The Great Hall had been transformed for the evening, its long tables vanished to make space for the raised dueling platform at the center. Torches flickered against the damp stone walls, casting elongated shadows that danced with every movement. The enchanted ceiling above reflected the storm brewing outside—dark clouds swirled, and occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the hall in eerie bursts of silver light.

Severus stood at one end of the platform, his black robes flowing around him like ink bleeding into the air. His attire was as meticulous as always—high-collared, fitted, and unyielding, as if it were armor rather than mere fabric. The dim torchlight caught the subtle sheen of the dark buttons running down the front of his coat, emphasizing the sharp angles of his frame. His hair, long and straight, framed his face in sleek, raven-dark strands, though a few locks had fallen forward, barely grazing the curve of his cheek. He did not push them back. His obsidian eyes locked onto Thea with quiet intensity, unreadable but brimming with something dangerously precise.

Across from him, Thea stood just as poised, her stance mirroring his. The tension between them was palpable, like the charged air before a thunderclap.

"Bow," the instructor’s voice rang out, formal and steady. Neither Severus nor Thea blinked as they inclined their heads slightly, their gazes never breaking.

"On the count of three—one… two—"

Lightning flared across the enchanted ceiling, and before "three" left the instructor’s lips, sparks erupted as their spells collided mid-air, sending ripples of energy through the room. The torches flickered violently, casting erratic shadows across the crowd. A few gasps broke the silence, but neither Severus nor Thea paid them any mind.

This wasn’t just a duel—it was a test of wit, power, and control. And neither of them intended to lose.