0438 Their Duel (Part-2)

The wizards fleeing the Quidditch stadium in all directions were stunned to witness the deep, inky night sky suddenly torn apart by an incredibly brilliant light, illuminating everything as bright as the most radiant summer day. Turning back in astonishment, their eyes widened in disbelief as they observed an intensely radiant sun, its surface roiling with golden flames, slowly rising above the dilapidated Quidditch pitch. This celestial anomaly emanated a heavy, oppressive aura that seemed to press down upon their very souls, making breathing difficult and movement laborious.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The thunderous sounds reverberated through the air, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Before one of the fleeing wizards stumbled and fell, the two opposing figures stood speechless.

Having made her decision, Cliodna knew there was no turning back. A look of determination flashed in her green eyes. Every writhing vine occupying the Quidditch pitch appeared to be an extension of her very limbs. Under her mental command, these massive, terrifying vines – each as thick as an ancient oak and covered in thorns sharp enough to pierce dragonhide – suddenly sprang into action with a life of their own. They simultaneously straightened their twisted trunks and, with an air of earth-shattering destruction that sent tremors through the ground, smashing towards the airborne Bryan Watson with the force of a hundred battering rams!

At that moment, Bryan resembled the legendary Phoenix from Muggle mythology reborn in its most glorious form. The Fiendfyre surrounding him had transformed into a searing inferno of terrible heat, its flames dancing in hues of red, orange, and blue that hurt the eyes to look upon directly.

Faced with the thorny vines attacking from all directions, his eyes suddenly flared with a fiery determination that matched the inferno surrounding him. The intense heat contained around his form erupted in a powerful wave, radiating outward in all directions like the blast from an exploding star.

The vines controlled by Cliodna, formidable as they were, couldn’t withstand even a moment after entering the ‘sun’s’ domain. They instantly lost their vibrant green color, scorched into nothingness faster than the eye could follow. The plant matter combusted so thoroughly that not even ashes remained behind, leaving only wisps of pungent smoke to mark their passing.

However, the ancient Druid legacy, passed down through countless generations and honed over millennia, had its own wonders to reveal. The vines sprouted again from the scarred and blackened ground, seemingly endless.

Where the ‘sun’s’ domain clashed fiercely with the ever-regenerating vines, bolts of lightning as bright as magnesium flares erupted, accompanied by incredibly powerful gusts of wind that howled like a banshee’s wail.

The ‘miracle structure’ that the Ministry of Magic had painstakingly built over half a year, pouring countless galleons and man-hours into its construction, proved tragically fragile under the onslaught of lightning, wind, and temperatures hot enough to melt stone. It collapsed piece by piece, each section giving way with a groan of twisting metal and shattering wood that added to the synergy of destruction.

The violent magical impact caused every inch of space within the stadium to shake violently. To the terrified onlookers, the Quidditch pitch became a blur of chaos, as if viewed through a veil of shimmering heat. The only clear sight amidst the turmoil was the ‘sun’ suspended high in the sky, and within it, a figure as majestic and terrible as a wrathful celestial god!

The fleeing crowd stopped in their tracks, unable to tear their eyes away from the spectacle unfolding before them. In the surrounding forest, the faint flashes of camera bulbs kept appearing as brave (or foolish) journalists attempted to capture the historic moment. Sirius and Mr. Weasley led the children away from the pitch to higher ground, constantly glancing back to ensure no one was left behind. Only when the overwhelming pressure behind them became less oppressive, allowing them to breathe more freely, did they finally stop to catch their breath.

The earth cracked inch by inch, fissures spreading like a spider’s web across the once-primeval grounds. A stray bolt of lightning, more powerful than any natural phenomenon, arced from the pitch and struck the wizards’ campsite with devastating accuracy. In an instant, as if a severe gas explosion had occurred, everything within a hundred feet of the lightning strike was torn to nothingness by the blast wave, leaving behind a smoking crater where tents and belongings had once stood.

Bill leaning against a pine tree for support, wore an expression of utter disbelief that bordered on the comical. His mouth hung open in a perfect ‘O’ of shock, but his chest wasn’t moving – he had forgotten to breathe in his astonishment. Only when his face turned an alarming shade of red did Bill come to his senses and take a few deep, shuddering breaths. Then, moving as if his neck had rusted solid, he stiffly turned his head to look at his brother Charlie, his eyes wide and questioning.

“Was that just now… Bryan Watson?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not quite sure either–” Charlie shook his head and replied sincerely, his normally ruddy face pale beneath its freckles, wearing an equally comical expression of slack-jawed amazement.

“Oh, this is nothing compared to the grand spectacles I’ve seen, glug glug–“

The amusing exchange between Charlie and Bill didn’t prompt the others to speak. They remained rooted by the Duel before them. However, an old but surprisingly lively voice that suddenly sounded behind them made Harry and his group turn their heads.

The source of the voice was an elderly man whose skin sagged and was covered with age spots and many dark brown blemishes. What was most surprising was that while everyone around was utterly shocked into silence by the duel taking place in the Quidditch pitch, this old man didn’t seem particularly surprised. He even had the presence of mind – or perhaps the ingrained habit – to take regular swigs from his bottle of rum.

Noticing the astonishment in everyone’s eyes, the old man grinned, revealing a set of surprisingly white teeth. He exhaled a pungent breath that smelled strongly of firewhisky as he chuckled, “If you had witnessed the duel of the century between Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald in Paris half a century ago, you wouldn’t be so shocked by what’s happening now. Though I must admit, this is quite a spectacle too!”

Hermione frowned, her quick mind analyzing the old man’s words even in the midst of chaos. The elderly wizard seemed a bit muddled, having just said that Professor Watson and the mysterious woman’s duel was nothing special, only to change his tune in the next breath.

“Ah, Elphias, I didn’t expect to see you here!” Sirius blinked rapidly, as if unable to believe his eyes.

“Sirius!” The old wizard called Elphias chuckled again, a sound strangely cheerful given the circumstances. “I’ve heard you’ve been proven innocent!”

“Elphias Doge, he’s a good friend of Dumbledore’s–” Sirius explained briefly to Harry, who didn’t know the old wizard and was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Then, an expression of genuine curiosity crossed Sirius’s face, momentarily replacing the worry and fear, “What brings you here, Elphias?”

“Oh, to watch the World Cup, of course!” Elphias took another hearty swig from his flask. “And then I ran into this damned terror attack. Speaking of which, I heard that young man putting on such an impressive light show is Bryan Watson. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, can’t see clearly without my spectacles. You were colleagues with him at Hogwarts, weren’t you, Sirius? Is it really him?”

“It is indeed him, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’s Head of Student Safety Office, Bryan Watson–“

“Oh, looks like Albus found himself a worthy successor!” Elphias said cheerfully.

Booom

Every second that the sun domain was maintained, magic poured out of Bryan like water from a breached dam. Even Bryan was visibly struggling to hold on after two minutes of sustained output. Beads of sweat formed on his brow only to instantly evaporate in the intense heat surrounding him. But as his piercing gaze cut through the brilliant light towards Cliodna, whose emerald hair danced wildly in the magical storm, he found that the woman’s eyes remained utterly determined, without even a hint of wavering.

This was “unscientific.”

How could a mere twenty-something-year-old witch possess such profound power? How could she stand against him without showing any signs of fatigue or strain? Confusion flashed in Bryan’s eyes, clouding his usually sharp gaze. In his dismay, he momentarily forgot that he himself was equally anomalous.

A war of attrition was definitely not what Bryan wanted or had planned for. He knew all too well that other dangers might be lurking in the darkness, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

The fierceness in Bryan’s sharp gaze intensified, his eyes narrowing to slits as he came to a decision. In the next second, the solar ring enveloping his body trembled slightly, its surface rippling like the disturbed surface of a pond. Then, gradually it began to descend towards the ruined earth below.

Hum!

The sound that emanated from the descending sun was felt more than heard, a bone-deep vibration that set teeth on edge and caused the very air to shimmer.

It was as if the sun was bathing the sea – a calamity for all living beings, the herald of an extinction-level event!

Cliodna’s expression shifted abruptly, her eyes widening in a rare display of shock—and perhaps, for the first time, fear. In her view, as Bryan Watson descended to the earth wrapped in that miniature sun, it was as if heaven and earth were shattering at that very moment. The very foundations of reality seemed to tremble, magical energy saturating the air to such a degree that it became visible as shimmering waves of heat and light.

The invisible clash of magical forces instantly intensified several times over, the pressure in the air becoming so immense that it threatened to crush anyone foolish enough to approach. The vines that had previously been able to resist the scorching heat now melted at the slightest touch, like snow meeting the full fury of a summer sun. They withered and died faster than Cliodna could regrow them, her control over the plant life faltering in the face of this overwhelming power.

Everything in sight took on a faint red hue, as if the world itself was blushing in the presence of such formidable magic. Even Cliodna’s face was flushed from the intense heat, beads of sweat forming on her brow only to evaporate instantly. Glancing at her flying hair, she saw with dismay that her once-lustrous emerald locks were turning scorched and brittle. Under the relentless baking of the scorching solar wind, the steel framework of the Quidditch pitch constantly emitted cracking sounds.

The ground itself couldn’t escape the sun’s wrath. After the seaweed-like green grass was burned to nothing in an instant, leaving not even ashes behind, layers of yellowish soil were exposed to the merciless heat. But even this was not spared. The earth itself began to melt, the soil liquefying and being stripped away by the searing magical power, layer after layer, revealing the bedrock beneath.

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