Harry Evans 79: The first to lose (Patreon)

The next time they were present in the arena, it was very much fuller. They simply slipped outside to drink a coffee and a hot chocolate respectively, and upon coming back they found half the seats filled with bustling natives and internationals, all dressed to the nines as if they were attending a ball.

Harry and Flitwick were bustled unceremoniously towards a bench on which they were sat alongside several other competitors.  Harry noted that attention had been paid so that no one who was to face off against each other was seated on the same bench. 

From this position, they turned to watch the fights as they were announced by a woman dressed in ridiculously red robes, crested with what appeared to be actual rubies.

Every single duelling platform was accompanied by a referee wearing a white and black chequered robe. Harry was glad that he did not have to go first and he could lean back and enjoy watching the matches of the first eight participants. his eyes naturally focused on the battle that Delafleur was having with her short and fat opponent.

The mismatch ended up not being only in terms of looks, but clearly skill as well. While the beautiful blonde weaved around clumsy attacks and occasionally sent out a disarming charm, this was already enough to completely overwhelm her opponent.

It was the first match that finished and had also been the most anticlimactic one.

Instead of the platform then immediately being reused, it remained empty while the other three battles played out. It seemed like the organisers were going to do this in batches to not get through it too quickly.

It was unfortunate that Delafleur’s opponent hadn’t managed to push her that far, it would have been good to know what else she had up her sleeves. But naturally, any good duelist who could beat an opponent simply by using the disarming jinx, would.

“Well, I quite frankly don't think that I'll get far enough to challenge her in particular so I guess it doesn’t matter,” he said. The girl’s expelliarmus was almost as good as his, which in addition to her polished technique already made her a complicated opponent to face.

“I would advise going in with such a fatalistic attitude,” Flitwick cautioned. “Victory only comes to those who believe in it.”

Harry chuckled. Maybe he should start going in with the attitude that he was the inevitable winner of the entire tournament. If nothing else, this particular delusion and its expression would trigger people enough to maybe cause some mistakes they otherwise would not have made.

The two other duels concluded quickly after the first one, but it seemed like the last one was more of an even match. One blonde boy and a taller dark-haired one were in the middle of a fierce exchange, but spells were evenly matched and unable to find their mark due to a similarity of dodging capacity.

In the end, the blonde managed to trick his opponent with a powerful gust of wind which was simply the consequence of an initial reaction, and not a sustained effort. It thus passed through a shield only meant to defend against magic and destabilise his opponent. After that, it was a done deal, the dark-haired boy who’d been put on the back foot and never quite managed to recover.

However, Harry wasn't so sure how much of a victory that really was, since the winner looked quite exhausted and would have to fight again in an hour or so. He had won the battle perhaps, but it seemed like he might just lose the war. A pyrrhic victory.

There was a break of about 10 minutes, after which the final result of the first matches was rehashed by the commentator from his special box. Harry stopped listening after the first minute, there were no new insights to be gained.

After the commentator was done expounding and the audience was once again getting ready for another energetic group of duels, it was Harry's turn to be called on stage.

However, as he went over to the platform which was to be the landmark for his victory, it became clear that he was the only one in this match not bearing a grudge. As the two opponents were forced to shake hands, Nyssen tried to crush Harry's hand but got his crushed in return. The sword fighting practice had not been in vain. 

The boy, more man physically than Harry really, gave him, if it was possible to do so, a nervous sneer as he went to his side of the podium where the referee made them bow. He was a lanky young man. Tall but thin, with shoulder-length brown hair and a burn scar on his face.

It was interesting to be standing on a stage for the purpose of duelling, something which he and the last months had done mostly in solitude, with either Flitwick or Tonks or against the duelling dummy in the room of requirement. The crowd, the reserved elitists as they gave themselves to be actually helped with the slight bout of nervousness that he experienced as they refrained from cheering for anyone in particular.

It also helped that three other matches were happening at the same time. It released some of the pressure from Harry’s shoulders.

He felt a light vibration run through his body as he righted himself up from his bow and decided that it was time to commence with the plan as it had been discussed. 

Nyssen for all that he apparently wasn't that happy to be here, did not seem like anyone that Harry needed to freestyle.

The two settled into a stance and cast their first spells at the same time.

From Harry's wand shot a red jet of disarmament, travelling much slower than he could truly make it. The plan was to downplay his ability with the spell to surprise someone later on. 

Nyssen used the same spell, which was travelling at a similar speed, indicating that he either was not taking Harry seriously or that this was the extent of his abilities.

Both of them elegantly sidestepped the attacks and commenced a small bout of exchanges. The same spell again and again. The most basic form of duelling.

Naturally, they were both trained and thus already this basic form of duelling would have been enough to beat most amateurs.

Thankfully, Harry noted as he slipped past a spell, his magic sense helping him evade it by barely a millimetre to waste as little energy as possible, Nyssen didn't seem to be that talented. Harry could keep up with the boy without showing his full repertoire.

After a few more moments of this back and forth, it became apparent that Nyssen was growing frustrated, his face was running red and his gestures became wilder and less refined. His spells gained in power, however their accuracy worsened, allowing Harry to dodge even more efficiently.

It was at this point that Harry saw an opportunity. Before his opponent could take a breath and regain control of his senses, he revealed one of his abilities. A wave of his wand conjured a burst of two disarming charms, the first of which was shot at Nyssen’s torso, and the second which was aimed at the direction the boy preferred to dodge in the specific situation. Nyssen’s eyes widened and almost instinctively he summoned a shield.

Big mistake. Harry was already following up with a bombarda.  

Duelling tournaments restricted the usage of many spells, but the bombarda was still a favourite for breaking shields at low levels. The concussive energy of the blast drained the enemy’s focus and strength. 

Nyssen for his part wasn't done yet, and endured the blast. Then somehow throwing out his arms wide as the shield dispersed, he caused a wave of force to be shot at Harry.

An interesting deflection, using the fact that bombarda was the favourite shield breaker at this level to prepare a countermeasure. However, Harry wasn't particularly obsessed with being elegant. He dropped the floor as his wand continued throwing out disarming jinxes. Nyssen, clearly tired from his deflection which he had probably thought would get him some time and momentum only managed to dodge two of them, the third hitting him anticlimactically in the chest and causing his wand to spiral into the air and land and in Harry's hand.

Harry got up from the floor, handed the wand to the referee and turned his back on his downed opponent to get off the stage.

It wasn't that Nyssen hadn’t been bad, per se. In terms of reaction speed, form and spell proficiency he was about at the level that Tonks was at. However, Harry had already gotten used to beating people at Tonks’ level and that had been before the fruits of his instruction with Flitwick had borne their full sweetness.

“Winner, Harry Evans!” the referee proclaimed in a somewhat dumbfounded voice as a few scattered claps went through the Colosseum. 

Harry glanced at the other platforms as he made his way back to the bench. Habsburg had finished his fight before him and was looking at him curiously. His brown hair was askew from some sort of static electricity, but his eyes were ferocious enough to not make him look ridiculous. 

Harry sat down next to Flitwick.

It was after spectating more and more of the matches, that Harry noticed the curious trend which has also stuck out in his own fight. In the end, hadn't Nyssen only used two spells? The shield spell and the disarming jinx. Wasn't this too little variety in a tournament such as this?

Perhaps Harry was deluded about the quality of the competition from the Harry Potter movies he'd watched in his last life. Voldemort and Dumbledore fought in the halls of the ministry summoning snakes of fire, and storms of glass and were generally throwing around a bunch of spells one couldn't even make out.

“Is it just me?” he thus asked. “Or is everyone using only two or three spells? I'm hardly seeing anything more complex than the occasional deflection.” 

Flitwick hummed. “Let me pose you a counter-question. if I took two duelists, who knew exactly the same spells. What would decide their victory?”

The younger of the two mulled over the question, but the answer was relatively obvious. “Their mastery of the spells, and their general technique. How fast they cast, and how they position their bodies to not be hit.”

The professor nodded. “Exactly. Now, another question. Is it more worth it to showcase one's more complicated tactics in the beginning, or the end of the tournament?”

“Obviously the end.” Harry scoffed. “The sooner people know your tactics, the sooner they'll be able to counter them.”

“Duelling, as a culture that is, developed over many many centuries. The general consensus that has appeared intrinsically is that in the beginning matches people will mostly fight with the basic spells and either win or lose depending on their technique. Even if they manage to clinch a victory using the most complex tactic, it lowers their chances of winning the next fight considerably since they have no ace up their sleeve. A gentleman's agreement.”

“You're saying they're all lowballing at the moment?” Harry asked curiously. He wouldn't pretend that he understood the culture of duelling, and he had just used as much power and finesse as he needed to win his fight, and no more, but it sounded to him like a bit of a cowardly tactic.

“Wouldn't it be more fun if everyone went all out all the time?”

“A tournament is a marathon, not a sprint! It is the general consensus amongst people that if one can't win the first few rounds with the basics, one isn't going to win the latter few with all that they can bring to bear.”

Harry turned his gaze away from his mentor, and back to the duels. Bolts of red flashed in the air at speeds that most Hogwarts students would find impossible to match. 

Everyone here had practised long and hard. However, other than the disarming jinxes and some basic elemental spells nothing that interesting was happening yet. He was sure that most of the participants would have been able to beat Tonks with just this repertoire, but his duels against her had been much more interesting.

“Well, stones and glasshouses and all. I have to say it's a bit boring though.”

Flitwick laughed. “It's fun when you meet someone with whom you can enter the flow. A rapid-fire exchange is a rapid-fire exchange no matter what spells are used. I'm sure you'll develop a taste for it soon enough, and start appreciating the skill. The reason you aren't yet is likely because, well, this is the U17 and you will need a few more years before you start really immersing yourself.”

“I guess you're right,” Harry said. He leaned back and started putting less effort into spectating the matches. There really wasn't that much interesting thing going on. The most basic techniques of duelling, the footwork, the basic spells, the participants didn't differ that much from each other depending on the country. So while he was able to identify a few little twists and adjustments, he was wasting his mental energy thinking too much about it. His next opponent would be the Habsburg, and that was what he should focus on.

“I assume that Habsburg also didn't show off anything particularly groundbreaking in his fight?” he asked.

“No, not really. I'm afraid you’ll go in blind.” Flitwick leaned in to whisper in his ear.

-/-

AN: First duel wasn't that exciting, hope you can understand why. I'm lulling you into a false sense of security though and giving myself the possibility of upping the ante. We have at least one more to go, and I promise it will be... explosive.