The Grand Arena was packed for the semifinals. Both matches would be held simultaneously in different sections of the massive space, allowing the crowd to watch whichever duel interested them more.
Rowan stepped onto the platform and paused. The stands were filled. Easily a thousand people, maybe more. The noise washed over him like a wave. For a moment, he felt the weight of all those eyes.
His pulse quickened. He closed his eyes briefly, drew on his Occlumency training, and set the nervousness aside. When he opened them again, his hands were steady.
Most would be watching his match. The novelty of an eleven-year-old in the semifinals was too unusual to ignore.
Jonathan Ward stood at the opposite end of the platform, a tall boy with light brown skin and sharp, intelligent eyes. Unlike Silva's friendly grin or Yamamoto's formal bow, Ward simply nodded, all business.
His wand was already in hand, held loosely but ready.
The referee's voice rang out. "This is a semifinal match. Same rules apply. Competitors, bow."
They bowed, neither breaking eye contact.
"Wands at the ready. Begin!"
Neither moved for a full second. Both analyzing, both waiting for the other to reveal their opening strategy.
Then Ward moved, but not to cast a spell.
His wand tapped the platform at his feet. "Periculum!"
Red sparks shot upward, and Rowan's eyes followed them instinctively. Exactly what Ward wanted. In that split second of distraction, Ward cast his real spell in silence.
A blindfold appeared over Rowan's eyes without warning, blocking his vision completely.
Darkness.
He couldn't see Ward, couldn't see incoming spells, couldn't—
Training took over. Rowan's Occlumency cleared away the panic. His other senses sharpened. He could hear Ward moving, footsteps on wood, the swish of robes.
He cast blind. "Finite!"
The blindfold vanished.
But Ward was already moving, his wand tracing a complex pattern. The wooden platform between them rippled, boards rising and falling in waves, then twisted upward into barriers that created a maze of obstacles between them.
"Reducto!" Rowan blasted apart the nearest barrier, splinters flying. But Ward had already moved behind another, his position obscured.
"Relashio!" A jet of sparks shot toward Rowan. He dodged, but the sparks weren't aimed at him. They hit the wooden barriers, and smoke began to pour from the scorched wood, filling the air between the combatants.
Ward was using the environment masterfully, creating obstacles and obscuring vision, forcing Rowan to fight at a disadvantage.
Time to change tactics.
Rowan's wand swept in a wide arc. "Ventus Maximus!" A powerful gust of wind cleared the smoke and scattered the sparks, but more importantly, it knocked down several of the wooden barriers, opening sight lines.
There. Ward was moving left, trying to flank.
Rowan fired a chain. "Stupefy! Incarcerous! Depulso!" But Ward was ready, his shield absorbing the first two spells, and he simply leapt backward from the third, landing in a crouch.
"Ascendio!" Ward cast on himself.
The spell launched him into the air, ten feet up, giving him the high ground. From above, he rained down spells. "Confringo! Stupefy! Impedimenta!"
Rowan's shield caught the first, a Blasting Curse that made his barrier shudder dangerously. The second he dodged by rolling left. The third he... no time to dodge or shield.
It hit him, and suddenly his movements were sluggish, his body fighting through invisible resistance.
Ward landed with a flourish, grinning. He'd landed his first successful spell. "Expelliarmus!"
But Rowan had been counting on Ward's confidence.
Even moving through the Impediment Jinx, he managed to get his wand up. "Protego!" The shield formed slowly, far slower than normal, but it formed. And in the spherical dome pattern he'd perfected. Ward had taken the high ground precisely to attack from multiple angles. The spherical modification saved him. The Disarming Charm splashed against the dome's curve, deflected harmlessly.
And then Rowan did something Ward didn't expect.
He used wandless magic.
Extending his left hand while his right maintained the shield, Rowan focused his magic, feeling it flow through his palm instead of his wand. "Finite!" The counter-spell, cast wandlessly, was weaker than a wanded version would be, but it was enough.
The Impediment Jinx shattered, and Rowan's movements returned to normal speed.
Ward's eyes widened. Genuine shock.
Wandless magic from a Hogwarts first-year wasn't just unusual. It was nearly unprecedented.
Rowan didn't waste the advantage.
He launched his fastest chain cast yet. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus!" The first two spells forced Ward's shield up. "Flipendo!" His modified Knockback Jinx curved around the shield's edge, the counterclockwise twist sending it at an angle Ward hadn't anticipated. "Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous! Immobulus!" The remaining spells followed in rapid succession, six spells in under four seconds, a relentless barrage of offensive magic.
Ward's shield held against the first two. He dodged sideways to avoid the curved trajectory of the third. Exactly what Rowan had intended. The fourth caught his left arm mid-dodge, partially paralyzing it. The fifth spell, binding ropes, wrapped around his legs while he was focused on his numb arm. And the sixth, the Freezing Charm, locked him in place, unable to move.
"Expelliarmus!" Rowan's final spell, delivered with precision.
Ward's wand flew from his partially-paralyzed hand.
"Victory to Ashcroft of Hogwarts!"
The arena absolutely erupted.
The noise was deafening. Cheers, applause, shocked exclamations in a dozen languages. A first year had just reached the finals of an international tournament, defeating a skilled sixth year who'd been expected to potentially win the entire competition.
Ward's bindings fell away, and he walked over, shaking his head in amazement. "That wandless counter-spell... I mix in silent casting regularly, but casting without a wand entirely is something else. I've never seen a student your age pull that off. You're something else, Ashcroft. I hope you win the whole thing."
"Thank you. That was the hardest match I've fought."
"I believe it. You earned this victory." Ward clapped him on the shoulder. "Go show Beaumont or whoever you face next that Hogwarts produces the best."
The Medi-wizard approached as Rowan stepped off the platform, but Rowan shook his head. "I'm fine. Nothing connected." The Medi-wizard ran the diagnostic charm anyway, held it over Rowan's left hand for a long moment, and gave him a look that said he disagreed. "Your magical channels are strained from that wandless casting. Rest before tomorrow, or you won't be dueling at full strength."
"I will," Rowan said, though his mind was already turning to the finals.
The other semifinal was still ongoing. Apolline Beaumont versus Viktor Koldovstoretz. Whoever won would face him tomorrow for the gold medal.
The Hogwarts team mobbed him the moment he entered the corridor.
"That was incredible!" Bones shouted over the noise of the crowd.
"Wandless magic!" Sterling was grinning from ear to ear. "Bloody hell, Ashcroft, where did you even learn that?"
"Professor Hecat taught me during our private sessions," Rowan admitted. "Said a duelist who can only cast with one hand is fighting at half capacity."
"And she was right," Hecat said, appearing behind them. Her expression was proud. "You've done Hogwarts proud, Mr. Ashcroft. Win or lose tomorrow, you've already accomplished something remarkable."
"I intend to win," Rowan said quietly.
"I know you do." Hecat's smile was slight but genuine. "And I think you can. But first, rest. No more training today. You've depleted your magical reserves significantly. I could see it in that last chain cast. You need recovery time."
She was right.
Rowan could feel the exhaustion settling into his bones, his magical core feeling hollow in a way it rarely did even after his intensive practice sessions. He'd pushed himself hard in three consecutive matches, each against progressively stronger opponents.
They returned to their quarters, where the other Hogwarts students demanded a blow-by-blow account of the match. Rowan obliged, describing Ward's tactics and his own counters, though he downplayed the wandless magic. It was a trump card he'd prefer his finals opponent not to know about in detail.
Later that evening, the results of the other semifinal came through.
Apolline Beaumont had defeated Viktor Koldovstoretz in a brutal match that had lasted over seven minutes. Tomorrow, Rowan would face the same Beauxbatons sixth year who'd dismissed him as a child on the first day.
She approached him at dinner, her expression no longer condescending but wary and respectful.
"You have surprised everyone," she said, sitting across from him uninvited. "I was wrong to mock you. You are not merely a child playing at dueling. You are a true competitor, skilled beyond your years."
"Thank you."
"But do not think tomorrow will be easy." Steel entered her voice, pride mixing with determination. "I have watched all your matches. I know your techniques, your chain casting, even your wandless counter-spell against Ward. And I will not make the same mistakes your previous opponents made."
"I wouldn't expect you to," Rowan said calmly. "May the best duelist win."
"Indeed." She stood, preparing to leave, then paused. "Whatever happens tomorrow, know that you have earned the respect of every competitor here. A first year reaching the finals... it is unheard of. You have already made history."
After she left, Sterling whistled low. "She's scared of you. I could see it. She's trying to psych you out while also psyching herself up."
"She should be scared," Greengrass said unexpectedly. "I've watched Beaumont's matches. She's good. Precise, controlled, powerful. But she relies on patterns, on practiced combinations. Ashcroft adapts. That's the difference."
Rowan retired to his room early, performing his Occlumency meditation with extra care. He needed to be centered for tomorrow, focused and calm. The finals would be his greatest test yet.
As he drifted off to sleep, he thought about how far he'd come.
Nine months ago, he'd been a mill worker in a Muggle orphanage. Now he was competing in an international dueling championship, one match away from a gold medal.
Tomorrow would determine whether he was truly exceptional or merely talented. Tomorrow would prove, one way or another, that a Muggleborn orphan could stand equal to anyone. Even the privileged children of ancient magical families.
Tomorrow, he would win.