Debellows watched impassively, his brow furrowed, a quill raised in one hand, held against the clipboard in the other. James knew that in Debellows’ class there was no official commencement of a duel. It began when the first opponent cast their attack.
Graham struck first, sidestepping and jabbing his wand forward.
“Confringo!” he barked, his voice echoing in the tight confines of the classroom.
The blasting curse was one of Graham’s favorites, and he was particularly good at it. The bolt of sherbet-purple light lanced across the floor and struck Odin-Vann. The young professor stumbled backwards, knocked off balance. James winced, embarrassed on the professor’s behalf.
And yet Graham hadn’t scored the crippling strike that he had hoped for. Somehow, James realized, Odin-Vann had cast a repulsion charm, too late to deflect the blast completely, but just quick enough to avoid being blown completely off his feet.
The gathered students muttered, half surprised that Graham had gotten off such a strong, if predictable, opening shot, and half impressed that Odin-Vann had managed his weak parry without so much as raising his wand. It still hung at his side as he collected himself, resumed his position, and then lifted his chin toward Graham, as if challenging him to try again.
Debellows watched with no expression whatsoever. Would he call it off when it became apparent that Odin-Vann was no match for the students? James hoped so. He watched helplessly, dreading the young professor’s humiliation.
Graham bobbed on his toes and moved sideways. Always be a moving target, James thought, reciting one of Debellows’ first rules in his mind. Graham seemed to wait for Odin-Vann’s attack, watching for the first tick of the professor’s wand, preparing to predict its intent. But the professor made no move. Impatient, Graham sidestepped back the way he had come and lunged forward again.
“Petrificus Totalis!” he cried, speaking quickly but clearly. It was a bold move, and he got it off well. The spell shot across the room, illuminating the faces of the watching students, and struck Odin-Vann with a crack of magical impact.
James stiffened sympathetically, waiting to see Odin-Vann fall backwards like a statue. Instead, the professor remained upright, his eyes wide, his mouth pressed into a tight frown. His wand was raised in his hand now, but at waist level. He had deflected Graham’s spell somehow, without so much as a word.
The class muttered again, this time in hushed admiration. Nonverbal spells were impressive under any circumstance. Even Debellows only used them sparingly in dueling sessions.
Graham tried again, this time dodging right. “Expeliarmus!”
This time, Odin-Vann blocked the spell before it was halfway across the dueling floor. His defensive charm snuffed Graham’s attack with a burst of golden light.
“Expeliarmus,” Odin-Vann said, almost conversationally, repeating Graham’s own spell. Graham’s wand pinged from his still outstretched hand and twirled behind him, clattering against the door.
Graham gawped, barely comprehending how quickly and easily Odin-Vann had beaten him.
James himself could barely believe what he had seen. Even Odin-Vann looked pleasantly surprised. He glanced down at his own wand and smiled. Then, he raised it to his shoulder and bowed again to Graham.
Debellows marked on his clipboard and called, “Spirited, if predictable, Mr. Warton. Ms. Doone. Please take position and let us see if you fare any better.”
James watched as Ashley Doone faced off next against Odin-Vann. This time, the young professor parried nearly instantly, flicking his wand up even as the spells formed on Ashley’s lips, snuffing them before they crossed the dueling floor. Ashley stepped back, dazzled by her obliterated spells, and Odin-Vann edged forward to close the space.
“Ascendio,” Odin-Vann called, prodding his wand smartly toward Ashley. She lofted three feet into the air, dropping her wand as she flailed, pin-wheeling her arms.
“That will do, Ms. Doone,” Debellows announced in a monotone voice, making more marks on his clipboard. “Ms.
Fourcompass, you’re next, if you please.”
Fiona Fourcompass moved reluctantly into position as Odin-Vann lowered Ashley back to her feet, depositing her neatly alongside her classmates. Frustrated, she raked her disheveled hair out of her face with her fingers, her cheeks brick red.
As James watched, the same scenario was repeated over and over.
Student after student squared off against Odin-Vann, and he parried, blocked, and extinguished their attacks so easily that he barely seemed to be paying attention. Every time, Odin-Vann bested his opponent with a single, different attack, each more creative and obscure than the last.
Patrick McCoy he overpowered with a tickle charm. Trenton Bloch, by turning his hair into antlers. Fiera Hutchins was unfortunate enough to have her fingers transfigured into jellyworts. And Hufflepuff George Muldoon was subjected to a clown-wraith so terrifying that it left him huddled fetal at Nolan Beetlebrick’s feet.
“It’s only a wraith,” Nolan said, nudging Muldoon hard with his foot, rolling him over onto his back. “Just smoke and noise, you great baby. It’s gone already.” Millie elbowed Beetlebrick aside with a withering glance and reached to help Muldoon to his feet.
James’ own hair was still standing up at the memory of the horrible clown monstrosity, wraith or not. He turned from Millie and Muldoon to Odin-Vann, who was holding his wand thoughtfully to his chest, buffing it against his lapel.
“And with that,” Debellows announced dispiritedly, “I’m afraid we are very nearly out of time. I see we have very much to work to do, students. Very much work indeed.”
James blew out a pent-up breath, not even realizing that he’d been holding it. He had begun to dread the thought of facing off against the suddenly unbeatable Odin-Vann, but now, fortunately, it seemed that he and a remaining untouched few had been granted a reprieve.
“In fact,” Debellows called over the sudden shuffle of feet and murmuring voices, “Before we bid our thanks to Professor Odin-Vann, I’m afraid we have time for only one more duel.”
A sinking sensation came over James. Instinctively, he tried to hide behind Graham and Deirdre Finnegan.
“No good,” Graham growled, shoving James hard with his elbow. “If I have to do it, you do, too.”
Debellows swept his gaze over the class, squinting over his reading spectacles.
“You,” he called, nodding decisively. “Mr. Deedle. If you would favor us with your best game.”
James sagged in relief, exhaling another audible sigh. Across from him, Ralph was looking at Odin-Vann, hard-faced, as he said, “I’m Dolohov now, sir. I’ve decided to take my birth name.”
“Ah,” Debellows said stiffly, consulting his clipboard again with the air of a man who had difficulty remembering his students’ names under normal conditions, much less when they changed them all willy-nilly. “I shall, er, make a note of it, then. Ahem. But please, Mr. Erm.