After weeks of preparations it was finally here, the Remembering Day duelling tournament.  All the work Paolo and Gracie had put into organising the month long event seemed to have paid off.  There was a full roster of participants, all of a high calibre which would make the matches on display full of excitement.  The venues were all sorted, as were the prizes. 

Some fixtures admittedly were more exciting than others, Gracie Slant against Elysia Hughes would pull in a big crowd, all the boys loved watching pretty girls rough it out and both Gracie and Elysia were great duellists when they tried their best.  The biggest draws however, in terms of popularity would be Pepper vs Clarencieux and Paolo’s own duel against Esther Morrell.  Not because they featured the greatest duellists, in fact there was a certain degree of disparity between the duellists that made the results easier to predict but the house rivalry between Gryfindor and Sytherin ensured that when the draw was made it was these fights that the school seemed to be discussing.

The opening match was to be held in the school grounds under the hot summer sunshine in the shadow of the great lake.  A small arena of sorts had been constructed, chalk markings mapped out the arena floor whilst standing areas for spectators were also clearly marked.  The earliest of these spectators turned out an hour before the match was to begin, some to ensure that they got a good vantage point whilst others came to drape house decorations over whatever trees and bushes they could find so as to declare their loyalties.  Silver serpent and golden lion crested banners fluttered in the cool breeze as Hogwarts awaited the first curse of the tournament. 

By the time Paolo Rossi had finished his breakfast and exited the great hall the grounds were awash with excited students.  He was not as nervous as he had thought he would be, in fact he felt relatively calm which in hindsight was probably something to do with the draw.  Sure there was a huge buzz about the house rivalries but he was fighting a fourth year, Rossi was confident in his abilities and though he probably should have respected his opponent more, he was confident of securing an early result.  Garbed in a simple white cotton shirt, black dress pants with matching shoes he gave of an air of confidence and sophistication.  The gold and red tie that swung from around his neck displayed his pride for his house and he instinctively moved to straighten it as he neared the crowds of students who had turned out to watch him.  Flashing a smile he allowed a few of his close friends to embrace him as they approached, other housemates of his offered handshakes and words of encouragement before they formed a guard of honour around him.

“You’re going to love what we’ve done for you mate.  That snakes going to know who we want to win, no mercy Rossi, no mercy my son!”  Jamie roared in his ear.  Paolo smiled, naturally, though internally he hoped Jamie hadn’t done anything stupid.  Esther Morrell was after all only a young girl; he didn’t want any offensive banners or what not upsetting her.  Rolling up the long white sleeves of his shirt Paolo prepared himself to walk on to the match floor.  There was a roar as he did so from the Gryfindors who had gathered to support him, a lions roar that seemed to drown out the hisses emanating from the Slytherins who had congregated themselves into one large throng of green and silver.  A chill went straight up and down his spine as he allowed himself to gaze around at his surroundings.  From an overhanging tree he spotted a few younger students perched atop strong branches cheering something at him, though what they had to say he could not hear.  They had brought with them a large crimson and gold banner which took all three of them to hold out.  “Hear us roar” the caption read, with a golden tiger stitched beneath it.  Other students brought scarves to wear whilst Paolo’s own friends orchestrated a group of older students in a football like sing along.

“Hello!  Hello! We’re Paolo Rossi’s boys!
Hello!  Hello!  You’ll know us by our noise!
Esther Morrell can go to hell!  Surrender or you’ll die!
For we are Paolo Rossi’s boys!”

“He’ll win when he wants!
He’ll win when he wants!
Paolo Rossi, he’ll win when he wants!”

“Tutti pazzi per Paolo Rossi!” <clap> <clap> <clap <clap> <clap> <clap> <clap> <clap> <clap>
“Tutti pazzi per Paolo Rossi!” <clap> <clap> <clap <clap> <clap> <clap> <clap> <clap> <clap>

“1, 2, 3, wands out boys!”  Together they drew their wands and fired pyro magic into the sky which exploded over the great lake to convey a motivational tifu that caused Paolo to blush from embarrassment.  It was not his name burning in gold flames that irked him but the cheesy picture of him that they had conjured along with it.  The huge photograph of Rossi smiled down at himself before pointing his finger in the real Paolo’s direction whilst giving a wink.  There were laughs, screams and girly “awwh’s” and then the sound of the choir starting up again, Jamie leading the chants with a magically enhanced voice.  They had put a lot of effort into it, for this he was thankful but he had to try and push them out of his mind as he prepared himself mentally for the duel. 

He had hoped Esther would show up first, he did not like waiting around, it gave him too much time to contemplate.  Should he look to end it quickly or was he obligated to give all these people a show?  How would Esther fight this one out?  Surely she would come here with a view to defend, perhaps try and catch him out with a quick counter curse towards the end.  She wasn’t coming here hoping for an early knockout, she wasn’t capable of that, was she? 

Reaching into his pocket he took out his wand.  It was warm to the touch, anticipating the duel no doubt.  His wand used to perform terribly dark magic, after that it had bested some of the world’s darkest wizards, now it was in the hands of a seventeen year old boy, it hadn’t known excitement like this in years.  “Don’t let me down today.”  Paolo said as he eyed it up “You stick by me and together we will perform magic they won’t believe.”  The wand began to hum in his hand approvingly.  With caster and focus ready, now all that they needed was their opponent and by the cheering of the Slytherins it looked like she was finally here.......

Game on.

Her hand was still warm, tingling from an encouraging squeeze, when she finally entered the field.

Comfortably but stylishly dressed in a simple white shirt and a black dress (-a practical pair of shorts, of course, hidden underneath it all), Esther glided onto the field, head held high with all the confidence of someone much older. Though she was only fifteen– and a fourth year, at that– she was neither worried or nervous about fighting the first match of the tournament, or facing the new president himself; she was capable, she knew, and despite the obvious disparity in experience (which had gotten more than a few raised brows, to say the least), she was sure she had a few tricks up her sleeves the sixth year wouldn’t see coming. Or, rather, expect from her.

Maybe she should have thought about what she should have expected from him and his, though.

She stilled at the awful song, slowing down to a halt as the words registered. Impassively– only a slight widening of her eyes to give her away– the Slytherin stared up at Paolo’s crowd, a cottony feeling filling her ears. Time, for a moment, seemed to slow.


And then sound rushed back in like the snap of a rubber band, and she straightened, shoulders squaring as a funny little smile slowly graced her mouth.


As the apparition in the sky dissipated, Esther inspected her nails, lips curved into a faint smirk. Both were a stark, visceral shade of red. “Tacky,” she murmured under her breath, but there was a visible note of amusement in that not-quite smile; once the Gryffindors were done with their little display, Slytherin jeered, mocking, in reply. Perhaps they weren’t as loud or egregious, but the judgmental looks and whispers threading through the stands were, perhaps, just as biting.

Because, really—who came up with a song like that, for match-up as obviously iniquitous as theirs?

The fact that some non-Slytherins– Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and even Gryffindors (she could see Lua from where she stood, sitting with the others) –had cheered upon her arrival, and again in support, rounded it out rather nicely. One Ravenclaw in particular –pink-haired, this time– was particularly vociferous in his outrage— rivaled only by the Slytherin Esther lovedliked best.

“SHOW THAT MINGY TWAT WHAT FOR, ESTHER,” they shouted, and one by one they stood in the stands, turned around and… pantsed themselves.

PA OL OR OS SI IS AN AR SE, their own spelled in bright, glittering pink– so bright, in fact, they could easily be read from down in the field, and Esther’s mouth dropped open before she surrendered to gales of laughter. “Guys,” she gasped, torn between scandal and pure, unadulterated joy, and she had to turn around, head still ducked, or laugh forever.

There was still laughter, when she faced Paolo again, laughter and cheers even louder than the that of the Gryffindor’s supporters (for the unscrupulous lot who’d shown up for her were scrambling now, to escape the staff member –members?– who’d risen from their seats to give chase), but she was calmer now, composed again, with nothing but a flush coloring her cheeks. Shoulders slanting ever so slightly as she put her weight on one foot, Esther cocked her hip, a hand propped against it as her wand twirled freely– carelessly– in her other.

She smiled at Paolo girlishly, and fell into position.

One of Four

Rossi gave little heed to Esther’s own vocal section of support though not even he could keep a cold expression of indifference upon his face when her friends unveiled the “Paolo Rossi is an arse” banner.  Smirking slightly he attempted to hide his amusement by stretching the muscles in his neck, cocking his head from side to side, allowing the girl a moment or two to bathe in the  adoration of her fans.  It was very sporting of him but in actuality Paolo was well aware that Jamie and his vile, Gryfindor driven mind was more than capable of coming up with new horrible chants that would cause even the most staunch lion to cringe with embarrassment.  A better course of action was simply not to let the snakes irk him, lest Jamie see it as a cry for help and a sign to up the ante.  Thankfully he did not have to wait long until some staff members stepped in to cool down the atmosphere.  Paolo’s orchestra was ordered to tone it down or spend the rest of the week in detention whilst Esther’s own vocal support were given similar ultimatums, some opting to flee the scene rather than face the teachers who pursued them.

Esther’s girlish smile forced another smirk from Paolo as their eyes locked.  They were not strangers; in fact Morrell was actually one of the better duellists in the club, despite her age.  Her talent made her an interesting person to talk to when time permitted so they had shared many conversations with each other in the past. Both students were also quite flirtatious so naturally they regularly bounced comments and remarks of each other in passing.  It all made for a rather amicable relationship and Paolo, despite his friend’s best efforts to alter his mind-set, was going into this match with a competitive yet entirely friendly attitude.  Beat her convincingly but don’t hurt her, he found himself thinking as their eyes locked.

Allowing his cool gaze to pass up and down her slender physique the young Gryfindor found himself unable to contain himself despite their current situation “You look nice, a pity we had to meet today like this, perhaps afterwards we can relax in the hospital wing together…..”  His smirk widened at the corners of his mouth as he allowed himself one final look up and down her physique, from the tips of her black flats to the bright red lipstick painted upon her lips.  Winking he offered some final words of encouragement “Good luck Morrell, let’s give them a show.” 

Paolo moved to roll up his sleeves as the judge for that particular match stepped into the ring and informed them of the rules.  The young boy was only half listening as he placed his golden lions head cufflinks into his trousers pocket.  He knew the rules forwards and backwards, he had made them after all and this was his tournament, well his and Gracies.  Politely he found himself bobbing his head automatically as the teacher spoke, as if to convey the impression that he was indeed listening.  In actuality he was mapping out his moves, trying to anticipate what sort of counters would work and which ones Esther would expect.  They had seen each other duel once or twice but never in a competitive environment so there was a great deal of mystery and intrigue around both fighters.  Paolo would have to learn her ways and adapt to them quickly if he was to put her down early. 

When ordered by their judge both duellists took five paces backwards, turned and bowed and just like that the match had begun to raucous applause and cheering.

Rossi’s natural instinct was to go straight for the advanced offensive magic that he prided himself on, the bleeding hex that was his signature move seemed to scream at him from the nether regions of his mind.  Whether nerves stayed his hand however he opted instead to make his first attack something simpler, something with solid foundations.  If he cast an advanced spell and fluffed it he would damage his confidence and Rossi fought his best duels when he allowed his self-belief to course through his veins.  Opting also to disregard the defensive charms he had been practicing for the weeks building up to the tournament, perhaps his first mistake of the duel, Paolo went on the offensive.  With an almost effortlessly flick of the wrist he fired of the first curse.  Esther wouldn’t have to guess what Paolo threw at her as he announced the incantation, enunciating his words with clarity and conviction “Mordeo” he cried, before the hex streamed towards her.  Ever the tactician Paolo gave Morrell no time at all to recover as he launched his real attack, a nonverbally produced burning hex whose only warning of its impending arrival was the flash of yellow light that erupted from Paolo’s wand.  The young boy’s eyes narrowed as a cold expression flashed across his features.  He was in the zone now, the crowds antics and his earlier lust completely forgotten as he bounced on the tips of his toes, craning his head this way and that to see how Esther had coped with his initial barrage.

Esther was already rocking back onto her heels– idly, even, as though she was merely waiting for a friend, or an elf –as the judge approached, hardly paying little more heed to the Gryffindor than she had already given him; their eyes might have met, yes, but anyone who knew her well could see that until the judge arrived, her mind was clearly elsewhere. Obviously, if Paolo’s smirks and easy confidence were anything to go by, he didn’t know her past their usual interactions.

She was slow to come back, to catch the cocky lilt of his words, that by the time she did – and blinked at him, automatically looking around for the soul intended for that remark because it surely couldn’t have been her – he was already wishing her well in that way of his.

She only smiled at him in return.

As the judge relayed the rules, the Slytherin took it as her turn, now, to study her competition as his eyes glazed over. Tall and fit, Paolo, she knew, wouldn’t be the type to run out of breath within a few strides, and he was notorious for preferring offense over defense. In fact, it was a preference that displayed the brunt of his personality rather sufficiently, like his penchant for labelling others by their house mascot. Good-looking and confident (one might even say to a fault), Paolo Rossi was a ‘Gryffindor’s Gryffindor’—practically a stereotype. He was bold, to be sure, and flashy, and apparently a traditionalist when it came to dueling.

(Which was a bit… odd, come to think of it. For one who was rather ‘do or die’ about the real world, one would think he’d be more practical about his approach.)

Still, it suited him, she thought, head cocked to the side and lips curved in a polite smile as the judge came to a finish. But probably not in a way he would like.

As Paolo cast, the spell loud and clear, Esther was already moving, murmuring one herself—lowly, but clearly, and in Japanese. And true to its nature, she could feel it take effect instantly, suffusing her limbs like a shock of ice cold water—lining them with faint, bluish glow. Speed buffs; she loved them, truly. (Even if they did make a mess of her hair.)

And she loved them that much more, when she caught not that telling, yellow spark, but that extra flick of his wand; you could take the sound out of the spellcasting, but not the movement. Allowing herself a split second of more amusement, Esther waited, just a hair, before clipping off a spell that engulfed her in a thick, concentrated burst of smoke–
 
Revealing a fluttering pair of trousers[1] in her place, a tidy little note of You tried! in familiar pink paint before it all caught up in flames, and then…

Confetti.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of colorful strips of paper burst into the air—sweeping into the stands, raining back into the field—some of them, inescapably, singed or aflame. People laughed, or hooted, or squealed– clapping as they did.

“Oops,” Esther cooed, reappearing some distance away to the side and batting her eyes.

1.	Bastian Desrosier’s, with Hazel’s permission. :>

Two of Four


Paolo shook his head violently as the burning hex he had cast blew up into a flaming rain of pink confetti over the crowd and the arena, small singed pieces of paper falling from his hair as he did so.  Not one to lose sight of his target, Paolo swung to his left just in time to see Esther’s crowd pleasing antics.  Eyes narrowed he knew he had been made to look a fool in the opening round and the Slytherins were thoroughly enjoying it.  It was showmanship for sure but beyond his pride she hadn’t hurt him physically, which was a blessing really because he had left himself horribly open to a counter curse and as much as the cheers for Esther irked him he much preferred them to lying face down in the grass in defeat.

A skilled duellist he knew instantaneously that Esther Morrell had cast speed buffs upon her person, clearly looking to take advantage of Paolo’s oftentimes static approach to duelling.  She was going to either try and tire him out by letting him fire of curses and dodging them before countering later in the match or she was going to go on the offensive straight away, speed being her ally, Paolo would only be able to defend himself so much before something broke through his guard.  After her earlier antics, Rossi guessed she would probably continue along the first path.  She was a clever girl, clearly, and she surely knew that even with speed buffs, Paolo’s offense was so good that even if she did hit him with curses he would hit her with something worse.  No, Esther had come here to “float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.”  The only question was, how would Paolo stop her?

The young Gryfindors thoughts seemed to speed through his mind at a million miles per hour, as Esther was still playing to the crowd, he had come up with a plan that he hoped would counter her speed and put the duel back into his hands.  Raising his wand he fired of a stream of sparks that fizzed inches past Esther colliding with several of the large oak tree on the border of the arena.  The trees gave a mighty groan, one in particular, which alarmed the Gryfindors who had made it their vantage point for the match.  When the great tree began to shake violently they bailed, landing on the ground bellow with thuds and a chorus of “Ooooo’s”.  Without any further warning the spell took effect and from the ground emerged a dozen or so thick, long roots that shot themselves towards Esther Morrell, looking to entrap her in their snare.  When they failed in their initial attempt, as Paolo was sure that they would, they would continue to pursue her wherever she fled, diving into and out of the ground as they did so, tearing up the grass, creating potholes and chasms in the arena floor wherever they appeared.  If their appearance had been enough to distract Esther, perfect, more importantly however was their effect upon the arena floor.  The way in which the roots went about their business had, as expected, created a treacherous surface that would hopefully force Esther to slow down, rendering her speed buffs of less importance, lest she overexert herself and twist, snap or break an ankle.

When he was pleased that his goals had been achieved, Rossi broke of the charm he had inflicted upon the landscape and without giving Morrell a second to catch her breath threw another curse her way.  Defence be damned Paolo was going to make that girl bleed for trying to make a fool out of him.  There was no honour in humiliating your opponent, something that the young girl clearly did not understand but she would remember this lesson that was for sure.  With the speed buffs he anticipated that she would try to dart left or right instead of relying upon her wand work and defensive charms to dodge him, why else would she have cast them?  With this in mind instead of aiming directly at Esther, Paolo took a 50-50 guess as to which way she would go and threw his curse to her left hand side “Infligo Proterex!”  The spell sprang forth from his wand instantaneously, an invisible stream whose aim was to do as much damage as possible.  Paolo would have cast it nonverbally had he been capable, alas, he was incapable of such a feat and even casting the spell had held a risk of backfiring however his wand made up for any of its casters own lapses in ability.

Indeed, why else would she dodge? It was hardly as if he had just acknowledged her skill, already.

(But then, that was the thing about staunch traditionalists; they were so quick to forget things, especially in the face of less traditional styles…)

Paolo cast, and Esther watched, standing lightly on her toes as she waited to see what he’d do next. Her eyes widened ever so slightly – lips drawing softly into a silent ‘o’ – as the tree seemed to groan, and roots surged from the ground, snaking through the dirt towards her. It was, maybe, a little unnerving. Certainly they were faster than any amount of plant growth she had ever seen.

Alas, that she was still faster.

Daintily– almost playfully– Esther ran not away from them, but towards them; as Paolo thought she wove through them, diving, ducking, swiftly turned on a heel. But instead of doing so with the distraction he’d been banking on, the agile Slytherin did it with glee. Every leap was smooth, graceful, every step –even ones ventured onto the very roots themselves– so light, so entitled it was as they were all a red carpet, one that might as well have been unrolled just for her.

She even fell into a cartwheel, much to the amusement of both friends and onlookers alike, a neat, easy thing that ended on a twirl – a dash – a hop, until she was off again, leading the roots like a string of lambs–

Until she stopped, little more than a couple of yards away, and let the roots catch up.

With a single word of Japanese, too softly uttered to be heard, six balls of fire winked into existence, hovering– dancing– around her. In that split second allowed – too faint for anyone to notice, surely, unless they were right there beside her – a bubble of—heat, maybe, formed about her, rippling, flickering, not unlike the halo of a flame.

The roots closed in, shooting towards her with a leap. And when the farthest

closest

one was just about about to kiss that invisible sheen, the fireballs burst, bleeding into it, onto it, until she was blocked from view by a swirling, tightening bud of fire–

And then, like a flower, it bloomed—unraveling all at once in another, violent burst. Roots recoiled, bark charred and blackened; those closest to her, fell away, slithering back into the dirt with a silent whimper. Scorch marks stretched across wood, dirt and grass, as though the fire had taken claws to them and dug in. Things burned.

And in the midst of it all stood Esther, poised and unharmed, balancing easily on a rocky outcrop of earth. Ashes danced about her, some of them still alight. Paolo needn’t have concerned himself about her, least of all her ankle. Not even with his second spell, which she was already countering as soon as he said ‘Infligo’.

“Relevo,”[1] she sweetly called, casting it on herself. And so when the curse hit, she merely floated away, only a few feet or so.

With the back of her hand against her forehead. And a tragic expression gracing her perfect everything, until she settled on her feet again as delicately as a princess. At which point it morphed into an amused smile, complete with a flip of her still-perfect hair and a casual inspection of her still-perfect nails.

Esther looked up from them, to Paolo, and cutely blew him a kiss.

The stands exploded into laughter—and those who hadn’t, cheered.

1.	The Featherweight Charm. Formerly Levipluma, because I hadn’t realized an incantation had already been supplied. :>

Three of Four


The orange glare from Esther’s flames reflected in Paolo’s eyes as she countered the very powerful charm that he had cast upon the tree.  His heart sank slightly as the great oak emitted one final, mighty groan before seeming to slump.  It was a terribly beautiful yet tragic moment.  The roots that had beset themselves upon Esther exploded in a violent rain of sparks, fire and tree bark, sending them spiralling, with luck would have it, towards Paolo.  With no shield charm around his person and lacking the superhuman reflexes it would have taken to avoid the debris, there was little he could do when a sharp, wooden shard flew towards him.  Turning his head swiftly whilst leaning in the opposite direction was all he could manage before he felt it scrape a long, thin, red line from his cheekbone to the bottom of his jaw.  Pain came instantly, followed by a steady stream of crimson blood that trickled slowly down his face, giving of the impression of tears.  There was a large intake of breath from his flank as his Gryfindor supporters realised that their champion was wounded, that Esther had drawn first blood.

Despite the current situation, not even Paolo could prevent a small smile from creeping across his lips as the young Slytherin girl landed with grace a few feet away from her original position.  Reaching to touch his face with his free hand he gathered up some of the blood before touching it to his tongue. It’s real, he thought to himself, before letting out a small, audible laugh that drew a few curious glances.  Placing his hand upon his hip he allowed himself to strike his own dramatic pose, closing his eyes as he emitted a long sigh.  When he opened them again Esther was blowing him a kiss, more showmanship but instead of allowing it to frustrate him, Paolo opted instead to play along.  Raising his wand he swiftly scrawled the outline of love heart before blowing it in her direction, winking as he did so.

The short lull in activity suited Rossi, whose earlier antics had begun to tire him.  The huge mental effort it had taken to cast his previous charm would make it virtually impossible to launch a second, well concentrated attack.  Though he may have disliked it, it was better to save his strength and unleash himself upon her in the final round.  Anyways, despite the crowds cheering and Esther’s uncanny ability to evade danger, Paolo had been the one taking the fight to her so in his mind he was someway ahead if the duel went to the scorecards, hopefully.

With his eyes locked upon Esther, Rossi brought his wand to his face and nonverbally healed the cut that had been inflicted upon him.  There was no way of telling if it would scar later.  Under normal circumstances Paolo was more than skilled enough to cast a strong sano charm but he was not concentrating particularly well on it at that moment.  The grip on his wand relaxed as did his shoulders as he looked to get rid of any tension in his body before his defensive flurry.  In the split second between that moment and the healing spell he had opted not to cast the protego charm.  It was a great shield but it required intricate and well-cast magic, not to mention it was a strain on him that he did not need.  If Esther attacked, Paolo would look to deflect her magic using the declino shield, it was easier to cast and although he appreciated Esthers capabilities as a witch, if she was capable of producing curses and hexes strong enough to render declino useless she probably deserved to win.

Amidst the cheering from the stands, Esther only smirked, triumphant, as Paolo blew her a kiss of his own. It had taken time, and perhaps a little more effort than she was used to (for she had never, ever used Japanese during club hours, or even outside of them, when she wasn’t with her grandfather), but having drawn the first blood… A return in showmanship was, more or less, her due; in some ways it seemed to signal an evening of grounds, of—him being brought down to her level.

If, that was to say, her level was something to be brought down to. As the last two bouts had proven.

Still, there would be no celebration – for either – until the match was well and truly over. Apparently he seemed to be wising up, and that switch in tactics had to be handled accordingly with her usual, calculated suspicion. (Even if he was a bit late to the game…)

A minor wounds charm, and then a shield—although which one, she couldn’t say; someone had howled, distractingly, “ESTHER! ESTHER!” and it had sounded like either Bastian or Connor enough that she had spared a second to glance into the stands—miraculously spotting their silly faces below the seats on the first go, but missing the phrase while she was at it. Protego or Declino, she decided, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Protego was obviously the better, stronger choice, but–

She took a gamble. “Vespula!” And a great, massive cloud surged from the tip of her wand, spilling into the air in a swarm of yellow and black, filling it with a high, vicious drone.

Wasps. A conjuring spell, it was already an advanced spell to begin with—and even more so, that their number and fierceness, their perfection, depended on skill; one was already difficult, particularly if they were large or complicated by nature, but more… This one was a source of pride, for Esther, being able to cast it perfectly. And being a physical creation, rather than inherently magical in and of themselves, there would be no deflection for this shield.

For one single, glorious moment, they all hovered before her, buzzing, waiting.

Behind them, Esther smiled. Oppugno, she pointed, and the hive attacked.

They descended on Paolo, fierce and hateful– and worse, intelligent. They weren’t a mindless swarm, but a tactical one; a direct attack would have them dispersing, evading, only to converge with ease—a less direct one, and they would thin, spread, meeting it head on like interlocking fingers before re-merging, more focused and vicious than before. Though some splintered away from the swarm – appearing at least content to hover at the periphery – they clustered around the Gryffindor, intent on all that bare, vulnerable skin.