Neville Longbottom

Neville allowed a soft sigh to slip from his lips as he glanced at the list of opponents tacked up near the entrance of the duelling arena.

After a tense moment of scanning the stone, he spotted his name positioned beside that of Seamus Finnigan.

Relief and trepidation swirled within him in equal measure.

On the one hand, he felt somewhat comforted that his first adversary was a familiar face. On the other, he couldn't ignore that Seamus had a remarkable knack for making things explode—accidentally or otherwise.

Muttering a quick prayer to Merlin, Neville walked towards the designated duelling circle marked with a large number four.

The circle itself was roughly four metres across, giving them just enough room to manoeuvre. Seamus was already there, looking uncharacteristically relaxed as he waited, wand in hand.

Neville couldn't help an anxious flutter in his stomach as he imagined himself accidentally blown to bits by one of Seamus's wayward blasts.

Neville's train of thought derailed the instant Seamus turned with an exaggerated expression of surprise.

"Yer jokin', right?" Seamus exclaimed, successfully halting the grim images that had been dancing through Neville's mind.

"Er—what's up?" Neville asked, knitting his brows in confusion.

"Merlin's beard, Neville. You're me opponent!" Seamus said, his voice carrying across the short distance between them. His tone suggested he wasn't entirely prepared for the match-up.

"Yeah, so?" Neville replied, a sudden suspicion creeping into his voice. He had a fair idea of where this was heading.

Seamus let out a short, exasperated laugh. "Dunno, mate. It's just… well, yer not exactly brilliant, are you mate?"

For a moment, Neville felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks. It didn't matter how many times he'd been underestimated before, it still stung like a fresh wound every single time.

His grip tightened around his wand until his knuckles went white, and he swallowed hard to keep his temper in check. He thought bitterly that Seamus might have been right a year ago, but so much had changed since then.

He was determined not to let anyone belittle him any longer.

"Well," Neville said in a controlled, measured voice, "I suppose you'll just have to see for yourself, mate."

Something in his tone made Seamus pause.

The other boy merely gave a nod and adopted a carefree smile, evidently waiting for the match to begin. Their brief conversation ended as Professor Flitwick's voice—amplified by a Sonorus Charm—echoed across the makeshift arena.

"Students, students! May I have your attention, please?" the diminutive Charms Master called out, cutting cleanly through the chatter around the ten duelling circles and the stands. "A most momentous occasion is upon us. Today, we'll see if all those duelling sessions have managed to get through your thick heads!"

A wave of laughter rippled through the assembled students, and Flitwick offered them a playful grin. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Now, the bracket board over there"—he gestured towards a tall stone contraption—"will update after each duel, showing who's won and assigning the victor their next opponent. Keep an eye on it!"

Before the students could descend into another round of excited gossip, Professor Markov, taller and more imposing beside Flitwick, stepped forward. His deep, resonant voice boomed across the arena. "All right, everyone. Bow to your opponent."

Neville and Seamus approached the centre of their circle and bowed. Neville felt a flash of irritation when Seamus gave only the barest tilt of his head in return.

Nonetheless, Neville stood upright and moved to his side of the circle, determined to keep his temper in check.

"Begin on three," Markov instructed, his tone firm.

Neville fixed his gaze on Seamus, calculating which spell the Irish boy might attempt first.

"Three…"

"Two…"

"One…"

No sooner had Professor Markov's final word faded than Seamus lunged forward with an all-too-familiar cry.

"Expelliarmus!"

A streak of scarlet light shot towards Neville, who deftly sidestepped it. Without missing a beat, Neville retaliated with a sharp flick of his wand.

"Luminara!"

A brilliant burst of light engulfed Seamus, leaving him no time to react.

He stumbled, blinded and dazed, and crumpled outside their circle.

Neville remained braced for a counterattack for half a heartbeat before realising his opponent was well and truly out.

"Arrogant bastard," Neville mumbled under his breath, exhaling sharply as he glanced around at the other circles to assess the progress of the duels nearby.

He couldn't help a flicker of pride as he noted that of all the pairs, he and Seamus were among the first to finish.

Shaking off the lingering swirl of adrenaline, Neville reflected on Seamus's earlier taunt.

Perhaps the boy had expected an easy victory, but as Neville stood there, wand still at the ready, he felt more than satisfied that he'd proven his dorm-mate absolutely wrong.

A ripple of movement in a nearby circle drew his attention.

Hermione, wand still raised, was facing Draco Malfoy.

The Slytherin stumbled back with a pained expression, clearly bested.

Hermione's smile—equal parts triumphant and relieved—flickered across her face.

Malfoy slunk away, scowling and muttering under his breath, but Hermione ignored him as a few spectators applauded softly.

Neville tore his gaze from the scene and glanced at the bracket board Flitwick had indicated.

Sure enough, clusters of names shifted and realigned in a blur of swirling text. He waited, wand in hand until a fresh update showed him his next challenger.

C. McLaggen (Hogwarts), at circle number two.

"Cormac," he murmured. The older Gryffindor was known for his mixture of brash overconfidence and occasional flair.

Neville steeled himself, suspecting that McLaggen would be tougher than Seamus—he was older, a self-proclaimed Quidditch hotshot, and someone who loved showing off his skill.

As Neville made his way over, Cormac was already in position, rolling his shoulders with an air of nonchalance.

"Well, Longbottom," he greeted, spinning his wand idly between his fingers, "I heard you took down Finnigan in a blink. Surprised, but… guess we'll see if that fancy flash spell of yours can take me by surprise."

Neville refused to let Cormac's bravado unnerve him. "Sure," he replied shortly, preparing his stance.

At Markov's signal, both duellists bowed—Cormac, rather unexpectedly, dipped lower than Seamus had—and then retreated to opposite edges of the circle. A hush fell over the onlookers in anticipation.

"Three… two… one…"

Cormac wasted no time.

He unleashed a quick volley of hexes, each spat forth with more speed than Neville had anticipated.

Neville gritted his teeth, brandishing his wand in a swift arc.

Protego flared to life in front of him, shimmering with azure light.

Cormac's hexes slammed into the barrier, sending out sparks that crackled around Neville's feet.

Reeling from the force, Neville countered with the same blinding spell as before.

"Luminara!" he cried.

But Cormac appeared to have anticipated exactly that, throwing an arm across his eyes.

He rolled away from the flash with surprising agility, reacting far more smoothly than Seamus had.

With a deliberate flick of his wand, he unleashed a flurry of stinging jinxes that zipped through the air like angry hornets.

Neville ducked and sidestepped, struggling to maintain balance as he tried to repel the onslaught.

'He's good,' Neville conceded, mind whirling. 'He knew I'd go for the flash.'

Cormac angled his wand sharply, sending a Leg-Locker Curse spiralling at Neville's feet. Neville just managed to hop aside, heart pounding like a drum against his ribcage.

"Petrivolans!" he shouted, the syllables rolling off his tongue.

Instantly, Neville's wand belched forth a cluster of small, jagged stones.

They hurtled across the circle, hammering towards Cormac.

The older student's eyes widened in shock.

He attempted to throw up a Shield Charm, but two of the stones smashed into it, creating a thunderous crack that shattered the shield.

The remaining projectiles pinned Cormac's robes, leaving him effectively immobilised and reeling from the sudden impact.

A collective gasp rippled across the watching students. Even Professor Flitwick looked quietly impressed, his eyebrows arched in approval.

Professor Markov strode forward to assess the situation, raising a hand once he confirmed that Cormac was stuck fast.

"The winner is Neville Longbottom!" Markov's voice rang out in clear, triumphant tones.

Neville exhaled a shaky breath and released the stone restraints with a swift counter-charm.

Cormac shot him an incredulous glance, shaking loose a few stray rocks as he stood. Though annoyance tightened Cormac's features at being beaten by a younger peer, he managed a curt nod.

"That was… well done," he admitted, brushing grit from his robes before stepping aside.

With his heart thundering in his ears, Neville moved away from the circle, casting a glance towards Hermione.

Amidst the claps and cheers of other duels concluding, he saw that she had already bested her second opponent—a Durmstrang girl nursing a minor burn on her forearm.

Hermione offered her a conciliatory handshake, her expression quietly friendly yet undeniably confident.

'Always a step ahead,' Neville mused with a faint smile as he approached the bracket board again.

Streams of magical text roiled across its surface, updating winners and losers in a hypnotic display of shifting letters.

Soon, Neville's name popped up once more, this time paired with a Durmstrang sixth-year he recognised by sight but not by name.

Swallowing a fresh bout of nerves, Neville followed the directions to the specified circle.

The Durmstrang student towered over most of his peers, his posture both poised and powerful.

He offered Neville a courteous bow, which Neville returned, trying to steady himself. 'The two duels back-to-back have worn me out,' he thought, biting the inside of his cheek to focus.

"Three…" Markov began again, his voice echoing through Neville's mind like distant thunder.

"Two…"

The Durmstrang boy's wand flicked almost imperceptibly, a silent spell already slicing through the air. Neville hastily raised a shield, the impact rattling his bones.

"One—begin!" Markov finished, although this one duel was already in motion.

The barrage that followed made Neville's earlier duels seem tame.

Spell after spell tore towards him, each cast silently and with impeccable accuracy. Neville tried to retaliate with Petrivolans again, but his attempt was knocked wide by a violent blast that nearly wrenched the wand from his hand.

A sharp hex singed the edge of his robes, sending a bitter aroma of charred fabric into the air.

Desperate to regain his footing, Neville attempted a wordless Disarming Charm, but his concentration wavered under the unrelenting onslaught of hexes and curses.

The Durmstrang student brushed it aside effortlessly, pressing his advantage. Within moments, a powerful knockback jinx connected with Neville's midsection, launching him onto his back and knocking the wind from his lungs.

Gasping, he tried to scramble upright, only to see his opponent's wand aimed squarely at his chest. Professor Markov stepped forward, raising his hand in clear acknowledgement of the outcome.

"Victory goes to Durmstrang's Mikhail Petrov!" the professor declared.

Neville lay there for a second, the duelling circle's cold ground beneath him a stark reminder of how much further he had to go.

Though disappointment flushed his cheeks, a small part of him still simmered with pride. After all, he had proven himself in two matches, surpassing even his own expectations.

His opponent approached, extending a hand.

Neville accepted, allowing the older boy to pull him to his feet.

The Durmstrang wizard gave him a polite nod, which Neville returned, giving a rueful smile in reply.

Around them, the hum of students chatting, duelling, and cheering washed through the arena, and Neville caught a glimpse of Hermione glancing his way from a distance.

He noticed Hermione seemed to be preparing for yet another match—and from a quick glance at the bracket board, he realised she would be facing Cedric Diggory next.

Intrigued and still catching his breath, Neville decided to move slowly towards the stands.

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Chapter 90: Two Malfoys in one day—definitely more than enough

Chapter 91: Champion Showdown

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Chapter 98: Answers