The rest of the day passed in a blur of spectating and analysis.

  Rowan watched the other first-round matches with keen interest, studying his potential future opponents. Each duelist had their own style, their own strengths and weaknesses. Some relied on raw power, overwhelming their opponents with sheer magical force. Others used finesse and precision, picking apart defenses with surgical accuracy.

  The other Hogwarts students fought valiantly, but two fell in the first round. Sarah Bones lost to a fourth-year from Durmstrang who employed brutal offensive tactics that overwhelmed her defenses. Anastasia Greengrass managed to force her Beauxbatons opponent into a lengthy match, but ultimately lost to superior stamina in a battle of attrition.

  Alexander Sterling advanced to the quarterfinals alongside Rowan, his victory over a Koldovstoretz sixth-year earning him respect from competitors across all schools.

  By evening, the brackets were announced.

  Rowan's next opponent would be a fourth year from Castelobruxo named Paulo Silva. Sterling had mentioned during practice at Hogwarts that he'd faced a Castelobruxo student in his first tournament. Aggressive combinations, creative use of the environment, and a looseness to their casting made them difficult to predict.

  Hecat had added that Castelobruxo's strength in Herbology and Magizoology carried into their combat magic. Their advanced students could conjure and manipulate living things in ways that most European schools didn't teach until NEWT level.

  That night, Rowan lay awake longer than usual. Unfamiliar magic was always the most dangerous, but at least he had some framework. Sterling's warning about environmental creativity and Hecat's note about living conjurations gave him something to watch for.

  The quarterfinal match was scheduled for late morning the following day. Rowan arrived at Arena One, a larger venue than his first match, suggesting the organizers had revised their expectations, to find a much bigger crowd than before.

  Word of his victory over Yamamoto had spread. Students from all seven schools had come to see if the British first year could repeat his performance.

  Paulo Silva was already waiting on the platform. He was shorter than Yamamoto but stockier, with dark skin and a confident grin. His wand movements during warm-up were loose and flowing, almost dance-like, completely different from Mahoutokoro's discipline.

  The referee took her position. "Competitors, bow to each other."

  They bowed.

  Silva's grin widened. "I watched your first match. Very impressive. But Mahoutokoro fights with discipline and control. Castelobruxo fights with passion and creativity. You'll find us harder to predict, sim?"

  "We'll see," Rowan replied, keeping his voice neutral.

  "Wands at the ready. Begin!"

  Rowan moved first. "Stupefy!" The Stunner flew straight, fast, aimed at center mass. Silva deflected it with a loose flick, but Rowan was already casting. "Flipendo!" The curved Knockback forced Silva to dodge left, and "Expelliarmus!" followed on a line to meet him there.

  Silva's shield caught the Disarmer, but his grin had sharpened. He hadn't expected the first year to come out swinging.

  His counter wasn't in Latin. Silva's wand swept in a wide arc and he spoke something Rowan didn't recognize. The wooden platform between them responded. Vines erupted from the boards, thick green tendrils that shot toward Rowan with startling speed, reaching for his wand arm and ankles simultaneously.

  Rowan slashed downward. "Incendio!" Fire caught the nearest vine and it recoiled, blackening and curling away from the heat. But Silva was already casting again, his wand tracing a second sweeping motion, and more growth burst from the platform to replace what had burned. The wood itself seemed to be alive under his magic, the boards splitting open to make room for roots and stems that shouldn't have been able to grow from dead timber.

  "Protego!" Rowan's spherical shield bought him a second to think. The vines struck the barrier and wound around its edges, probing for gaps, and he realized the problem. Standard combat spells were designed for singular effects. Stunners, disarmers, jinxes. Silva's magic was continuous. The vines kept growing, kept reaching, kept adapting, fed by whatever spell he'd used to call them.

  He couldn't just block. He had to cut the growth off at the source.

  "Incendio!" Rowan aimed past the vines, at the section of platform where they were rooted. The fire caught and spread across the wood, and the vines shuddered and began to wilt as their anchor point burned.

  Silva laughed, genuine enjoyment in the sound, and his wand dipped toward the flames. "Aguamenti!" Water doused the fire, but that wasn't the point. His wand kept moving, another murmured word in that same unfamiliar language, and the soaked, scorched wood erupted again. New vines, thicker this time, and among them something else. Broad leaves that unfurled with unnatural speed, spreading across the platform like a canopy and blocking Rowan's line of sight to Silva entirely.

  A living wall between them.

  Rowan couldn't see Silva, but he could hear him moving behind the foliage. A rustling that wasn't the plants. Footsteps, repositioning.

  "Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus!" Rowan fired a chain through the thickest part of the growth, spacing the spells to cover different angles. The bolts punched through leaves and stems, but the vegetation was dense enough to slow them, and he heard all three fizzle against shields on the other side.

  Then something came through the canopy from an angle he hadn't expected. A shape, low and fast, darting across the platform toward his legs. A second followed from the other side.

  Conjured creatures. Small, compact bodies covered in reddish fur, moving with a chattering aggression that reminded Rowan of nothing he'd studied. They were going for his ankles, trying to knock his footing out.

  "Flipendo!" The Knockback Jinx sent the first creature tumbling backward, but the second was already at his feet. It latched onto his robes and climbed, sharp claws pricking through the fabric. Rowan grabbed it with his free hand and threw it aside, but the distraction had cost him.

  Silva's voice cut through the foliage. "Expelliarmus!"

  The Disarming Charm came from Rowan's left, not from behind the wall where Silva had been. He'd moved while the creatures drew Rowan's attention.

  Rowan threw up a shield. The spell hit Protego at an awkward angle, and the impact knocked him back a step but the barrier held.

  He needed to change the terms of this fight. Silva controlled the platform. The vines, the foliage, the creatures were all his terrain. Fighting through it was playing his game.

  Rowan aimed his wand at the base of the living wall and put everything he had into it. "Incendio Maximus!" The fire that erupted wasn't a jet but a wave, spreading across the platform in a wide arc. The vines caught first, then the broad leaves, then the canopy. Smoke poured upward and the plant wall collapsed inward, burning.

  For the first time, he had a clear view of Silva.

  The Brazilian was already moving, his grin sharper now, his wand tracing a rapid sequence. "Stupefy!" A red bolt, testing Rowan's defenses. Then his wand dipped again and the scorched platform split open. Something larger was growing from the ruined wood. A trunk, thick as Rowan's torso, rising fast and branching as it climbed. In seconds it had limbs, reaching wooden arms that swept toward Rowan like the Whomping Willow in miniature.

  The conjured tree swung at him. Rowan dove sideways and the branch cratered the platform where he'd been standing, splinters flying. He rolled and came up casting. "Stupefy!" The Stunner hit the trunk and did nothing. The tree wasn't alive in the way a creature was. It was animated wood, and stunning spells were useless against it.

  "Incendio!" Fire again. The branches caught, but the tree kept swinging, burning limbs sweeping through the air and scattering embers across the platform. Silva had learned from the vines. This conjuration was wet wood, dense and slow to burn.

  Rowan dodged another swing and changed tactics. "Duro!" He aimed at the base of the trunk where it met the platform. The wood hardened to stone mid-growth, and the transformation raced upward. The tree's movements seized as living wood became rigid mineral. The branches froze mid-swing, stone fingers reaching for nothing.

  The tree was neutralized, but now it was an obstacle between them. A stone pillar in the middle of the platform that blocked sight lines and created cover.

  Silva used it immediately, circling behind the petrified trunk. Rowan heard the murmured incantation and braced himself, expecting more growth.

  Instead, Silva came around the trunk casting. "Flipendo! Stupefy!" Latin spells now, fast and direct, his wand work loose and whipping. Rowan shielded the first and dodged the second, then fired back in a chain. "Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous!" The Disarmer came straight, and Silva deflected it with a lazy flick. The Body-Bind curved with Rowan's modified trajectory, and Silva had to scramble sideways to avoid it, his eyes widening at the unexpected angle. The binding ropes followed before he could reset, shooting toward his legs. Silva slashed them apart mid-flight, but his footing was compromised, half-standing on scorched wood and tangled roots from his own earlier conjurations.

  Rowan saw the opening.

  "Stupefy! Flipendo! Incarcerous! Expelliarmus!" Four spells in under three seconds. The Stunner forced Silva's shield up. The curved Knockback Jinx bent around it and caught his shoulder, spinning him sideways. The binding ropes caught his legs before he could recover his stance. And the Disarmer, timed for the moment his balance broke, hit true.

  Silva's wand flew from his grip and clattered across the platform.

  "Victory to Ashcroft of Hogwarts!"

  The crowd erupted, louder than after the first match.

  Two victories. Two completely different opponents with completely different traditions, both defeated. The British first year wasn't a fluke.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Silva retrieved his wand and walked over, breathing hard but still grinning. "You burned everything I grew, turned my tree to stone, and then chained me into the ground while I was standing in my own mess. I have to respect that." He shook his head, laughing. "Good luck in the semifinals, sim?"

  "Thank you. You fought well."

  The same Medi-wizard was waiting at the platform's edge. His diagnostic charm lingered longer this time, flickering amber over the singed patches on Rowan's robes where burning debris from the vine wall had thrown embers, and settling deeper over his ribs where one of Silva's Flipendos had clipped him through a weakened shield. "You're accumulating damage faster than you're resting it off," he said, tapping the bruised ribs. The ache receded. "Eat something substantial before your next round and give your body a chance to catch up."

  Rowan nodded and made his way out of the arena. He noticed the other competitors watching him with a different expression than before. The smirks were gone. A few of them were already sizing him up.

  They were trying to determine how to beat him, what weaknesses to exploit.

  Let them try, Rowan thought. He'd faced enough challenges in his life, both lives, that analyzing opponents didn't frighten him.

  The other quarterfinal matches concluded that evening. Sterling fought brilliantly against an Ilvermorny sixth-year, his defensive technique nearly flawless, but ultimately fell to a creative combination of spells that breached his shields. He accepted the loss with grace, shaking his opponent's hand before leaving the arena to respectful applause.

  That left Rowan as Hogwarts' sole remaining competitor. Professor Hecat found him in the corridor afterward.

  "You're the last one now," she said quietly. "You're carrying Hogwarts' banner alone into the semifinals. The entire school's hopes rest on your shoulders."

  "I understand," Rowan said.

  "Do you?" Hecat studied him carefully. "That's a heavy burden for an eleven-year-old. No matter how skilled you are."

  "I won't let them down."

  "I know you won't. But remember, you've already exceeded every expectation. Whatever happens from here, you've done Hogwarts proud." She paused. "Now go rest. The semifinals are tomorrow, and you'll need every advantage you can get."

  They were scheduled for the following afternoon. That gave Rowan a full day to rest, study, and prepare. He spent the morning in meditation, centering himself and organizing his thoughts. The afternoon he dedicated to watching the other semifinalists' previous matches, analyzing their techniques and strategies.

  His opponent would be Jonathan Ward from Ilvermorny, the same sixth year who had eliminated Sterling. Ward had won his previous matches through creativity and unconventional tactics. Combining spells in ways that weren't taught in standard curriculum, using the environment in unexpected ways, keeping opponents perpetually off-balance.

  This would be his toughest match yet.

  The Grand Arena was packed for the semifinals. Both matches would be held simultaneously in different sections of the massive space, allowing the crowd to watch whichever duel interested them more.

  Rowan stepped onto the platform and paused. The stands were filled. Easily a thousand people, maybe more. The noise washed over him like a wave. For a moment, he felt the weight of all those eyes.

  His pulse quickened. He closed his eyes briefly, drew on his Occlumency training, and set the nervousness aside. When he opened them again, his hands were steady.

  Most would be watching his match. The novelty of an eleven-year-old in the semifinals was too unusual to ignore.

  Jonathan Ward stood at the opposite end of the platform, a tall boy with light brown skin and sharp, intelligent eyes. Unlike Silva's friendly grin or Yamamoto's formal bow, Ward simply nodded, all business.

  His wand was already in hand, held loosely but ready.

  The referee's voice rang out. "This is a semifinal match. Same rules apply. Competitors, bow."

  They bowed, neither breaking eye contact.

  "Wands at the ready. Begin!"

  Neither moved for a full second. Both analyzing, both waiting for the other to reveal their opening strategy.

  Then Ward moved, but not to cast a spell.

  His wand tapped the platform at his feet. "Periculum!"

  Red sparks shot upward, and Rowan's eyes followed them instinctively. Exactly what Ward wanted. In that split second of distraction, Ward cast his real spell in silence.

  A blindfold appeared over Rowan's eyes without warning, blocking his vision completely.

  Darkness.

  He couldn't see Ward, couldn't see incoming spells, couldn't—

  Training took over. Rowan's Occlumency cleared away the panic. His other senses sharpened. He could hear Ward moving, footsteps on wood, the swish of robes.

  He cast blind. "Finite!"

  The blindfold vanished.

  But Ward was already moving, his wand tracing a complex pattern. The wooden platform between them rippled, boards rising and falling in waves, then twisted upward into barriers that created a maze of obstacles between them.

  "Reducto!" Rowan blasted apart the nearest barrier, splinters flying. But Ward had already moved behind another, his position obscured.

  "Relashio!" A jet of sparks shot toward Rowan. He dodged, but the sparks weren't aimed at him. They hit the wooden barriers, and smoke began to pour from the scorched wood, filling the air between the combatants.

  Ward was using the environment masterfully, creating obstacles and obscuring vision, forcing Rowan to fight at a disadvantage.

  Time to change tactics.

  Rowan's wand swept in a wide arc. "Ventus Maximus!" A powerful gust of wind cleared the smoke and scattered the sparks, but more importantly, it knocked down several of the wooden barriers, opening sight lines.

  There. Ward was moving left, trying to flank.

  Rowan fired a chain. "Stupefy! Incarcerous! Depulso!" But Ward was ready, his shield absorbing the first two spells, and he simply leapt backward from the third, landing in a crouch.

  "Ascendio!" Ward cast on himself.

  The spell launched him into the air, ten feet up, giving him the high ground. From above, he rained down spells. "Confringo! Stupefy! Impedimenta!"

  Rowan's shield caught the first, a Blasting Curse that made his barrier shudder dangerously. The second he dodged by rolling left. The third he... no time to dodge or shield.

  It hit him, and suddenly his movements were sluggish, his body fighting through invisible resistance.

  Ward landed with a flourish, grinning. He'd landed his first successful spell. "Expelliarmus!"

  But Rowan had been counting on Ward's confidence.

  Even moving through the Impediment Jinx, he managed to get his wand up. "Protego!" The shield formed slowly, far slower than normal, but it formed. And in the spherical dome pattern he'd perfected. Ward had taken the high ground precisely to attack from multiple angles. The spherical modification saved him. The Disarming Charm splashed against the dome's curve, deflected harmlessly.

  And then Rowan did something Ward didn't expect.

  He used wandless magic.

  Extending his left hand while his right maintained the shield, Rowan focused his magic, feeling it flow through his palm instead of his wand. "Finite!" The counter-spell, cast wandlessly, was weaker than a wanded version would be, but it was enough.

  The Impediment Jinx shattered, and Rowan's movements returned to normal speed.

  Ward's eyes widened. Genuine shock.

  Wandless magic from a Hogwarts first-year wasn't just unusual. It was nearly unprecedented.

  Rowan didn't waste the advantage.

  He launched his fastest chain cast yet. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus!" The first two spells forced Ward's shield up. "Flipendo!" His modified Knockback Jinx curved around the shield's edge, the counterclockwise twist sending it at an angle Ward hadn't anticipated. "Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous! Immobulus!" The remaining spells followed in rapid succession, six spells in under four seconds, a relentless barrage of offensive magic.

  Ward's shield held against the first two. He dodged sideways to avoid the curved trajectory of the third. Exactly what Rowan had intended. The fourth caught his left arm mid-dodge, partially paralyzing it. The fifth spell, binding ropes, wrapped around his legs while he was focused on his numb arm. And the sixth, the Freezing Charm, locked him in place, unable to move.

  "Expelliarmus!" Rowan's final spell, delivered with precision.

  Ward's wand flew from his partially-paralyzed hand.

  "Victory to Ashcroft of Hogwarts!"

  The arena absolutely erupted.

  The noise was deafening. Cheers, applause, shocked exclamations in a dozen languages. A first year had just reached the finals of an international tournament, defeating a skilled sixth year who'd been expected to potentially win the entire competition.

  Ward's bindings fell away, and he walked over, shaking his head in amazement. "That wandless counter-spell... I mix in silent casting regularly, but casting without a wand entirely is something else. I've never seen a student your age pull that off. You're something else, Ashcroft. I hope you win the whole thing."

  "Thank you. That was the hardest match I've fought."

  "I believe it. You earned this victory." Ward clapped him on the shoulder. "Go show Beaumont or whoever you face next that Hogwarts produces the best."

  The Medi-wizard approached as Rowan stepped off the platform, but Rowan shook his head. "I'm fine. Nothing connected." The Medi-wizard ran the diagnostic charm anyway, held it over Rowan's left hand for a long moment, and gave him a look that said he disagreed. "Your magical channels are strained from that wandless casting. Rest before tomorrow, or you won’t be dueling at full strength."

  "I will," Rowan said, though his mind was already turning to the finals.

  The other semifinal was still ongoing. Apolline Beaumont versus Viktor Koldovstoretz. Whoever won would face him tomorrow for the gold medal.

  The Hogwarts team mobbed him the moment he entered the corridor.

  "That was incredible!" Bones shouted over the noise of the crowd.

  "Wandless magic!" Sterling was grinning from ear to ear. "Bloody hell, Ashcroft, where did you even learn that?"

  "Professor Hecat taught me during our private sessions," Rowan admitted. "Said a duelist who can only cast with one hand is fighting at half capacity."

  "And she was right," Hecat said, appearing behind them. Her expression was proud. "You've done Hogwarts proud, Mr. Ashcroft. Win or lose tomorrow, you've already accomplished something remarkable."

  "I intend to win," Rowan said quietly.

  "I know you do." Hecat's smile was slight but genuine. "And I think you can. But first, rest. No more training today. You've depleted your magical reserves significantly. I could see it in that last chain cast. You need recovery time."

  She was right.

  Rowan could feel the exhaustion settling into his bones, his magical core feeling hollow in a way it rarely did even after his intensive practice sessions. He'd pushed himself hard in three consecutive matches, each against progressively stronger opponents.

  They returned to their quarters, where the other Hogwarts students demanded a blow-by-blow account of the match. Rowan obliged, describing Ward's tactics and his own counters, though he downplayed the wandless magic. It was a trump card he'd prefer his finals opponent not to know about in detail.

  Later that evening, the results of the other semifinal came through.

  Apolline Beaumont had defeated Viktor Koldovstoretz in a brutal match that had lasted over seven minutes. Tomorrow, Rowan would face the same Beauxbatons sixth year who'd dismissed him as a child on the first day.

  She approached him at dinner, her expression no longer condescending but wary and respectful.

  "You have surprised everyone," she said, sitting across from him uninvited. "I was wrong to mock you. You are not merely a child playing at dueling. You are a true competitor, skilled beyond your years."

  "Thank you."

  "But do not think tomorrow will be easy." Steel entered her voice, pride mixing with determination. "I have watched all your matches. I know your techniques, your chain casting, even your wandless counter-spell against Ward. And I will not make the same mistakes your previous opponents made."

  "I wouldn't expect you to," Rowan said calmly. "May the best duelist win."

  "Indeed." She stood, preparing to leave, then paused. "Whatever happens tomorrow, know that you have earned the respect of every competitor here. A first year reaching the finals... it is unheard of. You have already made history."

  After she left, Sterling whistled low. "She's scared of you. I could see it. She's trying to psych you out while also psyching herself up."

  "She should be scared," Greengrass said unexpectedly. "I've watched Beaumont's matches. She's good. Precise, controlled, powerful. But she relies on patterns, on practiced combinations. Ashcroft adapts. That's the difference."

  Rowan retired to his room early, performing his Occlumency meditation with extra care. He needed to be centered for tomorrow, focused and calm. The finals would be his greatest test yet.

  As he drifted off to sleep, he thought about how far he'd come.

  Nine months ago, he'd been a mill worker in a Muggle orphanage. Now he was competing in an international dueling championship, one match away from a gold medal.

  Tomorrow would determine whether he was truly exceptional or merely talented. Tomorrow would prove, one way or another, that a Muggleborn orphan could stand equal to anyone. Even the privileged children of ancient magical families.

  Tomorrow, he would win.