twitch.
A brown blur shot from his sleeve with lightning speed. Snap. The wand landed perfectly in his palm.
Clean. Precise. Carried with an effortless, almost careless elegance.
A wave of involuntary gasps and admiring exclamations rippled through the students.
"Too cool!" Fred hissed under his breath.
"We have to put that on the schedule," George muttered, craning his neck.
Hermione's eyes shone like polished silver; she was already muttering rapid notes to herself.
Ron—gripping the railing so hard his knuckles went white—whispered hoarsely:
"Merlin… Snape looks like he's about to stew him in a cauldron."
Harley held her breath. Her green eyes didn't blink once.
Just as the tension reached breaking point—
Lockhart finally finished frantically patting down his electrified curls.
He cleared his throat, pasted on his signature dazzling smile, and prepared to reclaim some dignity as the "founder" of this club.
"Now, allow me—as a seasoned duellist—to offer some professional guidance and commentary on this highly anticipated—"
His voice cut off mid-sentence.
A small but extraordinarily quick figure whooshed onto the edge of the platform.
Professor Flitwick!
He stood atop a small golden pedestal that had definitely not been there a second ago—wand tip still trailing the faint sparkle of a Levitation Charm.
With a gentle but utterly firm flick, he had floated the still-babbling Lockhart into the shadowed corner of the platform—mirror still clutched to his chest, blinking in bewilderment.
Flitwick spun toward the audience, voice high and magically amplified, ringing with pure excitement.
"Ladies and gentlemen! A demonstration worthy of being recorded in the annals of the Hogwarts Duelling Club is about to begin!"
His tone quivered with delight, eyes sparkling.
"I—Filius Flitwick—former (and rather lucky) champion of this very club—am honoured to serve as your commentator and referee tonight!"
"OOOOHHH!!!"
The hall detonated.
Ravenclaws in particular lost their minds—pride practically lifting them off their seats.
A real former champion commentating!
This was leagues beyond Lockhart's empty posturing.
Snape merely raised an eyebrow—barely perceptible—at Flitwick's arrival. His gaze never left Viktor.
Viktor gave Flitwick a friendly nod, then turned slightly, facing Snape, and assumed a textbook duelling stance.
Wand angled forward at rest, feet neither together nor too wide apart—body relaxed yet coiled with latent power.
"Both sides ready!" Flitwick cried, wand flashing. A silver line sliced across the centre of the platform.
"Traditional courtesy before combat—bow!"
Snape gave the barest nod forward—barely an inch.
Viktor's bow was slightly deeper, calm and measured.
"Begin!"
The final word still echoed when Snape's wand lashed out like a striking snake.
"Stupefy!"
A blinding red bolt tore through the air—silent casting, aimed straight at Viktor's chest.
No incantation. No warning.
Students gasped. Harley's heart leapt into her throat.
She could feel the raw, merciless intent behind it—ten times sharper than anything Snape ever directed at her in Potions.
Viktor seemed to have anticipated it.
In the split second before impact, his body slid sideways in a smooth skating step.
The red light grazed the edge of his robes and slammed into the golden shield dome behind him—rippling outward in concentric waves.
"Superb anticipation and footwork!" Flitwick's commentary exploded instantly, words rattling like popcorn.
"Professor Snape demonstrates flawless silent casting technique—while Professor Viktor's evasion is the very essence of field-combat footwork! Watch!"
No spoken spells now—only the sharp buzz of wand tips and the vicious tear of magic ripping air.
A scarlet Stunner led the charge, followed instantly by a deep-blue Binding Curse.
Then three purple-black Severing Charms fanned out in a triangle—sealing escape routes and targeting exactly where a shield would most likely appear.
Fast. Dense. Ruthless.
Snape's attack flowed like a perfectly rehearsed symphony—carrying his signature oppressive style.
His body barely moved. Only his wrist and forearm vibrated at high speed in tiny adjustments—terrifying efficiency.
"Silent rapid-fire barrage! Classic single-target duelling opener!" Flitwick shouted, voice rising with exhilaration.
"Abandoning lengthy incantations for maximum casting speed and suppression! Look at that seamless chaining—almost no gaps! Professor Viktor must respond immediately!"
Facing the storm of spells, Viktor didn't counter-attack. He didn't block head-on.
He glided backward in a smooth retreat—while his wand swept upward in a full, satisfying arc.
"Armour Protection!"
This time he spoke the incantation—but the speed was astonishing.
A translucent silver-white shield snapped into existence before him.
Almost the instant it formed, Snape's second and third curses slammed into it—exploding in twin bursts of light.
The shield flared violently… but held.
"Armour Protection at exceptional strength!" Flitwick cried, stamping his tiny feet in delight.
"Professor Viktor clearly has profound mastery of defensive magic!"
Snape's brows furrowed—clear irritation at failing to shatter the defence immediately.
His wand suddenly chopped downward.
A dark, almost black beam hissed along the ground straight toward Viktor.
Wherever it passed, the smooth platform surface instantly frosted over with thin, ominous ice.
"Shadow Bind! A rare and highly difficult derivative of defensive Dark magic—severely restricts opponent movement!"
Flitwick's voice carried pure academic appreciation.
"Clouds and Mist!"
Viktor's calm voice rang out.
Thick, milky-white fog didn't erupt from his wand tip—it exploded outward from his very body.
The dense mist ballooned instantly—swallowing him whole and blurring every incoming curse light into indistinct smears.
The Shadow Bind plunged into the cloud—only stirring irregular eddies. No solid hit.
A Stunner's red bolt grazed the edge and slammed into the shield dome—rippling again.
"Beautiful Cloud Mist application! Precise area control—perfect concealment without excessive spread that would blind the referee!" Flitwick shouted.
"Professor Snape's visual lock has been disrupted!"
Inside the fog, Snape's brows twitched—almost imperceptibly.
He didn't bother trying to dispel the remaining mist.
Instead his wand stabbed downward.
"Gale Force!"
A powerful blast of wind roared across the platform—trying to shred the cloud apart.
But the instant a gap appeared—
"Left-Right Separation!"
Viktor's clear voice came from the opposite side of the fog.
The smooth stone directly beneath Snape's feet split open without warning—a half-foot-wide, several-foot-long fissure!
The crack appeared so abruptly, accompanied by the nauseating grind of rock splitting.
Snape—though startled—was far from panicked.
His black robes flared as he slid sideways half a step—perfectly evading the gap, balance still flawless.
But in that minuscule window—when his weight shifted, old momentum exhausted and new momentum not yet generated—
Crunch—!
Not a spell.
A fist-sized, sharp-edged stone knob suddenly thrust upward from the platform—exactly half a foot ahead of where Snape's foot was about to land!
A pure, lightning-fast, silent Transfiguration—perfect timing!
Snape's reaction was already at human极限—his ankle twisted in an almost unnatural pivot to avoid it.
But the edge of the stone still grazed his boot sole.
That tiny stumble—in the middle of such high-speed combat—was enough to shatter his previously flawless chain-casting rhythm.
"Exquisite! Absolutely exquisite!" Flitwick was practically bouncing off his pedestal.
"Cloud Mist to obscure vision → ground fissure to force repositioning → simple Transfiguration to create a tripping hazard—three moves linked perfectly!"
"Professor Viktor disrupts Professor Snape's tempo with minimal magic expenditure! This is tactical brilliance at its finest!"
"And the hallmark of field-combat duelling philosophy—achieve the objective at lowest cost, preserving strength for whatever comes next."
"The most common pattern among experienced wilderness adventurers: conceal yourself, interfere with small spells, probe with low-power casts—then deliver the decisive blow once the opponent's strength is revealed!"
Listening to Flitwick's excited breakdown, the students' earlier disappointment—at not seeing massive, flashy explosions—melted away.
They began watching with rapt, serious attention.
The younger ones could barely keep up with the lightning-fast exchanges.
Ron's mouth hung open.
Hermione was scribbling furiously, muttering under her breath:
"…environmental utilisation for minimal cost, maximum disruption… so this is the difference between field-combat wizards and traditional duellists… must find books on this later…"
Snape steadied himself—face blank, but his eyes burned with cold fire.
The interrupted fury transformed into denser magical pressure.
He abandoned further attempts to clear the mist.
Instead he slammed his wand tip downward.
BOOM!
A dark crimson shockwave—reeking faintly of sulphur—exploded outward from his position in a perfect circle!
Wherever it passed, falling raindrops froze instantly into tiny ice pellets—clattering to the ground.
The air itself thickened with frost; even the platform surface gained a thin, glittering layer of ice.
Not dispersal—pure attribute suppression: extreme cold to neutralise and overwrite the storm domain!
"Frost Nova! Another Transfiguration-combined area-freeze spell!" Flitwick's voice carried a note of gravity.
"Professor Snape is enraged—he's shifting to heavy suppression tactics!"
The crimson frost ring swept outward.
Viktor didn't retreat.
He stepped forward.
His wand carved a swift triangle in the air before him.
A crystalline ice wall erupted from the ground—blocking the frost ring head-on.
Ice met unnatural fire-cold.
A violent hiss filled the air as thick white steam billowed upward.
The ice wall thinned rapidly—melting under the onslaught.
But in the split second before it collapsed—
Viktor's figure flashed out from behind the steaming curtain.
His wand wasn't aimed at Snape.
It thrust straight upward.
A blinding white core ignited at the tip.
"Lightning Flash!"
It was as though a miniature sun detonated above the platform!
An excruciatingly bright white light—accompanied by a deep, air-shaking thunderclap—swept through the entire shielded space!
Even with the dome filtering most of the force—
Many students still cried out—blinded for an instant, ears ringing from the pressure wave.
The shield flared violently—absorbing the shock.
But that fleeting "false daylight" and the primal jolt it sent through every heart was utterly real.
"Original combat spell! Extreme flash blinding + concussive sonic shock!" Flitwick's voice shook with awe.
"Perfect timing—right when Professor Snape's vision was slightly obscured by steam and his previous move ended!"
The light faded.
Snape had turned his head aside—eyes squeezed shut for a heartbeat before snapping open again. Moisture glistened at the corners from the physiological reaction.
The muscles in his cheeks clenched. He had been genuinely provoked by this unexpected, ruthlessly effective "dirty trick."
He abandoned any further attempt at rapid chaining.
His wand rose vertically.
A low, ominous, guttural incantation began pouring from his lips—dark and heavy with foreboding power.
The air around him thickened, darkened—magic visibly coiling like smoke.
Clearly a high-power spell requiring brief preparation.
Viktor had no intention of letting him finish.
His left hand flashed through a simple mudra—pointing toward Snape's feet from afar.
Gesture casting—effect instantaneous.
The smooth platform beneath Snape turned slick and treacherous—an instant layer of thick, slippery ice!
Snape's incantation broke. His footing slipped—magic diverted to stabilise himself.
And in that heartbeat—
Viktor's right wand swept upward.
This time his voice carried a strange, rhythmic cadence—like invoking the breath of nature itself.
"Stormclouds Gather!"
The instant the words landed—the light and shadow on the platform shifted violently!
Boiling black clouds coalesced from nothing—spreading rapidly to cover the entire "sky" beneath the dome.
Fat raindrops hammered down—turning within seconds into a roaring downpour.
Simulated thunder rolled through the cloud layer. Lightning cracked—strobing the platform in harsh white flashes that illuminated the two drenched figures in stark relief.
Wind, rain, thunder—interwoven.
A small but utterly convincing storm domain had descended upon the duelling arena!
"Meteorological magic! Localised weather control!" Flitwick's scream hit a new octave—he nearly fell off his pedestal.
"Merlin's beard! He successfully simulated a full thunderstorm inside a confined, magically shielded space! The magical finesse and elemental affinity required—unbelievable! Utterly unbelievable!"
The hall fell deathly silent—save for the roar of rain and the low growl of thunder inside the dome.
Every student—and every professor—stared in stunned awe at the magical miracle unfolding before them.
Even Dumbledore's pupils flashed with genuine surprise behind his half-moon glasses.
Rain poured down the shield dome. Both duelists were instantly soaked through.
Snape's black robes clung to his body—hair plastered to his pale forehead. Water streamed down his sharp nose and tight-pressed lips.
He stood like a spear in the deluge—still perfectly upright—but his eyes churned with emotions never seen before:
Shock. Deeply wounded pride. Wariness toward an unfamiliar, overwhelming magic. And—buried deepest of all—a cold, sharp thrill of meeting a true equal.
He tried to raise his wand—intending a Drying Charm or Water-Repelling spell.
But the rain seemed guided by invisible force—parted in one direction only to fall harder from another.
Thunder and lightning constantly disrupted his senses and concentration.
In this meticulously crafted, completely hostile home-field environment—his swift, precise attack spells felt clumsy and weakened.
Viktor stood at the far end of the rain curtain—equally drenched—but utterly calm.
His wand glowed steadily—maintaining the Druid-infused weather spell.
Snape's chest heaved once.
His wand hand—knuckles white from gripping too hard.
He stared at Viktor as though trying to bore holes through him.
After several suffocating seconds of deadlock—he suddenly slammed his wand downward!
Not at Viktor.
A pitch-black, frigid wave of magic exploded outward from him in a perfect ring!
Wherever it passed—raindrops froze mid-fall into fine ice dust—clattering to the ground.
The air itself crystallised into frost. The platform gained a glittering sheet of thin ice.
Not dispersal—pure attribute warfare: extreme cold to counter and overwrite the storm domain!
"Frost Nova! Once again—a Transfiguration-combined area-freeze spell!" Flitwick's voice carried grave respect.
"Professor Snape is truly enraged—he's shifting to brute-force suppression!"
Ice met storm.
A violent hiss filled the arena as thick white steam billowed upward.
The rain visibly weakened—but Viktor's wand light remained steady. The clouds didn't disperse.
If anything—they grew darker, heavier.
Lightning flickered more frequently inside them.
Just as both wizards' gathered magic neared critical mass—
A gentle yet utterly commanding voice cut through every sound.
"That's quite enough demonstration. It has been more than spectacular."
Dumbledore rose.
His Elder Wand moved in a small, graceful arc.
His voice wasn't loud—yet it somehow soothed the raging magic in the air.
The storm clouds dissolved. Rain ceased. Thunder silenced. Ice melted.
In moments the platform was simply wet stone again—two dripping-wet wizards standing on it—as though the miniature natural disaster had never happened.
Snape exhaled harshly—whether from magical exhaustion or fury at Dumbledore's interruption was unclear.
He shot Viktor one last venomous glare—then spun on his heel.
His soaked robes no longer billowed—only slapped wetly against his legs as he strode away—each step splashing water—trailing an almost tangible aura of suppressed rage. He vanished into the shadowed entrance without a backward glance.
Viktor let out a long, slow breath—hair dripping, face slightly pale.
Maintaining the storm spell without external nature to draw from—while simultaneously preparing a lightning strike—had clearly taken a toll.
He cast a Drying Charm on himself—then gave Dumbledore a small, respectful bow, and nodded gratefully to the ecstatic Flitwick.
"A landmark demonstration for the Duelling Club records!" Flitwick's voice still trembled with passion—but he slipped instantly into professor mode.
"Professor Snape showed us the pinnacle of silent casting speed, pinpoint accuracy, and overwhelming destructive pressure!"
"Professor Viktor demonstrated how tactical brilliance, environmental mastery, original spell creation, and exquisite multi-magic coordination can counter—even reverse—such pressure!"
"Duelling is diverse! What you witnessed tonight were two utterly different—yet both peerless—philosophies of combat!"
The applause was deafening—unlike anything before.
Mixed with excited screams, whistles, and frenzied discussion—it crashed over the hall like a tidal wave.
Students clapped until their palms burned—faces flushed with exhilaration.
Harley, Ron, and Hermione clapped furiously.
Harley and Ron were pure awe and joy.
Hermione's eyes—beyond the shock—burned with endless questions and insatiable curiosity.