"I've disliked you since the very first time I laid eyes on you. Later, just to keep you quiet, my father gave you one of the family's finest pure-white pocket watches. From that moment on, I despised you even more.
And now here you are — in Bulstrode Manor, in my house — provoking me and harming my servants. I don't care what my father says. Today, I will teach you a lesson."
Sean looked at Barnabas, studying the expression on his face — that smug look that pretended to be forced into action, as if he were the victim. A flicker of Snape's trademark sneer crossed Sean's face as he replied, "My dear uncle — just as you said, I didn't like you the first time we met either.
Besides, who's to say it'll be you teaching me a lesson today — and not the other way around?"
Two years ago, Sean's plan had been to buy himself four or five years — enough time to grow strong enough to protect his parents and himself, to make sure Barnabas could never harm them.
Now, two years on, standing face to face with Barnabas again, Sean knew — he was ready. He could protect himself. And maybe, just maybe, he could defeat this uncle who had once been an untouchable target.
"Miles, take your mother back," Barnabas ordered.
"You two, step away as well," Sean told the nearby wizards.
Beatrice, Miles, and the two servants hurried back, giving the corridor to Sean and Barnabas.
The instant they stepped aside, both Sean and Barnabas attacked at once — no pointless words, no pretense.
Barnabas struck first, his wand slashing through the air to unleash several deep purple arcs of magic. The curses crisscrossed the corridor like poisonous vines, snaking toward Sean.
But Sean's form blurred and vanished. He dropped low, slipping under Barnabas's first strike with uncanny speed and fluid motion. He sprang up onto the wall with one foot, flipped through the air, slapped his palm against the ceiling for balance, then dropped straight down just as another wave of dark curses sliced through where he'd been. He landed in a crouch — low, ready — and in the same heartbeat, his wand snapped forward.
"Confringo!"
It was the third-level Blasting spell he'd taken from Voldemort's soul fragment in the diary — and its power made Barnabas's eyes widen. The man barely had time to turn into a white blur and retreat down the hall.
A bright yellow flash ignited where Barnabas had just stood. The explosion tore through the corridor, the fireball expanding in both directions with a roar of scorching air and shattered stone.
If the others hadn't cleared out moments before, that single blast would have torn them apart.
Holding his wand steady, Sean watched as Barnabas — now nothing but drifting white mist — tried to slip away down the corridor. With a sharp swing of his arm, Sean unleashed a streak of bluish-white light that spread from his body along the wall like crackling frost. In the blink of an eye, it caught up with the mist Barnabas had turned into.
Suddenly, earthy stone hands shot out from the walls, the floor, even the ceiling — grasping at the swirling mist, closing around it like a living trap.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Fist after fist of solid earth slammed shut, but the mist twisted and dodged, impossibly quick. In a flash, it slipped free, swirling back into Barnabas's true form as he landed lightly, wand leveled straight at Sean.
"Die!" Barnabas hissed.
But Sean was already ahead of him. His wand snapped up —
"Expelliarmus!"
Two red jets of light collided in midair, bursting in a crackle of sparks that lit the hallway for a heartbeat.
Without pausing, Sean slashed his wand sideways. Flames burst from its tip, whirling around him and condensing into seven searing fireballs that rocketed one after another at Barnabas.
A mix of raw fire magic and crude transfiguration — Sean couldn't shape elements precisely yet, but he could condense flame into simple weapons.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The corridor shuddered with small explosions — but Barnabas met them head-on, a shimmering armor spell flickering into place to swallow the blasts harmlessly.
Seeing Barnabas shrug off the fire so easily, Sean's mind flashed — oddly — to a memory that had nothing to do with magic. He remembered his father once closing in on Barnabas, grabbing him by the throat, knocking the wand from his hand so he couldn't cast or even mutter an incantation — and then punching him until he couldn't stand. Back then, Sean had never realized how skilled Barnabas actually was.
But this fight proved something clear as day: a wizard's body was no stronger than any ordinary person's. If you could get close enough to cut their neck, twist their head, or drive a blade through their heart — they died like anyone else. Titles, fame, fear — none of it mattered if the dagger reached the flesh.
While Sean turned that over in his mind, Barnabas melted into white mist again, slipping out through the shattered window to the grounds outside the family hospital. Sean bolted after him, not bothering with any fancy flight or spells — just raw speed, muscles honed to close the gap.
Bang!
Sean landed in a crouch on the grass. His wand snapped up before his feet had fully settled — a volley of spells poured out of him like a storm, hammering toward Barnabas.
By now, Sean had measured Barnabas's strength. In raw spell power and precision, Barnabas outclassed him — but Sean's twin talents of Swift Casting and Agile Casting narrowed the gap. Blow for blow, they were evenly matched.
Barnabas swept his wand in a tight arc. A blue-white halo bloomed in front of him, catching Sean's spells and shattering them into harmless sparks.
Sean dropped low, pointing his wand to the ground — the earth churned like a rising sea. He thrust his wand forward, and waves of dirt and stone reared up like breakers, crashing toward Barnabas in thundering rolls.
But just as they reached him, the earth froze — thick roots split through the soil beneath, binding the ground tight. Sean's wave collapsed, the stone and dirt crumbling to dust at Barnabas's feet.
Barnabas didn't waste the opening. His wand whipped upward — thorny vines, thick as tree trunks, erupted from the ground and lashed toward Sean like a nest of vipers.