After a ten-minute crash course in dueling etiquette, Annabelle led Richie into Beauxbatons' Star-Wand Dueling Hall.
The arena was massive—roughly the size of the Hogwarts Great Hall. In the center sat a pristine, rectangular white stone platform representing the dueling stage, completely surrounded by three tiers of trapezoidal spectator seating.
The walls were lined with portraits of past dueling champions and runners-up. Scanning the wall, Richie immediately spotted a familiar face: Professor Flitwick.
A handful of young wizards were already inside. The second Richie walked in wearing his pitch-black Hogwarts robes, the room started buzzing.
(Spoken in French)
"He actually showed up!"
"Whoa, a Hogwarts challenger."
"Outside of the Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts students basically never come here!"
"Filius Flitwick—the guy who swept three of our dueling professors in a row—was from Hogwarts!"
"He's the Head of Ravenclaw. Look at the crest on this kid's chest—he's a Ravenclaw too!"
The students exchanged highly loaded looks.
Seeing no sign of Charleston yet, Annabelle and Richie tucked themselves into a corner to wait.
Word spread fast. More and more Beauxbatons students quickly trickled into the hall, clearly hyped to see a Hogwarts kid step up to the plate. Richie quickly noticed a massive gender disparity: out of the thirty or so students who showed up, only four were guys.
The rumors flying around eventually caught the attention of the faculty. An older, elegantly coiffed witch walked into the hall with slow, deliberate steps.
(Spoken in French)
"Oh no, the Etiquette Professor is here!"
"Stop talking!"
"Crap, she docked me five points this morning just because my robes were two inches too short!"
The students frantically smoothed out their uniforms and fell into perfect formation. The boys placed a hand over their chests and bowed, while the girls pinched the hems of their robes, stepped one foot back, and offered deep curtsies.
"Good morning, Madam Mantha."
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen."
Mantha scanned the stands with a stern, displeased expression. Just as she was about to speak, she spotted two figures standing completely still near the stage.
One adult, one child. The witch was wearing a school uniform that was clearly too tight across the chest and shoulders—obviously an alumna. But the boy? He was wearing those incredibly dreary black robes. And the crest on his chest...
Hogwarts?
Back straight and chin high, Madam Mantha slowly marched over to Annabelle and Richie.
(Spoken in French)
"Excuse me, miss. Care to explain what you are doing here with a Hogwarts student?"
Facing the intimidating older witch, Annabelle didn't bother with the formal curtsy. She just smiled easily. "It's been a while, Madam Mantha. Actually, I just brought my little brother to tour the grounds. Beauxbatons still welcomes guests, doesn't it?"
Mantha lifted her chin proudly. "Beauxbatons never shies away from the eyes of the world. We accept praise and admiration with absolute confidence."
Annabelle nodded. "Of course. Though ending up in the dueling hall wasn't exactly on the itinerary. My brother, Richie, is just here to answer a formal challenge."
"A challenge?" Mantha's brow furrowed sharply. She swept her gaze across the room, hunting for the culprit. "A guest travels all this way, and before they can even experience our hospitality, a student forces them into a duel?"
Feeling the professor's lethal glare sweep over them, the students physically recoiled. Hey, don't look at us, we're just here for the drama!
Mantha turned back to Richie, seamlessly switching to flawless English. "Guest of Hogwarts, may I have your name?"
"Richie Harland," he answered calmly.
It was obvious this professor was insanely strict—maybe even worse than McGonagall. But Richie wasn't intimidated. This was Beauxbatons, not Hogwarts. Plus, with his flawless academic record back home, he didn't really fear professors anyway.
"Mr. Harland, if you don't mind me asking... what is your relation to Filius Flitwick?"
"Professor Flitwick is my Head of House," Richie replied.
Mantha's eyebrow twitched upward, but she quickly recovered her commanding tone. "Beauxbatons deeply respects the tradition of the duel. Since you have already accepted, I will not interfere. However, once the match concludes, I will discipline the student responsible for this severe breach of etiquette."
Richie shook his head, instantly playing the victim card. "Oh, there's really no need for that. I mean, sure, I came all this way to admire your beautiful White Palace and got challenged to a fight before I even saw the castle... but Charleston Joyce was just trying to show off Beauxbatons' magical heritage. He wanted to defend your glory."
Richie paused, twisting the knife just a little deeper. "It was definitely reckless, but I'm sure his heart was in the right place..."
Mantha's face turned completely thunderous. "Charleston Joyce... I see. Rudeness is still rudeness. Rest assured, Mr. Harland. Beauxbatons will handle this appropriately."
Richie let out a highly convincing, helpless sigh. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Annabelle shooting him a deeply amused, mocking look.
Richie just shrugged. Hey, the kid started it.
Right on cue, Charleston strutted into the dueling hall, flanked by his posse.
Hyped up by his friends, Charleston had managed to scrap together some false confidence. But the absolute second he saw the massive crowd, he swallowed hard. Then, his eyes locked onto Madam Mantha standing right by the stage, and he completely froze.
He was trapped. With zero way out, he forced himself to keep walking forward.
The stands instantly erupted into frantic whispers.
(Spoken in French)
"Oh, he's here!"
"Come on, Charleston! If we can't beat Flitwick, beating his student works too!"
"Shut up, Mantha is looking right at us! Fix your posture!"
Madam Mantha narrowed her eyes, watching coldly as Charleston marched closer and closer to his own doom.