After Evans finished explaining the revised rules, Wood stepped forward from the Gryffindor ranks with barely contained excitement. He carefully removed the danger-sensing pendant from around his neck and pressed it into Percy's waiting hands, his movements deliberate and focused.
Then he strode onto the elevated platform with the confidence of a seasoned warrior, his eyes scanning the Slytherin students with predatory anticipation.
"Come on, Marcus!" Wood's voice boomed across the hall, drawing the attention of every spectator. "I've been waiting ages for this chance to settle things between us!"
From within the green and silver crowd, Marcus Flint emerged with calculated slowness. His initial glance toward Evans carried unmistakable nervousness, but when he saw Professor Kahn's encouraging nod and lack of disapproval, visible relief washed over his angular features.
"Hmph, bring it on!" Marcus's voice carried forced bravado as he rolled his shoulders. "I'm not afraid of some Gryffindor pretty boy!"
After executing perfunctory bows that barely qualified as polite, both combatants immediately drew their wands with practised precision.
"Stupefy!" The incantations rang out in perfect unison.
Two brilliant crimson beams sliced through the air as both duellists rolled in opposite directions, their bodies moving with the fluid grace of athletes avoiding incoming Bludgers.
"Ha! You remember Professor Goldstein's lessons well!" Wood called out with grudging respect as he regained his footing. "Impedimenta!"
"Likewise, Wood!" Marcus replied with a fierce grin. "Confringo!"
Spell light painted the air in vivid streaks of colour, while translucent barriers extended from the platform's edges, preventing stray hexes from injuring the enthusiastic spectators below.
Observing the fierce exchange between the two upperclassmen, Evans nodded with genuine satisfaction. Professor Tina's rigorous training had clearly taken root in these students. Though she hadn't specifically taught duelling techniques, she'd drilled them thoroughly in fundamental combat concepts and practical defensive strategies.
While half a year wasn't sufficient for complete mastery of real magical combat, these students could still employ relatively structured approaches in friendly matches like these.
After watching Wood and Marcus's intense battle for several minutes, Evans shifted his attention to the lower-year platforms scattered throughout the hall.
The contrast was immediately apparent. Unlike the spectacular light show occurring on the advanced platforms, the younger students' performances were decidedly more modest.
The two first-years had essentially abandoned magic entirely, engaging in what could only be described as an awkward wrestling match. On the second-year platform, the confrontation between Crabbe and Ron had devolved into complete chaos. The stocky Slytherin showed no interest in spellcasting, pursuing Ron with meaty fists aimed at his face, while Ron's wand seemed cursed with terrible timing. His casting posture was technically correct, but his reactions lagged just enough to leave him completely dominated by Crabbe's brutish assault.
This highlighted the fundamental problem with platform matches involving younger students. They barely knew enough spells to mount proper magical duels, making physical confrontation more effective than wizardry.
Shaking his head with weary resignation, Evans moved forward to personally guide the struggling lower-year participants.
Time flowed steadily onwards. On the sixth-year platform, Wood and Marcus remained locked in their evenly matched battle, neither willing to yield until their opponent's stamina completely failed.
The lower-year platforms had cycled through multiple participant changes, with varying degrees of success and embarrassment.
Evans had completely shut down the first-year platform after realising that proper instruction in duelling fundamentals would serve these students far better than watching them flail helplessly at each other.
Second and third years showed marginal improvement, though students in these year groups knew slightly more spells and harboured considerably more personal grudges, leading both platforms to continue their earnest but unpolished contests.
However, one particular duel had captured his complete attention.
After finishing his instruction with the first-years, Evans positioned himself beside Snape, crossing his arms as he observed the two figures facing off on the second-year platform with genuine interest.
"Come on, Potter! Let's have a real duel!" Malfoy's voice carried across the platform, his grey eyes blazing with competitive fire.
On the opposite side, Harry gripped his wand with white-knuckled determination.
Though he couldn't fully understand what had changed in Malfoy during the latter half of last year, Harry definitely had several scores to settle with his long-time rival.
The memories came flooding back: Malfoy's initial slanders against Hagrid and Ron, his cruel theft of Neville's Remembrall, and the deliberate provocations that had led them to sneak out of their common room in the middle of the night, nearly becoming dinner for that monstrous three-headed dog.
Even though Malfoy had shown some positive changes recently, he still hadn't apologised for any of those earlier transgressions.
Harry had originally planned to investigate what was troubling Malfoy, but having a proper fight first seemed like an excellent idea.
Following the formal etiquette demonstrated earlier by Lockhart and Snape, both boys executed careful bows, rose slowly, and locked eyes with mutual determination burning in their gazes.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Protego!"
Two incantations erupted simultaneously. The crimson disarming spell struck the translucent shield barrier and slowly dissolved into harmless sparkles.
Arms crossed, Evans observed the exchange with evident surprise.
"Disarming Charm. He's never learnt that spell formally, has he? Just from seeing you demonstrate it once, he can cast it successfully?"
"Pure luck," Snape replied with characteristic stubbornness, though his expression betrayed his own astonishment at Harry's rapid learning.
"However, Draco's Shield Charm shows real proficiency. You can tell he's invested serious effort in defensive magic." Evans studied Malfoy's technique with professional appreciation.
Offensive spells were typically easier to cast than defensive ones. Successfully conjuring a Shield Charm simultaneously with Harry's Disarming Charm demonstrated genuine skill with protective magic.
"Hmph, at least superior to Potter, who wastes his time either playing Quidditch or studying bizarre subjects," Snape replied with cold dismissal.
Ignoring his Head of House's obvious bias, Evans focused quietly on Draco's performance in the ongoing duel.
He hadn't paid much attention to this particular student before. After all, students couldn't enrol in his classes until third year. Among the younger students he knew personally, only the trio and the peculiar Miss Lovegood had made lasting impressions.
However, he'd heard rumours about this boy's recent dedication to academic excellence and made a mental note to observe him more closely in the future.
If he remembered correctly, this was Lucius Malfoy's son? That connection alone warranted careful attention.
Time crawled forward with deliberate tension. Compared to other second-year students, Harry and Draco's battle lasted considerably longer, though their endurance remained limited by the mental strain of sustained spellcasting.
Touching the diary concealed within his robes, Draco blocked another incoming hex and struggled to steady his increasingly laboured breathing.
He could feel mounting pressure on his mental reserves, yet Potter across from him seemed frustratingly fresh and energetic.
Should he use that technique?
Approximately two weeks ago, he'd discovered an advanced spell in a dusty charms textbook buried deep in the library's archives. The Reductor Curse could pulverise any object into powder, and it worked on living targets as well.
According to the magical diary's whispered descriptions, this spell possessed numerous variations, including some that bordered on Dark Arts.
But Draco felt unprepared to delve into such dangerous magic, so he hadn't practised the diary's suggested methods. Even in its basic form, the spell's destructive power was formidable. It represented his strongest offensive capability at present.
Though his current skill level might not inflict serious harm on Potter, for a simple duel, such overwhelming force wasn't necessary.
He just needed to win.
But just as Draco prepared to unleash his most powerful spell to decisively end their confrontation, a strange wave of dizziness suddenly flooded his consciousness.
In his disoriented state, he felt alien magical energy flowing from the diary pressed against his chest, surging through his body and into his wand with cold purpose.
The next second, under the shocked gazes of every spectator, Draco raised his head with unnaturally cold eyes, fixed his stare on Potter with chilling intensity, and spoke with deadly calm:
"Reducto."