"If Slytherin can be insulted by a mere piece of clothing," Sean countered, his voice even and devoid of provocation, "then I believe your understanding of Slytherin is, perhaps, a touch too narrow."
As Sean spoke these words, his entire demeanor shifted. There was a sudden, almost startling politeness about him. His every gesture, every subtle inclination of his head, seemed flawless, imbued with an effortless grace. To the onlookers, he suddenly mirrored the refined poise of the scions of the oldest pure-blood families, the kind they might encounter at exclusive pure-blood gatherings – noble, elegant, and utterly unruffled.
This was a skill, a particular brand of noble etiquette, that Sean had consciously learned and practiced in a past life, observing the children of powerful families. Displaying it now, in the tense atmosphere of the Slytherin common room, immediately cast him in a completely different, more formidable light.
Jensen, standing opposite Sean, found the confident smirk on his own face wavering, becoming slightly stiff. Even he had to grudgingly admit that, in this moment, Sean Bulstrode looked more like a true descendant of the esteemed Bulstrode family, more like an authentic pure-blood, than many who boasted of their lineage. However, events had progressed too far; there was no backing down now.
"I have no interest in your sophistry," Jensen declared, his voice regaining some of its earlier bluster. "According to the ancient rules of Slytherin, I, Jensen, challenge you, Sean Bulstrode, to a Pure-Blood Duel!"
A Pure-Blood Duel. The words hung heavy in the air. It was a hallowed, if somewhat archaic, tradition within Slytherin, a formal confrontation restricted to duels between wizards of pure-blood lineage. As long as it didn't endanger life and avoided the use of the Unforgivable Curses, even the application of certain Dark Arts was permissible within its bounds.
But a Pure-Blood Duel was far more than a simple exchange of spells. Its consequences were binding and deeply significant. Once the duel concluded, the loser was honor-bound to retreat three paces whenever encountering the victor within the walls of Hogwarts, a public acknowledgement of their inferiority. For proud pure-blood wizards, this was tantamount to having their dignity and social standing trampled underfoot.
There was an alternative, of course. If the loser wished to avoid the perpetual humiliation of retreating, they could publicly declare their submission to the victor, obeying their commands and effectively becoming their follower until graduation. This would negate the penalty of retreat. Rumor had it that the Dark Lord himself, during his school days, had utilized the Pure-Blood Duel to gather many of his earliest, most loyal followers, though such tales remained unconfirmed whispers.
Naturally, a Pure-Blood Duel could not be initiated frivolously. There had to be sufficient, justifiable cause, and the magical strength of both participants could not be too disparate. Otherwise, it would be patently unfair for stronger wizards to casually issue such challenges against those still developing their abilities.
Sean raised an eyebrow. "So, the reason you challenge me to this Pure-Blood Duel is because of the clothes I happen to be wearing?"
"Of course not!" Jensen retorted, puffing out his chest slightly. "I challenge you to a Pure-Blood Duel for a legitimate and proper reason. As a member of Slytherin House, you, at the very start of the school year, actively conspired with two Gryffindors to assault a fellow Slytherin! Furthermore, your actions directly led to Slytherin being deducted fifty house points, which, in turn, indirectly contributed to our House losing a staggering one hundred and ten points in total! This is an unprecedented disgrace, a stain upon Slytherin's honor! And for this, I challenge you to a Pure-Blood Duel!"
Sean had anticipated this. This was indeed the pretext for Jensen's challenge.
In truth, Sean asked himself if, from a purely Slytherin perspective, the reason for the challenge was valid. The answer, he had to admit, was yes. His actions on the train, though occurring before the Sorting Ceremony, had undeniably brought significant trouble and disrepute upon Slytherin House.
Had he been sorted into any of the other three houses, the incident might have played out differently. As long as he managed to earn back the lost points, he might even have gained a certain degree of notoriety, perhaps even admiration, for his actions. But fate, in the form of that accursed Sorting Hat that Sean privately believed should be ritually cremated, had placed him in Slytherin. Thus, what might have been a minor triumph in another house had transformed into a significant transgression here. He was bound to face criticism. Until those points were fully recovered, any Slytherin student possessed a justifiable reason to confront him.
Although the seventh-year Head Girl had offered him a degree of protection, restraining the older students from troubling him directly, Jensen's ability to stand here today, issuing this formal challenge, was undoubtedly a result of tacit approval, perhaps even a subtle push, from certain older students. There were, after all, quite a few Slytherins who genuinely couldn't stand Sean because of the points fiasco.
Of course, Sean felt no anger or resentment about this development. After all, for him, and his unique circumstances, Pure-Blood Duels were a case of "the more, the merrier."
"Alright," Sean said, his voice surprisingly agreeable. "Even I concede that your reason is quite sufficient. Let us begin the duel. However, we can't just duel here in the middle of the common room, can we? If anything gets broken, I certainly don't have the Galleons to compensate for damages."
Seeing Sean so readily, almost cheerfully, agree to the duel and even exhibit a hint of impatience left Jensen and his assembled cronies genuinely dumbfounded.
What in Merlin's name is going on? Jensen thought, his carefully prepared script of threats and moral blackmail suddenly useless.
Did he just… agree? So easily?
We had a whole routine planned! You were supposed to refuse, to argue, to give us a chance to pressure you! Why did you agree so readily?
You've completely thrown us off our game…
"Ahem," Jensen cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure and some semblance of control over the situation. "Well, since you've agreed so… promptly, there's no need for us to delay any further. As for the dueling location, right here is perfectly fine. If any problems arise, we can always summon the Hogwarts house-elves to repair any damages. Besides, for a brief duel such as this, there's no need for us to relocate. Let's just proceed here."
As he spoke, Jensen gradually rediscovered some of the bluster that had been momentarily knocked out of him. His tone became sharp once more. The surrounding students, sensing the shift, tacitly moved back, creating a makeshift dueling arena in the center of the Slytherin common room.
"Sean, be careful," Blaise murmured, his voice tight with concern. "You absolutely must win this!"
Nodding curtly at Blaise, Sean drew his wand. As if sensing its wielder's eager anticipation for the impending confrontation, the ebony phoenix feather wand seemed to emit a faint, almost imperceptible aura of warmth, a subtle scorching heat that made the magical power thrumming within Sean's body flow with an additional, invigorating smoothness.
The two opponents stood facing each other. They bowed, a formal, respectful inclination of their heads. This was the traditional etiquette of dueling, an indispensable prelude.
And after the etiquette, came…
Battle!
"Expelliarmus!" Jensen struck first, his wand slashing through the air, pointing directly at Sean. A jet of crimson light, the Disarming Charm, shot forth.
Sean reacted instantly, dropping low and executing a swift roll across the flagstone floor. He ducked behind a heavy oak table, the red light of the Disarming Charm flashing harmlessly over his head.
Seeing his initial spell miss, Jensen let out a frustrated snarl and violently waved his wand. The sturdy table Sean was using for cover suddenly exploded, shards of wood flying in all directions. But in the very instant the table disintegrated, Sean, who was supposed to be cowering behind it, moved. He rose from his crouched position, his own wand already raised, levelled directly at Jensen.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Sean incanted, his voice clear and steady.
A slight flicker of surprise crossed Jensen's face. He quickly retreated a step, simultaneously raising his wand and barking, "Protego!" The translucent shimmer of the Shield Charm appeared just in time to deflect the Full Body-Bind Curse.
Sean wasn't particularly surprised that his spell had been blocked. The competitive, often ruthless, atmosphere of Slytherin tended to forge wizards who were not lacking in practical defensive skills. Jensen, daring to be the first to openly challenge him, was clearly no average opponent. Sean hadn't truly expected to incapacitate him with a single Petrification Curse.
Therefore, even as Jensen was casting his Shield Charm, Sean had already begun preparing his next move, his mind racing through spell combinations.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Sean snapped, his wrist executing a series of sharp, precise flicks. Around the common room, various pieces of furniture – chairs, small tables, and even a stray cushion – lifted into the air. With another gesture, they began to spin, then hurtled through the air directly towards a startled Jensen!
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