After his duel with Schiller Cavill, Sean expected a flood of challengers to storm the dueling room, eager to topple the brash Hogwarts first-year. But nearly a week passed, and no one came. Frustration gnawed at him. Were the Beauxbatons students really swallowing their pride? Were they too scared to face him? No way, he thought, pacing his dormitory. No way, right?
His open challenge—ten o'clock every morning, dueling platform—had been a calculated jab, meant to stoke their egos and draw out opponents. Each duel was a chance to earn "gift packs" from his system, boosting his Troll Strength and Troll Spiked Hide. But the silence was deafening. Had his victory over a fifth-year spooked them? Or were they plotting something bigger? The uncertainty itched like a poorly cast Itching Jinx.
Yet, not all was quiet. Fleur Delacour and Barre Garcia had been seeking him out more often, their visits to the library or casual chats in the corridors growing frequent. Sean didn't mind. Both were skilled—Fleur's charm work was dazzling, Barre's Transfiguration precise—and their knowledge rivaled Hogwarts' best. He could bounce questions off them, from Potion ratios to Charm nuances, and they always had insights. Their company was a welcome break from his routine, and he found himself enjoying their debates, even if Fleur's Veela charm sometimes made his thoughts wander.
Sean's days had settled into a rhythm: dormitory, library, auditorium. Beauxbatons' library, with its towering shelves and runed doors that whispered faintly when opened, was a treasure trove. While most of its books overlapped with Hogwarts' collection, its alchemy section was unmatched. Hogwarts' alchemy texts were sparse, barely filling a shelf, but Beauxbatons boasted tomes on everything from elixir theory to enchanted metals. Sean had thrown himself into them, supplementing his studies in Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms with self-taught alchemy. The subject's complexity—blending magic, science, and philosophy—fascinated him, though his short time at Beauxbatons limited his progress. Still, he'd grasped the basics, enough to fuel his curiosity.
As he left the library, his bag heavy with borrowed books, Sean headed for the auditorium. The airy hall, with its charmed ceiling mimicking a twilight sky, hummed with the clink of charmed cutlery that danced like Professor Sprout's mandrakes. He spotted Fleur and Barre at a round table, their heads bent over a shared book. Sliding into a seat beside them, he set his bag down, the thud drawing their attention.
"Fleur," Sean began, "what's the alchemy course like at Beauxbatons? Is the professor still around?"
Fleur shook her head, her silver-blonde hair catching the ceiling's starry glow. "Alchemy's not a core subject here. It's an elective, only available after fourth year, and it's tough to get into. You need strong grades in Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions. If those are weak, you can't even apply. Not many students take it each year."
She paused, then added, "Professor Barbarossa Coronel, our alchemy teacher, is a big name at Beauxbatons. He's brilliant but strict about his time. He never stays during holidays—hates extra work. Still, he likes clever, dedicated students and often helps them out."
Sean sighed, a touch of regret in his voice. "That's a shame. I'm only here for a month. I doubt I'll meet him."
Fleur studied him, her blue eyes thoughtful. As Sean turned toward the auditorium's entrance, she spoke up, hesitating slightly. "Sean, if you really want to meet Professor Coronel, I could reach out to him. He might be willing to—"
Sean cut her off with a shake of his head. "Fleur, I appreciate it, but I don't want to put you out. Professor Coronel sounds like someone who values his peace. Asking him for a favor just because I'm curious? That could annoy him, and I don't want you catching flak for it. It's not worth it."
"It's no trouble," Fleur insisted gently. "I can try. I don't think he'd mind."
Sean smiled, but his tone was firm. "Relationships have limits, Fleur. You don't need to spend your goodwill with Coronel on me. Just meeting him won't do much for me anyway. Let's leave it."
Fleur fell silent, her gaze lingering on him. Her eyelids dipped, a soft hum escaping her lips, and she said no more. The moment passed, the auditorium's chatter filling the quiet.
Aldridge, standing nearby, caught the exchange. A faint smile played on his lips, though he kept his thoughts to himself. As Sean's personal butler, bound by Gideon's magic, his loyalty was unwavering, his demeanor polished—around Sean. But Jason, hovering at Aldridge's side, noticed the smile. Jason had lightened up lately, his Slytherin edge softened by his growing ease around Sean's circle. He leaned in, whispering, "Aldridge, what's so funny? Got some happy secret?"
Aldridge's smile didn't waver, but his voice was sharp. "None of your business, Jason."
His politeness, warmth, and respect were reserved for Sean alone. To others, especially Jason, Aldridge was a wall—cool, dismissive, and unyielding.
Jason smirked, undeterred. "Tch, you should let the young master see this side of you. Bet he'd be shocked."
"He won't," Aldridge shot back, his tone smug. "To the young master, I'm always the perfect Aldridge."
With a scornful glance at Jason, Aldridge quickened his pace. In two swift steps, he reached the table, pulling out a chair for Sean with a flourish. He then offered one to Fleur, his manners impeccable, and another to Barre. Jason, left standing, got nothing but a pointed ignore. Aldridge's message was clear: his service was for Sean and those Sean valued, not for tagalongs like Jason.
After a simple lunch in the auditorium—goblets of pumpkin juice and plates of charmed treacle tarts that floated to their places—Fleur and Barre said their goodbyes and left together, their footsteps echoing under the hall's starry ceiling. Sean welcomed the quiet, his mind already drifting to the alchemy texts waiting in Beauxbatons' library. He nodded farewell to his friends, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and set off, Jason and Aldridge trailing behind.
The library's arched doors, etched with runes that hissed like Fizzing Whizbees when touched, loomed ahead. But as Sean approached, he stopped short. Schiller Cavill stood there, flanked by two older students, their Beauxbatons robes crisp and wands tucked at their sides. Their eyes locked on Sean, purposeful and unyielding.
Schiller stepped forward, glancing briefly at Aldridge and Jason before fixing his gaze on Sean. "Sean, you said before that anyone who wants to challenge can come to you, right?" he declared, his tone stiff but resolute.
Sean tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "I've been at the dueling room every morning at ten, waiting until ten-thirty. Sadly, no one's shown up all week. I'm starting to wonder if I should keep wasting my valuable morning time on people who won't even come."
His words, sharp as a well-aimed Diffindo, hit their mark. Schiller's face flushed with shame, his eyes dropping for a moment. Sean's point was clear: he'd honored his challenge, standing ready each day, while Beauxbatons had stayed silent. Schiller, who'd boasted of stronger challengers , bore some blame for the empty dueling platform. The weight of his earlier words hung heavy.
Sean studied Schiller, his mind ticking like a charmed pocket watch. Their last duel had been a windfall—Sean's system had extracted Stupefy LV1 from Schiller, a spell he hadn't yet mastered. It filled a gap in his arsenal, saving him the effort of learning it from scratch. Schiller was like a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean: unpredictable, but potentially rewarding. If Sean could duel him again, who knew what else he might gain? But Schiller's pride, bruised from his loss, made a rematch unlikely. Sean's gaze flicked to the two students behind Schiller. New faces, new possibilities.
Schiller cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "I'm delivering a challenge for someone else," he said, meeting Sean's eyes. "Tomorrow morning at eight, in the dueling room. Your opponent is a skilled fifth-year, from one of the oldest families in the wizarding world, with a deep magical legacy. Take it seriously, Sean. He's far stronger than me."
Sean nodded, unfazed. "No problem. I'll be there tomorrow."
"Good," Schiller replied. "I won't keep you."
With that, Schiller turned, his companions following, their robes swishing as they disappeared down the corridor. The library's runed doors seemed to hum louder in the sudden quiet, as if mocking the tension.
Aldridge watched them go, then turned to Sean, his voice low. "Master, if you win again, I reckon these Beauxbatons students will back off. Two senior-junior duels are already pushing it. Lose twice in a row, and they won't have the nerve to keep challenging you."
Sean's smirk faded, his expression thoughtful. "I might not win tomorrow. I used most of my tricks against Schiller last time. This new guy sounds tougher."
He paused, then glanced at Aldridge, his tone shifting. "But speaking of tricks, Aldridge, have you got everything ready like I asked?"
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