A pure-blood duel demanded a just cause, its ancient magic unforgiving.
Legend held that Salazar Slytherin created the ritual to settle disputes among Hogwarts' pure-bloods, weaving a spell that rejected unworthy grievances.
Without a compelling reason, the duel's magic would falter, rendering the challenge void.
Sean had found few causes worthy of such a duel—until Malfoy's betrayal.
Salazar Slytherin prized pure-bloods for their honor and virtue, traits he believed stemmed from their privileged education in a medieval world where Muggles were often unlettered and coarse.
Yet, a millennium later, Slytherin's house had drifted from his ideals, and Malfoy's actions epitomized that fall.
Malfoy's ploy—challenging Harry to a duel, then snitching to Filch—was a coward's gambit, a disgrace to Slytherin's legacy and pure-blood pride.
No one would rebuke Draco, but Sean dared to.
This duel would not only shame Malfoy but also test how far his distant grandfather, Gideon Bulstrode, would back his ambition.
Sean's resolve hardened.
He returned to his potions book in the library, its pages glowing under the lamplight.
That evening, he grabbed a quick meal in the Great Hall, then studied until the library closed, his fervor earning glances from fifth- and seventh-years.
Clad in Slytherin green, he was no Ravenclaw, yet his dedication rivaled theirs.
Back in the Slytherin common room, the emerald lake's glow cast eerie shadows.
Malfoy lounged near the fireplace, boasting to Crabbe and Goyle about Harry's impending expulsion.
Sean dropped his books in his dorm, rested briefly, then grabbed his ebony-and-phoenix-feather wand and strode to the common room.
His presence—rare outside his rigid study schedule—drew eyes.
Slytherins, used to Sean's quiet diligence, whispered as he marched toward Malfoy.
Some looked worried, others gleeful, most just eager for a spectacle.
Malfoy froze, a flicker of panic crossing his face before he forced a sneer. "Why, are you standing up for your good friend, the savior Harry Potter?"
The jab was sharp, revealing Malfoy's cunning—he knew Sean's ties to Harry could taint his Slytherin standing.
But Sean was unfazed. "Harry and I are friends," he said, voice steady. "If you'd faced him in a fair duel, even if he lost or got expelled, I'd say nothing. I'm here because you've shamed Slytherin. As a pure-blood, you challenged a Gryffindor, then fled and set Filch on him. That's not just cowardice—it's unworthy of our house. You've insulted Slytherin's honor and pure-blood pride, Malfoy. I challenge you to a pure-blood duel. If you refuse, leave Slytherin."
A gasp rippled through the room.
A pure-blood duel? Against Draco Malfoy, heir to the wealthiest pure-blood family?
Sean's words struck deep.
Many agreed—Malfoy's trick was vile, a stain on Slytherin's name—but none dared challenge him.
The Malfoy name carried weight, and Draco was its sole heir.
To cross him was to cross a dynasty.
Yet Sean stood firm, his wand hand steady, eyes locked on Malfoy's paling face.
Malfoy's bravado crumbled, but he couldn't back down—not with his family's honor at stake.
He'd tricked Harry, but a pure-blood duel was sacred.
And he didn't believe he'd lose.
He'd seen Sean's duel with Jason, chalking the win to a lucky Thorn Curse.
With caution, he, a Malfoy bred for magic, could crush this son of 'Squibs'.
"You want a pure-blood duel?" Malfoy sneered. "I accept. I'll show you a Squib's spawn can't match a Malfoy!"
"Here, then," Sean said. "No need for another venue."
"As you wish!"
The crowd scattered, forming a wide circle.
Sean and Malfoy faced off, wands raised, the common room's green light glinting off their polished wood.
Sean's ebony wand pulsed warmly, its phoenix core thrumming with readiness.
No referee stepped forward—the duel's magic needed none.
Malfoy struck first. "Densaugeo!"
A pale beam shot from his wand, aiming to swell Sean's teeth and garble his spellcasting—a clever opening.
But Sean was no novice. "Protego!"
A shimmering shield flared, deflecting the hex with a faint hum.
Sean flicked his wand, and nearby tables and chairs rose, propelled by Wingardium Leviosa.
They hurtled toward Malfoy, who snarled, "Finite!"
The furniture crashed aside, but Sean was ready.
"Thorns!"
Vines, sharp with thorns, erupted from his wand, snaking toward Malfoy, their tips glinting with menace.
Malfoy was ready for Sean's Thorns.
As the spell surged, he dove behind a table, wand flashing. "Petrificus Totalus!"
The petrification charm streaked toward Sean, but its aim was sloppy in Malfoy's haste.
Sean sidestepped, the spell grazing past, crackling against the stone wall.
Thorns hit the table, not shattering it but sprouting thorny vines that writhed across its surface, snaking outward.
Malfoy, realizing too late, found the vines coiling around his arms, their barbs biting into his robes.
Sean's eyes gleamed—he hadn't known Thorns could work this way.
Even missing its target, the spell spawned vines on contact, expanding its utility.
He recalled how spells evolved with mastery: a Patronus could carry messages, or, in Dumbledore's hands, form barriers.
Protego, too, could deflect minor hexes effortlessly with practice.
Thorns, a Bulstrode family secret, held untapped potential Sean was only beginning to grasp.
Malfoy tore free, his robes ripping, blood welling from thorn scratches.
Furious, he unleashed a barrage of hexes, wand slashing wildly.
Sean stood firm, Protego flaring blue-white.
Each hex sparked against his shield, ripples dissolving the onslaught.
Spotting an opening, Sean flicked his wand.
Tables and chairs soared—Wingardium Leviosa—crashing toward Malfoy, while the common room's carpet whipped up, aiming to smother him.
"Sean Bulstrode! Don't you have any new tactics?" Malfoy sneered, dodging the carpet and blasting the furniture with "Finite!"
Splinters and fabric rained down, his smirk triumphant.
But Sean was gone.
Malfoy spun, searching, when a hand clamped his shoulder.
He raised his wand, spell on his lips, but Sean's other hand gripped his throat, squeezing.
Malfoy's incantation choked off, his eyes wide with panic.
Sean didn't hesitate.
He drove his knee into Malfoy's stomach, eliciting a whimper, then smashed his fist into Malfoy's face.
Blood sprayed, Malfoy's nose breaking—again—tears mixing with crimson as teeth clattered to the floor.
Releasing him, Sean watched Malfoy collapse, unconscious.
He kicked Malfoy's wand away, ensuring no counterattack.
Jason's sneak attack in their duel had taught him: disarm the enemy completely.
[Win the duel and randomly select an ability of the duel opponent. ]
[Drawing...]
[Drawing completed, obtained: Petrificus Totalus LV1]
A faint pulse of magic hummed within him.
He sensed a new clarity with Petrificus Totalus, his practice merging with Malfoy's technique, boosting his skill.
The gain was modest but welcome.
Sean didn't linger.
Crabbe and Goyle, gaping, scrambled to haul Malfoy to the hospital wing, muttering about a "failed spell experiment."
Sean returned to his dorm, the common room's stunned silence trailing him.
----------------------------
Back in his room, Sean sat at his desk and continued to study the Potions book borrowed from the library, while Slytherin was shaken again because of Sean's affairs.
The duel's ripples spread fast.
Samuel and Irina, fifth-year prefects, caught the news fresh from OWL prep.
Stepping into the common room, they faced a torrent of whispers.
"This Sean, he's really…" Samuel trailed off, shaken.
Irina frowned, assessing. "Do you think the Malfoys will step in?"
Samuel nodded grimly. "I've heard Lucius dotes on Draco. Other families might let it slide, but Lucius? He'll act. Sean didn't just win—he humiliated Draco. The injuries are treatable, but the shame stings."
"So what do we do?" Samuel asked. "Sean's stirring up storms."
Irina paused, calculating. "We stay out of it for now. Sean's a Bulstrode, Squib parents or not. His blood ties him to Gideon's line. Let's see how the Bulstrodes respond. Our families have no ties to the Malfoys. If Hogwarts holds firm, we carry on. If not, we'll decide then."
"Agreed," Samuel said, relieved.
The duel's shockwave wasn't confined to Slytherin.
That night, Lucius Malfoy, pale with fury, stormed to Hogwarts.
In the hospital wing, he found Draco—bandaged, nose reset, pride shattered.
His rage carried him to Dumbledore's office, where he found not just the Headmaster but Snape, his old friend, waiting.
"Dumbledore, I demand an explanation—a reckoning," Lucius said, voice icy. He turned to Snape, temper softening slightly. "Severus, our families have always been close. You bear some responsibility here."