Harry pulled back from her forehead, his thumb catching the tear on her cheek. He wiped it away gently, his eyes locked on hers. Clarisse's breath still came in uneven gasps, her body humming from the aftermath of the most intense orgasm ever. However, she wasn't a veela for nothing, and she recovered immediately.
She reached out, her fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, and yanked him toward her with surprising strength.
Their lips crashed together in a fierce kiss. She poured everything into it—her surrender, her desire, and her need to claim him back. Her veela pride demanded as much.
Harry's mouth opened against hers, his tongue sliding in to tangle with her own. His lips and tongue tasted of her, musky and intimate, and it only fueled her hunger. She moaned into his mouth, her hands roaming up to grip his hair, pulling him closer.
Harry slowly rose from his knees, his lips still locked with Clarisse's as her fingers tightened on his hair. Insistent, she pulled him down onto the couch above her.
Their bodies collided, and she immediately wrapped her arms around him. Her lips parted his this time, her tongue diving in to taste him deeply. Harry responded with equal fervor, his arms wrapping around her waist to hold her close.
The kiss deepened, their tongues tangling in a wet, sensual dance. Clarisse's hands roamed his back, her nails scraping lightly over his shirt. Harry didn't hesitate to take what he wanted either. One hand slid up her side, cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her dress. He squeezed firmly, his thumb brushing over her nipple until it peaked hard against his touch. She moaned into his mouth, arching her chest toward him, desperate for more.
His other hand ventured lower, hiking up the hem of her dress again. His fingers traced the curve of her thigh before they dipped between her legs. He found her still slick from his earlier attention, and he stroked her folds slowly, parting them to circle her clit. Clarisse gasped, breaking the kiss for a moment.
"Harry... touch me more. Everywhere."
He obliged, his mouth moving to her neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there while his fingers delved deeper. Two slipped inside her, thrusting in and out slowly, teasing her, drawing out the pleasure she was feeling. His palm ground against her clit, building friction.
At the same time, he tugged the neckline of her dress down, exposing both her breasts. He pinched one nipple between his fingers, rolling it, while his mouth latched onto the other, sucking hard.
Clarisse's head fell back against the cushions. She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him to her chest. "Yes, like that. You're driving me crazy."
Harry switched sides, his tongue flicking over the neglected nipple. His hand between her legs picked up pace, fingers curling to hit that spot inside her. She bucked her hips against him, her breath coming in short pants.
"Yes. Just like that. Don't stop."
He released her breast with a pop, kissing his way back to her mouth. Their lips met again, the kiss messy and desperate. He added a third finger inside her, stretching her out while his thumb pressed firmly on her clit, applying just enough pressure to make her tremble. At the same time, he twisted her nipple, the dual sensations making her head spin.
She kissed him desperately, her tongue exploring his mouth, tasting every inch. Harry's body pressed against hers, his hardness evident through his trousers, grinding against her thigh.
She reached down, her hand finding the bulge in his pants. She palmed his manhood, feeling the heat and size of him, and Harry groaned into her mouth, his hips thrusting forward instinctively. His fingers inside her picked up pace, curling to hit that spot that made her see stars.
"Oh, Master," she breathed, the word slipping out naturally. "Let me feel you now."
Harry pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with lust. "Say it again."
"Master," she repeated, her voice husky. She stroked him through the fabric, squeezing lightly.
He kissed her neck, sucking on the pulse point there. His fingers thrust deeper, his thumb relentless on her clit. Clarisse's body tensed, another orgasm building fast. But she wanted to give, not just take. She pushed at his chest gently, breaking the contact.
"Wait," she gasped, her chest heaving. "It's my turn now."
Harry pulled his hand away, bringing his fingers to his mouth to taste her. His eyes darkened at the flavor. "Show me, then."
Clarisse pushed him back gently, guiding him to sit up on the couch. She stood on shaky legs and stayed like that for a moment, allowing him to take in the sight that she was, with her sheer dress pulled down to expose her breasts, and her knickers still tangled around her legs.
She kicked them off and knelt in front of him, her hands working quickly on his belt. The buckle clinked open, and she undid his trousers, tugging them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already leaking precum. She wrapped her hand around the base, stroking him slowly from root to tip.
Harry groaned, his head tilting back. "Clarisse..."
She leaned forward, her tongue flicking out to lick the bead of precum from the head. The salty taste made her hum in approval. Her tongue darted out once more, licking the underside of his shaft in one long stroke. Harry groaned, his hand coming to rest in her hair.
She swirled her tongue around the tip, teasing the slit, and then took him into her mouth inch by inch. Her lips stretched around his girth, and his taste filled her—salty, masculine, and addictive.
She sucked gently, hollowing her cheeks, her tongue swirling around the head, and Harry's fingers tightened in her hair.
"Fuck, that's perfect. Take more," he said, his voice strained.
Encouraged, she took more of him, bobbing her head steadily to take him deeper. Her hand worked the base in rhythm with her mouth, twisting slightly on each upstroke. She hollowed out her cheeks, increasing the suction. Harry's hips jerked forward slightly, but he held back, letting her set the pace.
Clarisse looked up at him through her lashes, seeing the pleasure contort his features. She wanted to worship him, to show her devotion, and to satisfy both of their urges. Her free hand cupped his balls, massaging them gently, and he groaned louder, his hips twitching and his breath coming in pants.
"Keep going," he urged. "Just like that."
Clarisse pulled back to catch her breath, her hand still stroking him. "You taste so good, Master. I want to make you feel everything."
She dove back down, taking him as deep as she could, her throat relaxing to accommodate him. She hummed around him, the vibration traveling through his shaft and making him twitch in her mouth.
"Keep going," he rasped. "Don't stop."
She increased the suction, her head moving faster, taking him deeper each time. Saliva dripped from her lips, making the slide slick and easy. Harry's breathing grew ragged, his thighs tensing under her. She felt him throb in her mouth, close to the edge.
The ache between her legs grew, but she focused on him, on the way his muscles tensed, the way his hand trembled in her hair, and the sounds he let out.
"Clarisse, I'm going to come," he warned, his voice strained as he gently thrust into her mouth, matching her rhythm.
She didn't pull away. Instead, she sucked harder, her tongue pressing flat against the underside. With a deep groan, he erupted, hot spurts filling her mouth. She swallowed greedily, milking every last drop with her hand and lips. When he finished, she released him slowly, licking him clean.
Panting, Harry pulled her up onto his lap, kissing her deeply. He could taste himself on her tongue, and it only stirred him more. "That was amazing," he murmured, his arms wrapping around her. "But now I want all of you."
Clarisse nodded, her body aching for him as well. Still on his lap, she helped him shrug off his shirt, her hands exploring his bare chest, feeling the hard muscles under her palms. Harry reached for her dress, pulling it up and over her head, leaving her completely naked.
He flipped them so she was beneath him on the couch. His body covered hers, skin hot against skin. He kissed her again, slow and thorough, while his hands roamed. One kneaded her breast, the other traced down her side to her hip. His cock, already hardening again, pressed against her thigh.
Clarisse wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Inside me, Harry. Please."
He positioned himself at her entrance, rubbing the head through her wetness. "You want this?" he teased, pushing in just the tip.
"Yes," she breathed. "All of you."
He thrust forward slowly, filling her inch by inch. The stretch was exquisite, her walls clenching around him. Clarisse gasped at the stretch, the fullness of his cock as it entered her.
He pressed forward until he was buried to the hilt inside her and paused, letting them both savor the connection. Their eyes met, and she saw the generosity in his gaze—the desire to give as much as take. In that moment, she felt truly connected to this man—partner and submissive, lover and master.
Harry began to move, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, thrusting in long, deep strokes. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through her, hitting every sensitive spot inside her womanhood.
Clarisse moaned, her hands clutching his shoulders. She met his hips with her own, rolling them to take him deeper. His mouth found her breast, sucking on the nipple while his hand teased the other.
"Feel good?" he asked against her tits.
"So good," she replied. "Harder, Master. Make me yours."
He increased the pace, his hips snapping forward with more force. The couch creaked under them, but neither cared. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, mixed with their gasps and moans.
Harry's hand slipped between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed in tight circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.
Clarisse's breath hitched, her pressure building rapidly inside her, coiling tight. She met his movements, lifting her hips to take him deeper. Her nails dug into his back, urging him on. "Right there. Don't stop."
He nipped at her earlobe before drifting down and kissing her neck, biting gently before soothing it with his tongue.
"Come for me, Clarisse. Let go," he commanded softly.
The command pushed her over the edge. Her orgasm ripped through her hard, her body convulsing around him. Her inner walls clenched tightly around him as she cried out his name, her toes curling. Harry kept thrusting, drawing out her pleasure until she was trembling.
But he wasn't done. He pulled out, flipping her onto her hands and knees. Clarisse braced herself on the cushions, looking back at him over her shoulder. "Yes, take me like this."
Harry gripped her hips, entering her from behind in one smooth stroke. The new angle hit deeper, making her gasp. He set a steady rhythm, his hands roaming her back, then reaching around to tease her breasts. He pinched her nipples, tugging gently, before he cupped her tits, squeezing and fondling them hard.
"You're so tight," he groaned. "Feels incredible."
Clarisse pushed back against him, meeting each thrust. "For you, always. Fuck me harder."
He did, pounding into her with abandon. His hips slapped against her ass, and he loved the way her cheeks jiggled with each thrust. One hand moved to her clit again, rubbing furiously. The dual stimulation had her climbing quickly toward another peak. Harry's breaths came in grunts, his control fraying.
"Together," he said. "Come with me."
She nodded, her moans filling the room. The tension coiled tight, then snapped. Her third orgasm hit, waves of pleasure crashing over her as she wailed his name out. Harry followed immediately, thrusting deep as he spilled inside her, his groan muffled against her shoulder as he held on.
They collapsed onto the couch, Harry pulling her into his arms from behind. His cock still throbbed inside her as Harry caressed her curves. Clarisse turned her head around and kissed him softly, loving the feel of his hands stroking her skin soothingly. She held his palms on her breasts, shivering as he rubbed her sensitive nipples, her body sated but still buzzing.
But the night was young, and their desire far from sated. After a few minutes of catching their breath, Clarisse shifted and turned around in his embrace, her hand trailing down his chest. She felt him stir against her thigh, hardening again, and she smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Again?" she asked, her voice playful yet submissive.
Harry grinned, flipping her onto her back. "Absolutely."
He kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth once more. His hands roamed freely, fondling her tits, pinching her nipples, squeezing her ass, and finally dipping between her legs to feel their combined wetness. Clarisse arched into his touch, moaning softly.
"You're insatiable," he murmured against her lips.
"For you, always," she replied.
She pushed him back gently, hovering over him. There was a sultry smile on her face as she climbed over him, straddling his hips. Her hands pinned his wrists above his head, though they both knew he could break free anytime. Harry gave her a smirk, recognizing it for what it was. It was her turn to explore, and he had no issues with it.
Clarisse leaned down, kissing his chest, licking his nipples until they pebbled. Harry watched her, his eyes hooded as she ground against him, her slick folds sliding over his cock. He groaned, his hips bucking up. She leaned back with a smirk and teased him like that for a while, building the tension.
"Please, Clarisse," he said, his voice rough.
She lifted her hips and reached behind her, grabbing his length and positioning him at her entrance. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she sank down slowly. They both moaned at the sensation as she buried his entire length inside her.
She rode him at her own pace, rolling her hips in circles, then bouncing up and down.
Harry's hands broke free, gripping her waist to guide her while his eyes remained locked on her large, bouncing tits as she rode him. He thrust up to meet her, hitting deep inside her pussy. One hand moved to her clit, rubbing firmly.
"Yes, just there," she gasped.
Their rhythm synced perfectly, their bodies moving as one. Clarisse leaned forward, her tits brushing his chest. He leaned up and captured a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard and making her moan in approval.
The pleasure built again, faster this time. Clarisse's movements grew erratic, her moans louder as she rode him wildly, her bubble butt smacking against him with loud, wet sounds of their raw fucking.
Harry flipped them suddenly, taking control. Clarisse's eyes were wild with lust, and there was a huge grin on her face as she gazed up at him.
"Fuck me, Master," she purred.
Harry growled as he pounded into her, hard and fast, making her cry out.
"Come with me," he growled.
She did mere seconds later, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. Harry followed suit, the head of his cock expanding and filling her up once more.
Finally, when they were done, they lay tangled together, spent but utterly satisfied. Clarisse traced patterns on his skin, her heart full of love and devotion for him.
"I meant it," she whispered. "I'm yours."
Harry glanced down to find her tender gaze on him, and his lips quirked. He captured her lips in a soft kiss, pulling her close.
She was indeed his.
-Break-
"Quite different from last night," Narcissa observed quietly, noting how the venue from the previous night had transformed from a place of pageantry into something far more utilitarian.
"The French know how to separate business from pleasure," Harry remarked, adjusting his robes. The deep blue fabric bore the subtle embroidery of the Peverell coat of arms, elegant but understated.
They passed through the final security checkpoint, where Ministry officials verified credentials. Harry submitted to the routine scans that checked for illegal magical enhancements or concealed artifacts. Everything came back clean, as expected.
"Monsieur Peverell," a familiar melodious voice called out.
Unsurprised, Harry turned to find Apolline approaching, and he had to admit she looked stunning even in tournament attire. Her French robes were cut to perfection, managing to be both professional and undeniably seductive. The silver and blue fabric complemented her platinum hair, which was pulled back in an elegant braid that left her neck exposed. The robes had a silver strip over the chest that exposed a bit of her cleavage as well, looking tastefully elegant.
"Mademoiselle Deschanel," Harry greeted with a slight smile. "Ready for the real show to begin?"
"I have been looking forward to it for a while now." Her blue eyes met his directly, and he caught the subtle challenge in her gaze. "Though I confess, I am curious to see what you are truly capable of when the stakes matter."
She moved closer as she spoke, close enough that her perfume reached him again. The same dark, mysterious scent from the previous evening, though today it seemed sharper somehow. More focused. Her eyes traveled over him with undisguised appreciation, taking in the fit of his robes and the confident set of his shoulders.
Harry let his own gaze wander in return, noting how the morning light caught the subtle gold threads in her hair and the way her robes emphasized her curves. "I suspect we'll both learn interesting things about each other."
"I do hope so." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, a gesture that might have seemed innocent if not for the way she did it. "It would be such a disappointment if the reality failed to live up to the anticipation."
"I rarely disappoint," Harry replied, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "Though I imagine you already knew that."
A flush crept up her neck at his words, and Harry noticed her breathing had quickened slightly. He knew Clarisse had already told her what had transpired between them, as he'd asked her to, and he stifled a smirk. He'd ensured Clarisse told her every detail, leaving nothing out, and he was not surprised to see the reaction.
The game that she was playing, she wasn't immune to its effects herself.
"It's disappointing, the groupings," she murmured, her voice carrying a hint of mock regret. "It seems we must wait to tangle with each other properly."
The innuendo in her words was unmistakable.
"All good things come to those who wait," Harry replied, his own voice pitched low. "Though I admit, the anticipation will make our eventual... encounter all the more intense."
Her eyes widened slightly at his boldness, and a genuine smile curved her lips. "I do admire confidence, Monsieur Peverell. I hope you can back it up when the time comes."
"I've never had complaints," Harry said with a slight smirk that made her breath catch.
"We shall see." She extended her hand, ostensibly for a formal handshake. "Good luck in your group. Try not to exhaust yourself too much. I would hate for our match to be... anticlimactic."
Harry took her hand, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in an echo of the previous evening. "I assure you, when we finally face each other, it will be anything but anticlimactic."
The way he touched her made her pupils dilate. She held his gaze for a long moment before reluctantly pulling her hand away.
"I look forward to it," she said, her voice slightly breathless.
"Me too. And I look forward to continuing our conversation later as well," Harry said, stepping back with a pleasant smile on his face.
"As do I," Apolline breathed, her eyes still fixed on his face.
As they parted ways, Harry caught Narcissa and Amelia exchanging meaningful looks.
"She's not subtle," Amelia commented once they were out of earshot.
"Neither is he," Narcissa added dryly, her tone filled with amusement.
Harry simply smirked as they made their way to the preparation chambers.
-Break-
Harry's first duel was scheduled for mid-morning, giving him time to center himself and review his strategy. Not that he needed much preparation against his assigned opponent—the Austrian representative, a competent but unimaginative wizard named Klaus Brennan who favored traditional dueling forms.
When his name was called, Harry entered the arena to polite applause from the assembled crowd. The morning sun streamed through the enchanted crystal dome overhead, casting rainbow patterns across the polished floor.
Brennan was already waiting in the center of the arena, his wand held ready. He was a stocky man in his thirties with a no-nonsense demeanor. His stance was textbook perfect, feet positioned correctly, wand arm steady. Overall unassuming.
"Champions, to your positions," the referee announced.
Harry took his place opposite Brennan, noting how his opponent's eyes tracked his movements keenly. There was no animosity here, just two skilled wizards preparing to test themselves against each other.
They bowed formally, wands raised in salute.
"Begin!" the referee called.
Brennan moved first, his wand cutting through the air as he launched a series of standard offensive spells. Stunners, binding curses, disarming charms—all executed with precision in a professional spell chain.
Harry deflected them with almost casual ease, his own wand moving in fluid patterns that seemed to flow like water. He didn't speak, casting every spell nonverbally while maintaining perfect form. A shield charm turned aside a particularly aggressive stunner. A banishing curse sent a conjured rope spiraling into the air.
The crowd began to murmur as it became clear that Harry wasn't even breathing hard.
Brennan pressed his attack, conjuring stone spears that shot forward with deadly precision. Harry gestured sharply, and the spears transformed into harmless doves that fluttered away into the crowd. Several spectators applauded the display of transfiguration skill.
"Impressive," Brennan said, finally speaking. "But let's see how you handle this."
He began a complex series of wand movements, building toward what Harry recognized as a particularly nasty cutting curse. It was a challenging spell to pull off, but the benefits were worth it.
Harry's lips curved into a small smirk, and he felt the urge to show off a bit envelop his mind. Instead of interrupting, he let him complete the spell, and when the man flung the wide-area cutting curse straight at him, he caught it with a casual flick of his wand and sent it spinning in lazy circles above their heads.
The message was clear: I could have stopped you at any point. I chose not to.
Brennan's eyes widened with understanding and perhaps a touch of respect. He nodded curtly and launched himself into a full offensive, throwing everything he had at his opponent.
Harry met the assault with a display of magical skill that drew gasps from the crowd. He conjured a flock of steel-winged ravens that intercepted hex after hex. When Brennan tried to banish them, the ravens simply reformed from the scattered metal fragments. A water whip lashed out to entangle the Austrian's wand arm, only to be countered by a fire spell that created spectacular steam clouds.
Through it all, Harry remained calm, almost serene. His magic flowed like an extension of his will, each spell crafted with artistic precision. When Brennan conjured earthen barriers, Harry turned them into flowering vines. When his opponent tried lightning, Harry caught it in a net of silver threads that sparkled like jewelry.
The end came suddenly. Harry gestured once, sharply, and Brennan found himself suspended in midair, his wand spinning gently just out of reach. The binding was so seamless that many spectators missed the moment it happened.
"Yield," Harry said quietly, speaking aloud for the first time since the duel began.
Brennan tested the bonds once, and nodded with professional dignity when he realized he had been outmatched.
"I yield."
The crowd erupted in applause as Harry lowered his opponent gently to the ground and returned his wand with a courteous bow.
"Well fought," Brennan said, extending his hand. "I've rarely seen such precise spellwork."
"You pushed me harder than you might think," Harry replied cordially, accepting the handshake. "Your fundamentals are excellent."
They exchanged the formal post-duel courtesies before leaving the arena together. Harry noted the respectful way Brennan carried himself despite the loss. The man was a true professional.
-Break-
Harry rejoined his companions just as the crowd was settling for the next match. Narcissa handed him a cool glass of water, waving her wand over him and checking for signs of magical exhaustion.
"Barely even winded," she observed approvingly. "Though you could have ended it much sooner."
"No point in being cruel about it," Harry said, accepting the water gratefully. "Brennan's a good duelist. Just outclassed."
"The crowd certainly appreciated the show," Amelia added, nodding toward the still-buzzing spectators. "Half of them are probably trying to figure out what spells you were using."
"Good. Let them wonder."
The arena was being reset for the next duel, and Harry wasn't surprised to see Apolline's name called. She emerged from the preparation area looking every inch the confident champion, her robes flowing behind her as she acknowledged the crowd's cheers. It still did not give off the feeling of a home crowd though, but she did not let it affect her.
Her opponent was the Portuguese representative, a nervous-looking man named Silva who kept adjusting his grip on his wand. Harry could tell from his body language that he was not a hundred percent, and it didn't take much to figure out the reason. The man's fingers twitched, and it didn't bode well for his chances.
"This should be interesting," Narcissa murmured as the two duelists took their positions. "I'm curious to see what she can actually do."
"Don't be," Amelia said. "This one's a poor victim of the Frenchie's little plan."
Down in the arena, Apolline moved with the fluid grace that made everything she did look effortlessly sensual. Even her formal bow drew appreciative murmurs from the crowd. When she raised her wand in salute, the gesture was perfect—professional yet somehow still sensual.
"No idea how that's even possible," Amelia muttered, making Harry chuckle.
"Begin!"
Silva attacked immediately, perhaps hoping to overwhelm Apolline before she could establish control. His spells were competent but predictable—stunners, binding curses, the standard dueling repertoire.
Apolline didn't bother with shields. Instead, she moved like a dancer, her body swaying out of the path of incoming spells gracefully. Her veela heritage showed in the supernatural fluidity of her movements, each dodge perfectly timed and effortlessly beautiful.
Her first spell was a lance of silver fire that forced Silva to conjure a hasty shield. The flame struck the magical barrier and exploded into a shower of sparks that rained down around him, beautiful but harmless.
"She's showing off," Amelia observed, though her tone held grudging admiration. "And she's bloody good at it."
Apolline pressed her attack with a series of fire-based spells that showcased her veela heritage. Ribbons of flame danced through the air, weaving complex patterns that were as much art as warfare. When Silva tried to counter with water, the flames simply shifted color and intensity, becoming something that couldn't be quenched by mundane means.
"A veela's fire affinity," Harry noted with interest. "That's going to be a problem for most opponents."
The Portuguese champion was clearly struggling. Apolline's flames seemed to have a life of their own, shifting and adapting faster than he could counter them. When he conjured stone barriers, the fire flowed around them like liquid. When he tried to banish the flames entirely, they simply reformed from the ambient magical energy.
"She's not just using veela fire," Narcissa observed. "That's sophisticated elemental manipulation."
Harry nodded as he watched on. While the woman was not above using her veela heritage to her advantage, she didn't see the need to reduce herself to just her heritage either. This was a woman who knew how to choose her battles. He could respect that.
Apolline ended the duel with a display that drew gasps from the entire crowd. She raised both hands, her wand tracing intricate patterns in the air, and summoned a majestic bird made entirely of silver and gold flames. The magical creature soared around the arena once before diving toward Silva, who threw up his hands in surrender just as the phoenix dissolved into harmless sparkles above his head.
The crowd went wild. Even Harry had to admit it was an impressive piece of spellwork, combining transfiguration, elemental magic, and pure artistic flair into something that was both beautiful and intimidating.
"I withdraw," Silva called out, his voice carrying clearly across the arena. He looked shaken but unharmed.
Apolline accepted his surrender with gracious dignity, exchanging the proper courtesies. As they left the arena, Harry caught her eye from the stands. She smiled and raised her wand in a small salute directed specifically at him.
The message was clear: she was waiting for him.
"Well," Amelia said dryly, "she's definitely not just a pretty face."
"No," Harry agreed, his eyes still following Apolline as she disappeared into the preparation area. "She's dangerous. Genuinely dangerous."
"Does that worry you?" Narcissa asked.
Harry's smile was sharp. "You know me, Cissa. Having a partner who's just as involved makes things more interesting."
Both the women rolled their eyes at his remark.
-Break-
The final duel of the session was announced, and Harry's attention sharpened as he heard Dolohov's name called. The Bulgarian emerged from the preparation area with the same predatory grace Harry remembered, though the years of Azkaban that would come later hadn't yet left their mark.
Dolohov's opponent was the Spanish champion, a competent wizard named Carlos Rodriguez who specialized in defensive magic and was a member of the Spanish Ministry's law division. Under normal circumstances, it might have been an interesting match.
These weren't normal circumstances.
Harry leaned forward in his seat, every instinct on high alert. Beside him, he felt both Narcissa and Amelia tense as they picked up on his sudden focus.
"What is it?" Narcissa asked quietly.
"Watch Dolohov," Harry said, his voice tight. "Really watch him."
The two duelists took their positions. Rodriguez looked confident, his stance solid and his wand held ready. Dolohov simply stood there, perfectly still, his dark eyes fixed on his opponent with intensity.
"Begin!"
Rodriguez moved first, conjuring a series of defensive barriers while launching careful probing attacks. His strategy was sound—establish a strong defense, test the opponent's capabilities, then adapt accordingly.
Dolohov let him work for nearly a minute, deflecting attacks with minimal effort while seeming to study Rodriguez's technique. Suddenly, his expression shifted, and Harry saw the cold hunger that had made him one of Voldemort's most feared followers.
The first curse came without warning—a sickly yellow bolt that punched through Rodriguez's shield like it wasn't there. Harry's lips pursed. The difference in power was blatant. Rodriguez, for all his knowledge and strategy, could not compete when it came to raw magical prowess.
The Spanish champion staggered, his left arm suddenly hanging limp.
"Nerve-severing hex," Narcissa breathed, her healer's training helping her to identify the spell. "Borderline dark magic, but not technically illegal."
Dolohov pressed his advantage with ruthless efficiency. His spells were precise, calculated to cause maximum incapacitation with minimum lasting damage. A bone-cracking curse that shattered Rodriguez's paralyzed arm. A blood-boiling hex that left the man gasping and pale. A muscle-locking charm that froze him in place just long enough for the next attack.
Rodriguez tried to conjure shields, but each barrier was shattered by Dolohov as if it didn't even exist.
The crowd was growing uncomfortable. This wasn't the elegant display they'd witnessed in previous duels. This was systematic dismantling of another human being.
Rodriguez tried to surrender, but Dolohov's next curse caught him before the words could form. A silencing hex that left him mouthing wordlessly, followed by a powerful banishing spell that sent him crashing to the arena floor, his wand clattering away.
"Enough!" the referee finally called, stepping between the two duelists. "The match is over!"
Dolohov stepped back with apparent reluctance, though his wand remained ready. Rodriguez was conscious but clearly in significant pain, several of the curses still affecting him despite the duel's end.
As the Spanish champion was helped from the arena by his healer and escorts, Dolohov's eyes swept the crowd. When they found Harry, they stopped and fixed on him with unmistakable intent.
Harry met that stare with equal intensity, his own eyes promising violence in return. The air between them seemed to crackle with tension despite the distance.
"Harry," Amelia's voice was barely a whisper, but the warning was clear. "Stay calm."
"Breathe," Narcissa added, her hand brushing against his back. "Not now."
Harry forced himself to relax, though his eyes never left Dolohov's face. His hatred for the man was immense, and after his nonverbal challenge, it took everything in his power for him to remain where he was.
Around them, other spectators had noticed the exchange, the crowd growing quiet as they sensed the undercurrent of hostility. Even the other champions observed keenly, especially a certain French beauty whose gaze shifted from Harry to Dolohov, her lips set in a thin line.
Finally, Dolohov smiled—a cold, predatory expression that didn't reach his eyes. He inclined his head in the barest acknowledgment before turning and walking from the arena.
TBC.
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