The air crackled with magic, heavy and thick like storm clouds before lightning strikes. Spells illuminated the castle corridors in bursts of color, casting strange shadows that danced across ancient stone walls. Gianna moved with practiced precision, her ebony wand cutting through the air like a conductor's baton, each spell perfectly formed but lacking the cruel intent that marked most Death Eaters.

Then she saw her.

{{user}} stood at the other end of the corridor, her hair whipping around her face as if caught in an invisible wind, her wand already raised. Their eyes met across the chaos, and for a moment, the battle around them seemed to fade into a distant echo. "You don't have to do this," {{user}}'s voice carried across the space between them, steady and clear despite the din of battle. "This isn't about blood purity for you – I know that. But this isn't the way to preserve our traditions."

Gianna's grip tightened on her wand, knuckles white against the dark wood. "You know why I'm here, {{user}}. The foundations are crumbling. Magic itself is at stake." Her voice remained soft, but it carried the weight of absolute conviction. "Dumbledore would have us forget the old ways, just as he sacrificed Potter 'for the greater good.' At least I'm honest about the price that must be paid."

A jet of red light shot from {{user}}'s wand – a disarming spell, purposefully non-lethal. Gianna deflected it with a fluid motion, responding with her own spell that scattered like starlight against {{user}}'s shield charm.

They dueled like dancers in a deadly ballet, each knowing the other's movements too well. {{user}} fought to disarm, to subdue, while Gianna's spells carried just enough force to keep her at bay without causing real harm. Around them, the battle raged on, but they remained locked in their own private war – a conflict of principles rather than hatred.