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Chapter 31: The Cirque du Combat Dueling Workshop
🕑 Added 2025-02-23 05:30:00 +0000 UTCSeverus had thought himself prepared. He had dueled before. He had studied under Flitwick, one of the greatest duelists in Britain. He had honed his skills in secret, perfecting his spellwork through sheer will and repetition.
But the moment he stepped into the Cirque du Combat’s training hall, he realized—he had been naive. This was not Hogwarts. This was not a school-sponsored club. This was war in its purest form.
The Cirque du Combat wasn’t just a dueling club. It was New Orleans’ Premier Magical Combat Institution, as proudly declared by the massive enchanted sign above the entrance.
The workshop had been advertised as an exclusive opportunity, open to anyone who was willing to pay the steep registration fee.
Severus and his friends were not the only students who had joined. Several Ilvermorny seventh-years and some sixth-years stood to one side, stretching their limbs and talking in hushed, eager tones.
A few local wizards and witches, some older, some clearly Auror hopefuls, looked around, scanning the competition. A group of professional duelists, likely there to assist the instructors, exuded the raw confidence of people who had made a career out of magical combat.
The hall itself was unlike anything Severus had seen. The dueling platforms were massive stone slabs, etched with deep, pulsing runes—wards to contain magical backlash. The walls were covered in banners displaying the Cirque du Combat’s crest, a golden wand crossed with a rapier, symbolizing both magical and physical combat.
The air buzzed with an overwhelming magical presence—the kind that only existed in places where combat magic was constantly practiced. Severus had expected something more structured, something resembling Hogwarts’ dueling system.
He was wrong. This was bigger, rougher, and far more dangerous than anything Hogwarts had ever prepared him for.
A sharp whistle sliced through the air, cutting off murmured conversations. Instantly, the room fell into silence. Every student—every participant—turned toward the center of the hall, where a group of duelists stood waiting. These weren’t professors. These were professionals. And they radiated power.
At the forefront of the group stood a tall woman with raven-black hair, her golden-brown skin illuminated by the enchanted sconces. Her piercing dark eyes scanned the room with measured precision, taking in every participant with the same calculating intensity.
She wasn’t just in charge—she commanded the space around her, her mere presence keeping the crowd in check. Her voice carried the weight of absolute confidence when she finally spoke.
"Welcome to the Cirque du Combat Advanced Dueling Workshop," she announced, her tone sharp as steel. Severus didn’t miss the subtle way some of the older duelists straightened at her words—as if they knew exactly who she was.
“My name is Selene Marchand, and I’ll be leading this session."
Her lips curled slightly, though it held no warmth—only challenge.
“For the next three days, we will break you. If you leave standing, congratulations—you might actually learn something.” There was no humor in her tone. No encouragement. Just fact. A low ripple of anticipation spread through the students. This was real. Severus felt a thrill rush through him.
Alessandro, predictably, grinned. "I like her already."
Ben nudged him. "You would."
Severus didn’t reply. He was too busy watching. His eyes weren’t on Marchand. They were on the duelists behind her.
A massive, bald wizard with a jagged scar running from his brow to his jaw, standing with arms crossed, his sheer size alone imposing.
A lean, wiry woman holding her wand in a reverse grip, like a dagger, shifting her weight in a way that suggested lethal efficiency.
A red-haired man with glowing runic tattoos, his arms exposed, faintly pulsing with stored magic.
These weren’t theoretical academics. These were combatants. Fighters. And they were here to teach him.
Marchand didn’t waste time. She clapped once, sharp and loud.
"Form a line," she ordered. "Now."
There was no hesitation. The participants immediately shuffled into place, standing shoulder to shoulder before the instructors.
Severus felt his heartbeat steady as he took his position. Marchand paced slowly in front of them, her gaze flicking over each student like she was peeling them apart layer by layer.
"Before we begin," she said, "we need to see what we’re working with."
With a flick of her wand, dozens of small metallic targets appeared at the far end of the hall, hovering in mid-air.
"Take your dueling stance," she commanded. "Aim for the target. Fire on my mark."
The room shifted as wands were raised. Severus adjusted his grip, planting his feet into the proper dueling position—the one ingrained into him after years of British training.
He wasn’t alone. Some of the Ilvermorny students took loose, adaptable stances—fluid and mobile. A few of the older participants didn’t even use a traditional stance, keeping their weight evenly distributed. Others, like Severus, held rigid forms, the kind that screamed formal education.
Selene Marchand observed them all, taking in their forms without a word. The only sound was the low hum of magic in the air. She raised a single hand.
"Fire."
A sudden flash of light filled the room as dozens of spells shot forward at once. The metallic targets trembled, some knocked back with force, others barely grazed by weak or misaligned shots.
Severus's Stunning Spell hit dead center. Precise. Controlled. Measured. And yet—His target didn’t move as much as some of the others.
Nearby, an Ilvermorny seventh-year’s spell sent their target spinning. Another participant’s disarming spell ricocheted off their target and struck a second one nearby.
Severus felt his jaw tighten. His spell had been perfectly accurate—but it lacked the sheer force some of the others had produced. Marchand clicked her tongue. She pointed at a few of the students.
"Too slow."
A few flinched. Then, her eyes landed on Severus.
"You," she said.
Severus met her gaze.
"Technically flawless," she noted, "but too rigid. You're holding back."
He said nothing, but his grip on his wand tightened.
"British-trained?" she asked.
He gave a curt nod. "Yes."
She exhaled, unimpressed.
"Then you’re in for a long day."
Severus kept his expression blank.
"I look forward to it."
A flicker of something—approval?—crossed her face before she turned away. Marchand turned back to the room.
"Pair up," she ordered. "Let’s see how you actually fight."
The dueling floor was about to become a battlefield. And Severus was more than ready. Severus had dueled before. Many times. But never like this.
The dueling platforms were set, instructors moving among the students, pairing them up one by one. Each platform was warded for safety, though Severus doubted how much protection those spells would actually provide.
He rolled his shoulders, forcing his breathing to steady. His opponent—Daniel Cross, a sixth-year Wampus student—stood across from him.
Daniel had the build of an athlete, his stance loose and confident. There was no tension in his body, no stiffness. His wand hung at his side, casual—but Severus wasn’t fooled.
The moment the match started, that relaxed posture would shift into something ruthless. Around them, other duels had already begun.
Alessandro was up against a cocky seventh-year Thunderbird, both of them grinning as they exchanged rapid-fire hexes. Ben was facing a towering wizard who clearly didn't believe in holding back. Kiera and Evie were paired off with local duelists, their faces a mix of determination and adrenaline.
Each duel was different. Different styles. Different strategies. Different philosophies of magic. And that’s when Severus realized—British dueling was outdated.
It wasn’t that British duelists weren’t powerful. It wasn’t that they weren’t talented. It was that their style was predictable.
At Hogwarts, dueling was a choreographed dance—spell sequences, pre-planned counters, a rigid understanding of how a fight should flow. But here? Here, dueling was alive.
"Begin."
The instructor overseeing them—a burly man named Gideon Holt—raised his wand. A loud crack echoed through the air, signaling the start. Severus moved immediately, his wand slicing through the air with perfect precision.
"Expelliarmus!"
A testing shot. Fast. Direct. Daniel sidestepped, not even bothering to block it. Severus’s eyes narrowed. Then, Daniel moved. Severus barely had a second to react.
"Confringo!"
A Blasting Curse. Not full-powered, but enough to shake the wards. Severus threw up a Protego, but the impact shoved him back a step.
Not from force—from technique. Daniel didn’t cast spells like a British duelist.
He didn’t fire from a set stance—he moved. Constantly. His feet never stopped, his body twisting and shifting, his wand snapping up at angles that Severus hadn’t accounted for.
Severus tried to predict his movements. He couldn’t. British dueling relied on preparation, precision, and control.
American dueling? It thrived on unpredictability.
Daniel’s next spell came low, forcing Severus to leap sideways. Then another, cutting across at an angle Severus hadn’t expected.
"You think too much," Daniel said between spells, grinning.
Severus gritted his teeth. He was losing ground. Not because he was slower. Not because he wasn’t powerful enough. Because he was playing a different game. Daniel wasn’t dueling him. He was hunting him.
Severus inhaled sharply, his mind racing.
His training under Flitwick had made him a technically superior duelist. But technical superiority didn’t matter if your opponent never fought the way you expected them to.
"Fine."
If American dueling was about adaptation… then he would adapt. Severus stopped thinking. He moved.
Daniel fired off another spell—Severus didn’t block it. He redirected it, twisting his wand in a tight arc. Daniel’s own magic ricocheted past him, missing by inches.
For the first time, Daniel hesitated. Severus seized the moment.
"Depulso!"
A Banishing Charm. Not meant to hit Daniel—meant to shift the floor beneath him. Daniel stumbled, then Severus struck.
"Stupefy!"
The red beam flashed forward, but Daniel dropped low, his body moving like liquid, rolling away before launching his own counter-attack.
Severus pivoted mid-spell, barely dodging the blast. They were learning each other. Testing weaknesses. Exploiting them.
The duel lasted longer than the others. Long enough that other students had finished and were watching. Long enough that Severus could hear the instructors murmuring.
He wasn’t winning. But he wasn’t losing anymore, either. A loud crack split the air. Holt raised his wand, ending the match.
Daniel exhaled, rolling his shoulders. Severus forced himself to steady his breathing. Neither of them had landed a direct hit.
Daniel grinned. “That was fun.”
Severus exhaled sharply. “It was educational.”
Daniel laughed. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”
Holt, the instructor, watched Severus carefully. Then, with a smirk, he muttered, "You’ll do fine."
Severus frowned slightly but didn’t respond. Because for the first time in his life… He wasn’t the smartest person in the room. And he wasn’t sure if he liked it.
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Hey everyone,
First off, a massive THANK YOU for your incredible support! It truly means the world to me. Knowing that you're enjoying the story so far keeps me motivated to bring you more twists, turns, and surprises.
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Comments
William Ngo
I love this story it’s different
Sin_of_Sloth
I would love to see Severus with multiple love interests and traveling to Asia
Orion Chung
Well this is harem story so about 4 or 5 love interest
firerock laser
Do you plan on having him go back to Britain or get a love interest
