Frédéric stood across from me, clutching his silver-hued wand as if afraid he might drop it. His face was twisted in what might have been a smirk, but it looked uncertain — as if his muscles weren't used to stretching into such an expression.
Over this time, I'd come to understand the people who had accepted me not just as a guest, but as part of the family. I'd managed to decipher the character of every inhabitant of this place, and I dared to hope I understood Frédéric as well.
He had always been tense, serious, and overly self-important, but it was a facade. He was only pretending to be that important. And there were reasons for it.
He felt the weight of responsibility toward his family. Yes, he took pride in his heritage, but the burden of constant comparison with his brilliant sister, and the expectations of his grandfather, mother, and the family as a whole, had surely been pressing down on him for years.
Unlike Céline, he was more straightforward and worse at hiding his emotions. He viewed his sister's potential engagement to me with jealous suspicion, seeing me as a threat to his own position and influence over her. At heart, he probably wasn't devoid of goodwill, common sense, or good upbringing, like Louis, for example. But he felt compelled, even to himself, to constantly prove that he was a worthy heir.
Many in our position suffer from that. I, of course, have a slightly different perspective and don't even doubt whether I'm worthy, whether I'll meet expectations, and so on. But my younger brother from my past life — where he was the sole son and heir — or Frédéric… they were examples of such self-flagellation.
And just imagine for a moment: here comes the heir of a noble family who, if one doesn't deceive oneself, is much smarter, more cunning, and more capable. He might become engaged to your sister, and considering the special treatment from your mother and grandfather, what if he replaces you by marrying your brilliant younger sister? What if he becomes the head of the family — stealing your life, your future, even your family…
It might not seem like it on the surface, but I was sure that deep down, he often compared himself to me, agonized over it, and was afraid. That's where his attitude toward me came from, right from the very first day. And all this resentment only grew stronger each day, because every day I grew closer to the other members of the Millefeuille family.
Would I steal his life like that? Unlikely. But would the cockroaches in his head stop crawling if I told him that directly? He wouldn't even take in my words right now, mired as he was in anger. Right now, he was trying to deceive himself that it wasn't so. That's why he even picked this sparring match.
Thankfully, Louis, fearing the consequences and knowing what I was capable of even in a friendly spar, insisted on strict limitations: no cutting curses, no incendiary spells, and no Dark curses.
In the end, that didn't leave much. But did I really need to use anything lethal against Frédéric? A guy who complained that Louis, due to his skill and age, pressed him too hard in training… that the training was too brutal… Weakling.
So, my victory over Frédéric was obvious to both me and Louis. But the fifteen-year-old boy before me, despite his anxieties, thought that since he was weaker than Louis due to the one-year age difference, he was equally, if not more, powerful than me.
Yet his brain consciously refused to accept the fact that a powerful wizard isn't defined by age. Louis was stronger than him not just because he was older. At the Duelling Club, I had faced off against the most talented fourth-years — kids roughly Frédéric's age — while I was only a second-year. And I performed so well that victory was almost always mine.
"Well then, Malfoy?" His voice rang with contempt. "Going to show us what British aristocrats are capable of?"
I slowly drew my wand. The familiar cold calm was even frightening. It spread through my veins like an icy drug, making the world slow down and sounds become muffled.
"Took you long enough to challenge me, Frédéric," my voice sounded cold and even. "You're right about one thing. I am the heir of the ancient and noble House of Malfoy. But you've forgotten one important detail, or perhaps you never knew it."
I paused, meeting his gaze.
"And what have I forgotten?" The boy smirked, adjusting his hair.
"I am not just a Malfoy. The blood of the darkest and most ancient house flows just as strongly within me," I pronounced, each word falling like a thrown stone. "For I am as much a Black as I am a Malfoy."
Frédéric hesitated for a moment, but apparently, he wasn't much of a history enthusiast.
"So what?!"
A snarl appeared on my face, and my eyes gleamed with malice and darkness, for I wanted to explain to this fool, even with just a few words, who the Blacks were and why the nearly extinct family still struck fear into the hearts of old aristocrats on the continent.
"One can be a powerful duelist, a battle mage, a great spell-crafter… but one must never forget that somewhere in the misty Albion exists a family for whom darkness is the mother, and death the father. Battle is their passion, and the killing field their amusement. Attack, boy!"
Frédéric actually took a step back, but he didn't hesitate for long. He jerked his wand up.
"Pulsarté!" The powerful banishing charm, familiar to me thanks to Louis, had an effect extremely similar to Depulso, but in France, they studied this particular spell. Despite its strong repelling force, the spell wasn't particularly fast compared to others in the banishing family. The bolt of magical energy flew so predictably it was almost boring. I could feel the air thicken and tremble in its path, creating ripples I sensed only through my magical awareness.
I dodged by simply turning my shoulder slightly, feeling the spell rush past my arm.
"Protego!" the boy yelled immediately, barely managing to defend against two consecutive Stunning Spells I'd launched the moment his first spell left his wand. Apparently, he hadn't expected me to react so quickly.
If the rules were simple — only disarming, stunning, various harmless jinxes, and shields — then I'd show him what silent casting was.
But Frédéric had already sent something my way. I decided to surprise him a little and simply deflected the jinx, catching it on the tip of my wand. After that, the spar took on a completely different character.
I pressed the boy with a barrage of spells. With every flick of my right wrist, another spell shot from my wand. At some point, I literally entered a state of flow, not giving him even half a second to escape his defensive stance with the simplest Flipendo.
Protego Duo was holding up against the barrage for now, but the shield was already weakening from the constant impacts. I decided to show off a little at the end. Instead of continuing to rain simple charms for a couple more seconds to secure the win, I chose to shatter the shield with a well-practiced and heavily charged Flipendo.
"Flipendo Tria!" The version amplified threefold shattered the weakened shield. All that remained of it were particles of shimmering energy that faded like sparks as they fell.
Immediately, I cast a silent Depulso and followed up with the next spell.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
Why didn't I use something else? Frédéric blocked the first spell, but unlike beam-type charms, jinxes and hexes like the one I'd used flew extremely fast. The Leg-Locker Curse grazed him — his legs buckled, making him stagger. His face contorted with fury.
"Stupefy Duo!" he shouted. The spell was aimed at my legs, so I jumped back slightly. It hit the stone surface of the platform, almost touching my shoes. It would have been better, of course, not to risk it and put up a shield, but I wanted to challenge myself and manage without one. Returning to my stance, I sent a chain of jinxes his way.
Frédéric defended himself with growing desperation. Honestly, I was toying with him by now, because I could have ended it earlier. But simply winning was too easy and pointless, and besides, we had acquired an audience — which Louis, who was watching us intently, afraid someone might get hurt, had missed.
"What's wrong, Frédéric?" I asked, gradually closing the distance. Simple dodges, feints, ducks, and spell-redirections allowed me to playfully evade and pay no mind to his attacks. "Didn't you want to put me in my place?"
"Silencio!" he shouted, but what he was hoping for was unclear, considering I wasn't even distracted by defending myself at that moment. I decided to end it now, planning to talk after the spar, not during it as I'd initially thought.
This time, the silent spell hit its mark. Frédéric's wand was torn from his hand and flew into the corner of the hall. He stood there, breathing heavily, empty-handed, humiliation in his eyes.
Céline stood in the doorway of the training hall, leaning against the frame. Her face was impassive, but interest flickered in her eyes. I winked at her in the moment, to which she smiled but soon vanished as quietly as she had appeared.
Louis spread his hands. "Well, that's that. I suppose the matter is settled."
But Frédéric didn't give up. Wandless, his face distorted with rage, he lunged at me.
That was a mistake.
I ducked under the boy's clumsy swing — he had likely never fought anyone in his life or learned to throw a proper punch. His own momentum carried him forward, while from behind, I used my wand to amplify a telekinetic shove I could manage wandlessly. It turned out to be even too powerful. Instead of just crashing heavily to the floor, he flew a good distance before scraping his face across the cold stone.
Should have held back a bit more. I'll remember for next time.
Thing is, from the start, I wanted to turn this duel into peace. I didn't want further enmity, and despite my actions during the spar, this was necessary to resolve the issue. Because, say what you will, he needed to be cooled down before we could have a constructive conversation.
First, of course, we made sure he was okay, that the blood from his nose wasn't from a broken bone. There was also a minor bruise, but it was all within the norm for such a spar. All that remained was the conversation.
I sat down next to him on the cold stone of the platform. The training hall was quiet, and even Louis wasn't there, having gone to fetch some ointments. We sat in silence for a couple of minutes before he finally broke it. That's what I'd been waiting for.
"Satisfied?" Frédéric asked hoarsely, wiping the dried blood. "Proved how worthless I am?"
I sighed, looking at my hands. "If I wanted to humiliate you, I would have ended the fight sooner. Why do you think I dragged it out?"
He turned to me sharply, his eyes full of anger. "To demonstrate your superiority!? So I could see you toying with me!? So Louis could see how good you are!?"
"To make you see reason and give you a chance," I replied quietly. "So you could see your biggest mistake in life. And you needed to feel the rhythm of the fight. Midway through, you even started adapting to my style."
Frédéric clenched his fists and looked at my face with anger, even with a sense of doom. "I don't need your condescension! You came here, trying to take… my place… Everyone's already turned away from me! Enough!"
"What place?" I interrupted. "Do you really think I want to take your family from you? Listen, Frédéric…" I began twirling my wand between my fingers. "I understand you better than you think."
He merely snorted.
"What could you possibly understand? You're strong, you speak smoothly, you became Grandfather's favorite in a month, Louis's friend, Céline spends so much time with you…"
"Do you know what it's like to be the Malfoy heir?" My voice grew heavier. "Dozens of people watch your every success and wait for you to fail every single day. Father demands obedience and worthy behavior, Mother demands impeccable manners. At school, I live in a nest of vipers ready to bite each other's heads off, and I'm trying to tame that nest in a futile attempt to preserve something childlike and human within myself! And all around, people just whisper: 'Will he manage? Is he worthy?'"
Frédéric looked at me with distrust, but at least without the hateful sneer now.
"I'm not here because I want to take your place," I continued. "I was sent here as a sign of trust and as a valuable asset. Just as your sister is being groomed for a role she might not even want."
He shook his head slowly. "You measure up… you have everything anyway. Talent, cunning, recognition…"
"And just like you, I have no choice," I finished. "We are both heirs to noble families. Expectations, traditions, our surroundings, our families press down on us. Sometimes it feels like you're just a puppet with no will, one that could be thrown away when no longer useful… but is that really true? Aren't we the future of our families?"
"But each of you is smarter, better, more talented… Céline… Louis… You…" Frédéric said softly, lowering his head.
"Céline chose her path — alchemy," I said gently. "I'm trying to master alchemy too, but I'm far from your sister's genius. On the other hand, I excel in combat; perhaps I'll make a decent duelist. And I enjoy learning spells; maybe I can become a good spell-crafter and invent something of my own. And you? What do you want, Frédéric? Not what's expected of you, but what do you want for yourself? You don't have to be talented at what Louis or Céline are good at… you need to find what you are good at."
He fell silent, and for the first time, I saw not anger in his eyes, but confusion.
"I… I don't know," he admitted quietly. "I've always tried to study what everyone else studies. I have only one path… to become a worthy head of the family. But next to Céline… next to you… I don't feel like I'm good enough."
"Stop comparing yourself to others," I said. "You are Frédéric Millefeuille. You have your own strengths. Today you lost to me in a fight, not because you're unworthy of being your family's heir, but because I've trained for years at what I'm good at. Meanwhile, in alchemy, your sister could wipe the floor with me as easily as a professional Quidditch player could with a school team player."
At my words, Frédéric let out a short laugh, but without the usual feigned arrogance and contempt. Louis, meanwhile, had returned with the ointments but froze in the doorway, seeing we were talking.
"Here's a task for you: find something you enjoy and tell me about it before I leave."
"You know," Frédéric looked up at me, "I expected anything but this. Not that you… would understand. I… I'll complete that task before you leave."
"We're not enemies, Frédéric," I stood up and offered him my hand. "Perhaps we might even become friends. If given the chance."
He looked at my hand for a moment, then slowly shook it. The handshake was firm. And the determined smile on his face made it clear the boy was serious.
Louis finally decided to intervene, approaching us. "So, made up? I brought the ointment."
Frédéric nodded, and something new was visible in his gaze. Respect, perhaps. Maybe this was the beginning of something more than just a truce. Maybe he finally saw in another person not a rival to measure up against, but someone with similar problems and fears. At least, I was prepared to pretend in his eyes that all these worries troubled me as much as they did him… or perhaps I wasn't pretending… No, impossible.