Snape and Professor Flitwick's eyes met. After a brief silence, both moved almost simultaneously.
Professor Flitwick suddenly waved his wand, and a brilliant blue spell tore through the air, shooting swiftly toward Snape.
At the same time, his small body, like a spring released to its limit, shot to the left with a sharp "whoosh," disappearing precisely behind a half-collapsed low wall.
Just as he vanished, a scarlet Stupefy spell, accompanied by a piercing screech, struck the spot where he had just stood.
Debris flew everywhere—Snape's counterattack was just as chillingly fast.
But Professor Flitwick didn't pause. While still midair, he pointed his wand again—not at Snape, but at a crumbling brick wall beside him.
"Diffindo!"
With a sharp crack, the wall exploded.
Dust billowed skyward. As soon as Professor Flitwick landed, he immediately halted, then casually tilted his head, narrowly and precisely dodging another flash of red spellfire from Snape.
At the same moment, he pointed his wand at the airborne debris.
"Multicorfors!"
The flying rubble seemed to come alive, instantly twisting and stretching, transforming into hundreds of thousands of razor-sharp stone arrows glinting with metallic coldness.
They hovered briefly, then, with a shrill tearing sound, formed a torrential rain of deathly arrows, crashing down upon Snape's position.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—!
The assault came even faster than expected.
The audience erupted at once, especially the Ravenclaw students, who leapt to their feet, shouting non-stop and cheering wildly for their Head of House.
Snape looked as though he would be swallowed by the storm of arrows, yet his black robes remained completely still.
He didn't even raise an eyebrow. Calmly, he drew a simple yet forceful semicircle with his wand in front of him.
"Protego!"
A condensed, hemispherical Shield Charm sprang to life, instantly enveloping him entirely.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
A fierce barrage of impacts rang out as the stone arrows slammed into the Shield Charm, bursting into brilliant sparks and clouds of stone dust.
The magical barrier trembled under the relentless onslaught, its surface rippling like disturbed water—but it held firm, blocking every single arrow.
The Slytherin students immediately burst into thunderous applause, and even the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students couldn't help but clap and cheer.
Countless excited eyes and surging emotions gathered over the arena, as if coalescing into a tangible force.
A sudden, fierce wind swept through the dueling arena!
Leaves and dust were swept into the air, spiraling around the arena, but they didn't obscure the view. On the contrary, they seemed to enhance it, allowing every student to clearly catch even the subtlest movements of the two duelists.
This was the first time the students experienced the effects of "cheering magic amplification" and "magical projection." The audience was no longer just a group of spectators—they had become part of the environment.
With a closer and clearer view than even a Quidditch match, the intensity of the duel struck them directly, deeply stirring their emotions.
Professor Flitwick's assault came in waves, relentless and unyielding. He gave Snape no opportunity to recover.
Just as the final few stone arrows shattered against the Shield Charm, he fired another Stupefy, and under the cover of the low wall, his small figure darted forward at high speed—so fast he became a blur.
Snape blocked the incoming spell without so much as flinching, but Professor Flitwick's wand moved again, this time aiming directly at the ground beneath Snape's feet.
"Quicksand Trap!"
The flagstones under Snape instantly softened, transforming into a swirling vortex of quicksand. A powerful suction force tried to drag him underground.
Snape's expression grew serious, but his response was lightning-quick.
He pointed his wand downward, and a surge of energy erupted from the tip, not only negating the suction but also launching him backward like a cannonball, completely clearing the trap's range.
But Professor Flitwick was already one step ahead—his follow-up attacks came in rapid succession, as if he had predicted Snape's every move.
As Snape was propelled backward and before he could steady himself, Professor Flitwick's small figure suddenly leapt high into the air from behind a low wall, and a burst of dazzling white light erupted from the tip of his wand.
A rapid volley of glowing magical missiles shot forth, one after another, weaving into a dense net that descended precisely over Snape's projected landing spot.
Brilliant flashes lit up the sky—but Snape didn't defend. Instead, he aimed his wand at a sharp, precise angle toward the location where Professor Flitwick was about to land after his leap—right beside a heap of jagged debris.
"Fulgari!"
A powerful shockwave blasted the pile of debris.
Boom!
The shattered rubble exploded outward like it had been struck by a massive cannon, instantly transforming into a high-speed storm of shrapnel. It tore through the air with terrifying force, sweeping indiscriminately toward Flitwick's landing zone.
It was a purely physical assault—wide in range and nearly impossible to dodge.
Snape's move, using offense as defense, was ruthless and precise, instantly flipping the flow of battle.
Facing the incoming barrage of debris, Professor Flitwick decisively gave up control of the net of magical missiles.
He displayed the astonishing adaptability of a former dueling champion. His wand spun rapidly before him, violently distorting the air, which immediately formed into a slick, curved shield.
Pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft!
Most of the flying debris struck the warped air barrier and were strangely deflected in all directions. The few fragments that made it through were dodged by a sharp twist of his small frame.
At the same time, Snape—like a bat melding into the shadows—took advantage of the momentary flicker in the glowing curtain of light. His body twisted in a way that defied reason, and with his black robes swirling, he slipped through a narrow gap completely unscathed.
The two once again stood facing each other across the ruined battlefield, their breathing slightly quickened.
The arena was littered with shattered rubble, dust billowed in the air, and several low walls still bore the scorched marks of spell impacts.
In just over ten seconds of combat, offense and defense had shifted like lightning, and the precision of spellcasting had left all the students wide-eyed, their hearts pounding with excitement.
The wind inside the dueling arena began to howl, gradually letting out a low, ominous moan.
Leaves and bits of debris were no longer drifting aimlessly—they were being sucked in, spinning faster and faster under the pull of an unseen force.
The small whirlwind, once no thicker than a wrist, instantly expanded into a massive gray-black vortex that stretched from ground to sky like a dragon.
It devoured everything in its path—debris, shattered wood—and continued to swell in size.
This sudden surge of elemental fury, roaring with destruction, surged toward the center of the battlefield just as the two duelists stood locked in a tense standoff.
It was no longer just background—it had become an undeniable third "participant" in the dueling arena.
Snape's black robes billowed wildly in the fierce wind, like crashing waves of darkness.
His pale face flickered in and out of the swirling sandstorm, but his gaze remained sharp and intense, locked onto Professor Flitwick, whose figure was also being tugged by the raging wind.
Professor Flitwick's small frame struggled to stay balanced, his white hair blown straight up by the gusts. But his bright eyes showed no panic—only the exhilaration of facing a worthy opponent.
"Severus, it seems our audience is far more enthusiastic than expected!"
Flitwick's voice sliced cleanly through the wind, reaching Snape's ears with surprising clarity.
Snape's lips curved into what could barely be called a smile—more like a cold twitch of muscle.
"Indeed. Very enthusiastic," he replied with a faint nod. "But Professor Flitwick, it seems your comfortable teaching life has dulled your once sharp instincts."
His words came fast, and just as he finished speaking, he thrust his wand forward. A massive beam of spell light shot directly into the tornado.
Instantly, the colossal vortex shifted course, barreling straight toward Professor Flitwick.
Flitwick's eyes lit up. "Ascensionis torquent!"
He pointed his wand in rapid succession, and the massive stones scattered across the ground suddenly rose, spinning rapidly as they ascended under his control.
They shot through the air like massive cannonballs, whistling as they went—not aimed at Snape, but crashing directly into the wildly spinning tornado!
"Periculum!"
Snape's cold incantation rang out at the same time.
Boom! Boom, boom, boom—
A series of violent explosions erupted from within and along the edges of the vortex.
A powerful shockwave swept across the entire arena, and in an instant, a thick cloud of dust engulfed the stage.
The tornado shook violently—it no longer spun in a stable path but thrashed wildly, like a wounded giant serpent.
Its suction became erratic, fluctuating in strength and range, and it began hurling large chunks of debris and stone—mixed with thick smoke—into the surrounding ruins and against the protective barriers, drawing sharp gasps from the audience.
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