Sebastian Sallow approached Rowan in the library the day before dueling club resumed, dropping into the seat across from him without invitation.

  "You made finals," Sebastian said, leaning back with arms crossed. "Then spent months in France learning alchemy instead of dueling. Hope you haven't gotten soft."

  Rowan looked up from his notes. "What makes you think I would?"

  "Just saying. Alchemy's not exactly combat training." Sebastian's expression was competitive but not hostile, almost eager. "I've been practicing all summer. A lot. I want that rematch, and this time I'm ready for your curved spells."

  "Looking forward to it."

  Sebastian stood, gathering his books. "Good. See you at practice tomorrow, Ashcroft. Don't hold back."

  After he left, Iris appeared from behind a bookshelf where she'd apparently been studying.

  "He's... competitive."

  "So am I," Rowan said, already returning to his notes.

  That confidence felt justified when Tuesday evening arrived.

  The dueling club room on the seventh floor was exactly as Rowan remembered. A large space with padded floors, practice dummies along the walls, and a raised dueling platform in the center. About thirty students had gathered, ranging from third-years to seventh-years.

  Professor Hecat stood beside the platform, watching students file in. Her eyes found Rowan immediately, and she nodded acknowledgment.

  "Welcome back," Hecat said once everyone had assembled. "For those who are new or returning after summer, the rules remain the same. Respect your opponents. No permanent harm. Listen to instruction. And push yourselves. Crossed Wands exists to make you better, not comfortable."

  She gestured to the platform. "We'll start with assessment duels. I want to see where everyone stands after summer. Volunteers?"

  Several hands went up. Hecat paired students off. A fourth-year against a fifth-year, both competent but not exceptional. The match was solid but predictable. Standard shield charms, basic offensive spells, nothing creative.

  After three more matches of similar quality, Sebastian raised his hand.

  "I'll go, Professor."

  "Against?"

  Sebastian looked directly at Rowan. "Ashcroft, if he's willing."

  Every eye in the room turned to Rowan.

  "Come on then," Hecat said. "Let's see what our tournament finalist can do."

  "Standard rules," Hecat said. "First to disarm or incapacitate. Begin."

  Sebastian moved first. "Stupefy!" The red bolt lanced toward Rowan's chest. "Expelliarmus!" A Disarming Charm followed immediately, aimed slightly left.

  Rowan sidestepped the Stunner. "Protego!" His shield deflected the Disarmer. He countered fast. "Stupefy!" with the counterclockwise wrist twist that made the spell curve. Sebastian dodged right, directly into Rowan's follow-up. "Flipendo!" The Knockback Jinx caught Sebastian in the shoulder, sending him stumbling backward.

  Sebastian recovered quickly. "Stupefy! Locomotor Mortis! Expelliarmus!"

  Rowan had fought better chains in the tournament. "Protego!" blocked the Stunner. He dodged the Leg-Locker. The Disarming Charm went wide.

  His counter was faster and more complex. "Stupefy!" curved left while "Flipendo!" came straight. Sebastian's shield caught the Stunner but the Knockback forced him right. "Petrificus Totalus!" Rowan's curved trajectory sent the Body-Bind into Sebastian's now-exposed side, striking his wand arm. "Impedimenta!" hit before Sebastian could recover.

  Sebastian's movements slowed to a crawl.

  "Expelliarmus."

  Sebastian's wand flew from his sluggish grip.

  The room was silent for a moment. Then scattered applause.

  Sebastian freed himself from the jinxes and retrieved his wand, breathing hard but grinning. "You got better over summer."

  "So did you. That opening combination was solid."

  "Not solid enough, apparently." Sebastian stepped off the platform, and Hecat gestured for the next pair.

  Rowan faced three more opponents that evening. A fifth-year Slytherin who relied too heavily on offensive magic. A sixth-year Ravenclaw with excellent shield work but predictable counters. A seventh-year Hufflepuff who was competent but lacked speed.

  Rowan won all three matches.

  It wasn't even particularly difficult. The tournament had forced him to develop strategies against stronger, faster, more experienced opponents. These duels felt almost routine by comparison.

  By the end of the evening, the other students were watching him with wariness. He'd just demonstrated that his tournament victory wasn't luck.

  "Excellent work, everyone," Hecat said as club concluded. "Ashcroft, stay behind for a moment."

  The other students filed out. Sebastian gave Rowan a questioning look, but he shook his head. He'd explain later.

  When they were alone, Hecat approached the platform where Rowan waited.

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  "You decimated them," she said bluntly.

  "I could have done better."

  "You outclassed seventh-years as a second-year. That's exceptional." Hecat climbed onto the platform across from him. "Which presents a problem. Dueling club is meant to challenge students, help them improve. You need opponents who can actually push you."

  "I'm learning from watching others."

  "That only takes you so far. You need people who can beat you." She drew her wand. "So I'm going to duel you myself. Give you a proper measure of where you actually stand."

  Rowan's pulse quickened. Professor Hecat was a former professional duelist. She'd trained him privately, yes, but they'd never actually dueled.

  "Standard rules?" he asked.

  "Standard rules. Don't hold back. I certainly won't." She settled into a ready stance. "Begin when you're prepared."

  Rowan didn't waste time. "Velocitas." His movements accelerated, reactions quickening. Then "Mens Acuta." The mental enhancement settled over him, the world sharpening into crystalline focus.

  He opened with his fastest combination, the one that had won him matches in the tournament. “Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Flipendo!" The curved Knockback Jinx followed the Disarmer. "Petrificus Totalus!" All in under two seconds with Velocitas active.

  Hecat's shield absorbed the first two, deflected the third, and she simply stepped aside from the fourth, her movements economical and precise despite his enhanced speed. Her counter was instantaneous.

  Three spells Rowan had never seen before, all cast without a word. He'd faced silent casting from upper-years often enough, but Hecat's were different. Full strength. No loss of power at all. The pattern gave him no time to respond even with Mens Acuta's enhanced perception. He managed to raise a shield, but whatever Hecat's first spell was, it shattered his Protego like glass.

  The second spell, some kind of binding charm, wrapped around his legs. The third struck his chest, and suddenly he couldn't move at all. Couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.

  His wand was still in his hand, but his fingers wouldn't respond. The enhancements were still active. He could feel them, could perceive everything with perfect clarity. But it didn't matter when he was completely immobilized.

  Hecat flicked her wand and the spell released. Rowan gasped, stumbling.

  The entire exchange had taken maybe seven seconds.

  "Again," Hecat said.

  This time Rowan tried a different approach. "Protego!" A spherical shield to buy time, sustained with every bit of focus Mens Acuta provided. Then he launched the modified curse pattern that had worked against Apolline Beaumont. "Stupefy!" curved left while "Flipendo!" came from the right, his Velocitas-enhanced speed making the combination nearly simultaneous.

  Hecat walked through his defenses like they weren't there. A spell that made his shield evaporate despite his enhanced focus. Another that seemed to pull his wand hand off-target even with his improved reactions. A third that hit him before he even saw it cast.

  He was frozen again. Helpless. The enhancements still active but useless.

  She released him.

  "Third time," Hecat said calmly.

  Rowan tried everything. Speed casting enhanced by Velocitas. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Flipendo! Impedimenta!" His Mens Acuta-sharpened perception tracked every angle, but every spell was vocalized, every incantation a tell that Hecat could read. Nothing worked. Hecat anticipated every strategy, countered every combination, and ended each exchange in under ten seconds regardless of his enhancements.

  After the fifth attempt, Rowan was breathing hard, his magical reserves depleted from maintaining both spells throughout multiple duels. Hecat looked barely winded.

  "That's enough," she said, lowering her wand. "Sit."

  Rowan sat on the edge of the platform, his pride bruised but his mind racing with analysis.

  "You're incredibly skilled for a twelve-year-old," Hecat said, sitting beside him. "The best I've ever trained at your age. Your silver medal was earned through genuine excellence. Those enhancement spells of yours are impressive. Most adult wizards can't maintain even one for more than a few seconds in combat, and you kept both active throughout five duels."

  She paused, letting that sink in.

  "But there's still a fundamental difference between you and a fully-trained adult witch or wizard. You felt it, didn't you? Even with your enhancements, you couldn't match what I was doing."

  "Magical power," Rowan said. "And your silent casting. Every spell I threw announced itself. You could read everything coming."

  "Both," Hecat agreed. "Your core is still developing. Won't reach full capacity until you're seventeen or eighteen. And you already know the problem with silent casting at your age. The power loss. For now, vocalizing is the right choice." She paused. "But it does mean I can read your every move."

  "Am I always going to be at that disadvantage?" he asked. "Until I'm older?"

  "Against opponents like me? Yes. Against most adult wizards?" Hecat considered. "Most adult wizards are mediocre duelists. You could beat them now through superior technique. Against trained adults, skilled adults, adults who know what they're doing. You'll struggle until your magical core finishes developing."

  She stood, offering him a hand up.

  "You're exceptional, Rowan. You need to understand your limits. Overconfidence against the wrong opponent could get you killed."

  "I understand, Professor."

  "Good. I'll continue training you privately, and you're welcome at dueling club. I'll start participating in your matches occasionally to keep you sharp. You need opponents who can actually challenge you."

  After Hecat dismissed him, Rowan made his way back to Ravenclaw Tower slowly, his mind working through the problem.

  He'd known, intellectually, that adult wizards were stronger. Experiencing it directly, Hecat dismantling his best techniques in seconds, was different. His magical core wouldn't reach full strength for years. Maybe there was another way.

  When he reached the common room, it was nearly empty. Iris looked up from her homework.

  "How did it go?"

  "She destroyed me. Five times in a row."

  "Ah." Iris set down her quill. "And now you're spiraling."

  "I'm thinking."

  "That's what spiraling sounds like when you do it." She closed her book. "Rowan, you spent a week trying to relax. Flying. Playing cards. Being our age. One bad duel and you're already planning something."

  Rowan sat down across from her. She was right. The Flamels had told him. Build a life, not only a mission.

  Hecat had just made all his training look like nothing.

  "I know," he said quietly. "I know I'm doing it again. Obsessing. Looking for ways to get stronger faster."

  "And?"

  "And the Flamels have centuries. I don't." He met her eyes. "They're right about balance, about pacing yourself. But they're also immortal."

  Iris studied him for a long moment. "You're going to do something reckless."

  "I'm going to research first."

  "Research that leads to reckless things." She sighed. "Promise me something. Whatever you find, whatever you're planning. Tell me before you do it. Let me try to talk you out of it."

  "I promise."

  She gathered her books. "I'm going to bed. Try not to stay up all night reading about dangerous rituals."

  After she left, Rowan sat alone in the common room, staring at the fire.

  The week of balance had been good. Flying with friends, wasting afternoons by the lake, playing cards in the evening. The Flamels were right about building a life alongside the work.

  Then Hecat had shown him what a year of training looked like against real strength. She'd dismantled his best techniques in seconds. Made his silver medal feel small.

  His magical core wouldn't reach full capacity until he was seventeen or eighteen. Five more years of being fundamentally weaker than trained adult wizards. Five years of being vulnerable.

  There had to be another way. Some method, some technique the modern wizarding world had forgotten or dismissed. Ancient rituals, accelerated development, something that could close the gap faster than natural growth.

  He wouldn't do anything reckless. Not immediately. But he could research. Understand what was possible.

  And he knew exactly where to start looking.