Duelling, Dealing, and Dealla closed

Even with everything happening in Dee's life - the multiple extracurricular activities she was part of, her new boyfriend, and the expectations she held herself to - Dee always found time for some solo practice.

The duelling facilities were probably one of the rooms at Hogwarts Dee had spent the most time in over the past two years, practising by herself or with her team, usually multiple times a week, several hours each time. She'd let it slack a little since the second stage, in which she had gained a spectacular victory against Hufflepuff, Dealla walking out of the duel unharmed, having dodged any and all attacks her opponents had thrown at her. They weren't yet close enough to the third stage of the duelling season that the duelling room would see its usual spike of frantic activity, students from all times trying to squeeze in as much practice as possible.

Dee was here at least twice a week anyway, once with her team, once by herself, and today was the latter.

Humming to herself, she pushed open the door to the mostly empty room, only the odd student here and there at work with the practice targets or sometimes a live partner. She did a quick scan for familiar faces but did not find any.

A fourth year here, two (probably?) second years there, and then a lone first year kid by himself. At least she assumed he was a first year, considering he seemed to be struggling with one of the first spells you learned at this school.

Stopping for a moment, Dee watched as the boy made another attempt at Tarantallegra, which again failed. His pronunciation had been fine, but the wand movement had been off, the last stroke not going where it was meant to, and Dee raised her eyebrow. It wasn't that hard a spell, honestly. He was lucky the spell had simply failed instead of doing something worse.

The kid seemed tired of failing to make his target dance, and switched to a hotter challenge, which... also failed. This time the mistake wasn't as obvious, but to Dee, the movement had felt... kind of jerky. Stiff, not flowing as it should. Her eyes trailed from the tip of his wand upward, stopping at his fingers, then his wrist. His grip felt awkward, too. This was a boy who seemed uncomfortable holding his wand, which wasn't a good baseline for casting spells.

Distracted from her original mission, Dee let her satchel drop to the ground and turned, walking towards the kid instead of her usual spot. "The wand's not gonna bite you, you know," she pointed out, approaching from behind. "Your magic might though if you keep messing up your spells. Don't set yourself on fire, please, it's very awkward to witness." She stopped near the boy, flashing him a grin, then looked at his wand grip again. "Why d'you look so uncomfortable with your wand? Did it poke you or something?"

@Hui Ming

Relevant Stats: Sta 5| Wis 8 | ArcP 7 | Acc 8 | HP: 500330

Ming flinched visibly from being called out, and barely restrained himself from reaching for the fountain pen in his pocket. Perhaps it was the most ringing damnation of magic that even now, even as he was a reasonable caster and more than half a year into Hogswarts, his instincts told him to reach for something pointy and sharp in case of danger, instead of the more obviously dangerous choice of a flamethrower and airgun all rolled into one.

With the deliberate slowness and gentle movement one might employ when faced with a particularly aggressive hound, Ming turned around to the new arrival. It was perhaps disrespectful, but it served a dual purpose: prepared him to recover from the awkward reaction to being called out, but more importantly gave him time to clamp down on his initial frustration at being called out for such a pathetic display, and. Ming could almost hear his mother’s words ringing in his ears. Failure was meant to be something private. To be acknowledged and dealt with behind closed doors. The world should only see the careless and easy successes, not the hard work and pain that went behind it.

His face carefully blank, Ming slowly turned around to face the upper year. He tilted his head, his eyes looking over the new person and evaluating them quickly.

If people were paying attention, they could tell the exact moment when recognition hit Ming. It was nothing too blatant, just a stiffening of the shoulders, a widening of his eyes. This was one Dealla Prince, the Ravenclaw dueling captain. Despite his first ‘proper’ dueling experience having come at the haves of a Ravenclaw, Ming had not quite profiled the sapphire spellcasters as deeply as he would have liked. Still, that Miss Prince was made captain over someone as obviously skilled and enthusiastic about the sport as Miss Stewart could only speak well of the Eagle Captain.

The captain would give him a grin, and immediately prove her mettle by honing in on what his exact problem was. It was unnerving to be so obvious; embarrassing to be laid so bare in but a moment of interaction. But what could he really do about it but accept it? He could barely tell her what exactly prevented his casting, when he intended it to be a secret advantage of his.

“I thank you for the concern, Captain Prince.” His tone and response were carefully measured and perfectly formal; the type of reaction one might expect at a prize-giving ceremony, not in the middle of practice. “Perhaps I shall use a different spell then, to set your mind at ease.”

He raised his wand, then to demonstrate a spell. Perhaps if he managed to successfully cast a spell in front of her, then she’d leave him alone?

“Here, watch. Flipendo!”

Reducio

Casting with Disadvantage and a -5 due to off-hand, WDC 9
2d20 [15,1]-5 = 1, Critical fail

He was careful in his enunciation, though perhaps he had spent too long with the wand movement, trying to get it exactly right. And the result was that he had only been halfway through the movement by the time he had completed the incantation. And for the first time in his life, his magic turned against him, and he felt the full force of the jinx hit him right in his middle.

Ming felt the wind knocked out of him, and stumbled a moment before catching himself. More stunned that the magic had turned against him than from the pain of the hit itself. He had not even imagined in his wildest thoughts that this could happen – magic turned against those that were careless with it. And he wasn’t exactly careless, now was he?

A blink, before he remembered why he had been trying to cast the spell in the first place and looked up at the Ravenclaw captain.

Well, he had made a total and utter baffoon out of himself, hadn’t he? All he could do was offer her a weak smile.

“So maybe my wand is not my biggest fan at the moment,” he managed. “Just a temporary setback, I assure you.”

The kid turned, slowly and with a touch of delay, and Dee could confirm she had never seen him before. Or rather, never noticed him before, that was likely the more accurate description. She was met with an expression that... didn't give her anything. Admittedly, she wasn't the best at reading emotions, and she might have been easily fooled by a fake smile, but this boy might as well have been a robot for all he gave her. Creepy child.

Her eyes trailed back down to his wand hand just in time to miss his moment of recognition; it might have provided her some amusement otherwise, but apparently he was determined to amuse her, either way. "Captain Prince?" she repeated, quirking an eyebrow, her eyes sparking with mockery. It was not the fact that he knew her name that she questioned, she went through life expecting to be recognised for her achievements, in this room especially. No, the delivery was what got her. "Don't think I've ever been addressed that formally, not even by my own duellists. Thank Merlin for it, too. Dee will do."

Concern wasn't why she'd uttered the warning, but she let him have it, watching as requested as he raised his wand again. That he didn't question a random girl stopping by to give him casting advice was another point of bemusement, she surely wouldn't have accepted a comment like that this easily, but clearly he could only profit from it.

His decision to try a knockback jinx instead seemed to have come at the exact right time, or she would have actually had to extinguish the boy. It would have been funny, although there was still enough humour in the situation for her even with that.

"Yeah, I'm completely at ease now," she replied cheerfully, reaching out a hand to steady him if necessary as he stumbled back, but he seemed to catch himself just fine by himself. Which was a good quality, getting knocked down in a duel was really not advisable.

"Gotta be quicker than that with your movement," but he probably had figured that one out himself, and it wasn't the root of the problem. He was... too careful, maybe? That was the impression she'd got. Dee herself had never been the type for textbook perfect execution. When her first duelling experience had resulted in her magic backfiring on her twice, not very different to what had happened to this first year just now, her energy hadn't gone into the movement or the incantation. True, those were part of it, and she had spent more than a few afternoons obsessively repeating the same spells. But the real point had been to forge a relationship with her wand, to get the two of them perfectly in sync. There was no space to be awkward with your wand in a duel.

"Show me your stance again," she requested, at the same time drawing her own wand and assuming position. "I think you're too tense... or rather, tense in the wrong places. The wrong kind of tension?" She frowned. "Does that make sense?"

@Hui Ming

‘Thank Merlin for it, too. Dee will do."

For all of the older Ravenclaw’s friendliness, Ming’s expression tightened in disapproval. Names and titles had meaning, and being given the right to use someone’s first name was supposed to be a demonstration of closeness and trust. Sure, Ming respected Captain Prince for her station, her dueling prowess, and her willingness to take an interest in the troubles of her underclassmen.

But did he actually trust her?

The answer to that was a clear and undisputable ‘no’.

Seeing no way out of the situation however, he nodded at the invitation to use Captain Prince’s first name. “Hui Ming, Slytherin first year.” It was a short, almost disrespectfully blunt introduction; and left every opportunity for the Ravenclaw Captain to mistake his name like so many others before her. It was petty of him, but she had been kind and polite, and the rules of politeness demanded he return the gesture. “I am happy to meet you, Dee.”

That the words with a solemnity more appropriate for a unreal than a meeting was totally missed by the bespectacled first year as he turned to make his attempt at reassuring the Captain.

Of course, the attempt failed.

Ming stumbled, not quite catching the Captain’s reaction; overwhelmed as he was by his own struggles. First had come the utter dumbfounded disbelief. Spells had never backfired on Ming when he cast them. Sure, his wand felt odd in his right hand, unfriendly and cold and unbelonging; where it had been familiar and reassuring in his left. But he had never for a moment thought that magic would turn on him like that, like some rabid dog biting the hand of its master. It was unthinkable.

Next came the shame. Not only had he failed – spectacularly – he had failed spectacularly in front of an audience. Worse, the audience was a ranking member who outranked him. Surely, she thought he was just some useless child, incapable of even the most basic things that first years should be able to do with their eyes closed.

It took several seconds for him to realize that the Eagle Captain was speaking. He had apparently missed some of what she had said.

‘--at with your movement’

Yes, he had noticed. Thank you very much

But then the rebuke was deserved, was it not? He had messed up one of the most elementary aspects of the ritual of wand-casting. He had had to time the verbal and semantic components properly. Nevermind that he was struggling against his every instinct to do it wrong. Nevermind that his want felt more like an ice stalactite than a spellcasting focus. Nevermind his excuses, he had failed.

A part of him was expecting derision and mockery. Ming himself would never be kind to someone who failed to perform the most basic motor functions that they had been training to do for almost a year. So he was surprised by the Eagle Captain’s next comment, snapping his attention to her, his expression a mixture of suspicion and hope.

He narrowed his eyes and just looked at the older student, trying to detect indications of foul intention. He found none.

Slowly, Ming nodded before moving to take position, much like he might have in fencing. He stood at ready, with his right hand stretched forward in the front (b1*) position.

Theory told him that the pronated* grip was proper for the right-handed wizard, and a supinated* grip with his left, wand arm. He held his wand on the very tips of his fingers, a compromise to himself: his instincts did not want his right hand to touch the wand at all.

Ignoring the feeling of phantom ants running up his right arm and down his spine; Ming dipped his head a little in concentration He could feel tension at his right shoulder, a manifestation of his willpower not to give in to his instincts and switch wand hands – or even to just throw down the wand.

But there was nothing to be done about that at this point. All he could do was focus. And try.

“Ready!” he declared to the Eagle Captain. Wondering if she was just going to observe him, or have him cast again.

*All references of stances make reference to this image, stolen shamelessly from ravenclawblues on ao3

"Are you?" Dee questioned, amused by the boy's reassurance that he was, apparently, happy to meet her, in a tone that conveyed close to the opposite of happiness. Truth was, she didn't really care if it was true, would even understand if it wasn't. She'd interrupted his personal practice with unsolicited advice and barely concealed (if so far friendly) mockery; if she'd been in his shoes she would likely be biting her head off by now. "Well, Hui Ming, glad to hear it." Would it have been polite to tell him that she, too, was glad to meet him? Likely, but she wasn't sure yet if it was true; and if so, she could still tell him later.

Instead she watched his demonstration with an analytical gaze, then raised an eyebrow when he didn't immediately comply with her request, instead staring at her mutely for a moment. Not the talkative kind, was he?

Snapping her fingers at him, she waved her wand hand to demonstrate what she wanted. "Go on, then?" She still half-expected him to tell her off, but instead, he nodded, then moved into position. Carefully, precisely. People could probably have used him as a model for a textbook.

There was nothing superficially wrong with his stance, she thought as she relaxed her own, then took a step to the side to get another angle. Nope, he was a textbook illustrator's dream come true, meaning he was stiff and unmoving as a mannequin, and that translated to his wand grip.

Stepping closer, she raised a hand, pressing her fingers first to the inside of his forearm, trying to determine where the tension came from, then to his shoulder. "You gotta relax a little here," she observed. "If you're too tense your movements will be jerky, also you won't be able to react quickly if someone attacks you or tries to dodge." Moving away a little, she nodded. "A lot of your movement should come from your shoulder. If you feel uncomfortable, something is wrong, and you do not look comfortable."

She resumed her stance at his side, her wand in a pronated grip although she knew none of the technical terms, body angled sideways and wand arm out in a forty-five degree angle. Demonstrating the mobility in her shoulder, she then pointed her wand at a practice target. "Incendio Duo."

Reducio

WDC 12
[d20: 20] + 10 = 30, critical success

The spell came out perfectly, grander than usual, flames shooting from her wand as if to prove her point, and she grinned in satisfaction. "See? The feel has to be right, not just the form."

Ming almost flinched as the Ravenclaw Captain came forward and ran her fingers up his hand, but he held his silence. He was not used to unexpected contact, one of the very many flaws that he needed to overcome. Soon.

Captain Prince had, of course, masterfully identified one of the major weaknesses of his current problem. He could only frown, his lips thinning in frustration. Instead of mouthing off some kind of reply though, he simply watched as the older girl cast a fire-making spell.

Except that the spell was quite a lot more potent than the ones he could cast, even with his left hand. Was the spell different, then? Or was his technique simply that flawed?

Honest helplessness warred with the instinct to hide his weakness, and the Chinese boy clearly struggled for several moments with what to do before coming to a decision. A reckless, bad decision that was like to blow up in his face.

“The feel isn’t right in the slightest.” It was a quiet admission, as if putting the thought into words was to make it final and irrefutable. He gulped, before turning his eyes back to his wand. “If I try to make it feel natural--”

Here, the Slytherin paused, easing the grip on his wand and relaxing his shoulder to demonstrate-

Clack

The sound of wood on stone. Like unexpectedly coming into contact with something red-hot, he was not even aware when his mind made the decision to let go and flinch away. Violently.

Very deliberately, he kept his eyes fixed on his wand, as the arcane stick rolled away from him.

“It fights me.” The last words were said barely above a whisper. Wands were not expected to demonstrate such behavior towards those that they chose, after all. It was shameful. More so than a thousand of the silly little things his peers engaged in everyday.

Not able to stand still and bear the weight of the words that had just left his mouth, the Slytherin instead walked over to retrieve his wand, giving him a brief respite from the truth that his wand worked for him. But didn’t.

Oblivious to the boy's unease, Dee stepped back, satisfied with both her analysis and demonstration. Smug, even, about the rare perfection of the spell, which was surely just a sign of her increasing skill rather than a wink of chance.

It was met with silence from her involuntary protégé and Dee turned towards him, an eyebrow raised. In awe at her skill, perhaps? But no, his expression seemed frustrated more than anything, although still more blank than any Dee could ever muster, and the words, when they came, seemed quiet and reluctant.

It didn't feel right, he said, which to Dee already seemed like the obvious explanation for his problems. She was about to open her mouth and say exactly that when he continued, and then proceeded to simply drop his wand.

The Ravenclaw captain blinked, then tilted her head to one side. "Well, throwing it away probably won't help," she remarked sunnily, skipping over ahead of Hui Ming to where the wand was slowly coming to a halt, and squatted down to inspect it. It was of a warm, dark brown wood that she couldn't really identify. Not cherry, probably. Average length. Seemed perfectly normal to her.

She reached for it without waiting for permission, straightened up and rolled it between her fingers. Felt normal, too. Not like hers, of course, none of that hard won familiarity, the instinctive knowledge that she could rely on her wand, that when she called her magic, it would be there to channel it. But she hadn't always had that, and she had enough spectacular failures on her record to prove it. Obsessive practice had gotten her to where she was.

Turning around, she held it out to offer it back to its owner, eyebrows still raised. "That's the wand that chose you, yes? Does it always feel... not right?" It would explain the frustration, even the reluctance to admit it, she supposed. She'd always felt a sense of betrayal when her wand had failed her, turned on her, even, but that had been only on rare occasion. The exception, not the rule. She couldn't imagine feeling like she that on a regular basis.

A blink, the slightest twitch of his eye at the bright rebuke. He braced for the laughter and the ridicule, but it never came. Instead, the Ravenclaw captain studied his wand.

In any other circumstance, he might bristle at the presumption. Wands were the instrument through which people manifested their magic, and the focus felt personal; intimate in a way that he could not easily find an easy analogy for.

He considered his wand as the older duellist held it out for him. Walnut, 27.5 inches. The hardwood bark a dark pattern, and was polished to a bright sheen; almost as if it was new. He considered for a moment what conclusions Captain Pr- Dealla might draw from handling his wand. Did it thrum with quiet power for her, the way it did in his left hand: Quiet and assured of its own adequacy, satisfied to stay muted until the exact right moment to let loose? Or did it feel closer to how it felt in his right: vindictive and wrathful, like he had plunged his hand into a swarm of ants that would march up his arm with a vengeance? Or perhaps it felt just like a lump of wood, as lifeless as through the gentle thrum of the snallygaster heartstring was not present?

Belatedly, the Slytherin boy realized that he had been asked a question. And one that he didn’t quite have an answer for.

“I-” Visible hesitation, as the boy absently bit the corner of his lips in thought. “When I had gone to purchase a wand, I was told that this wand chose me. I don’t suppose I would know if it hadn’t.”

Slowly, the first year went to retrieve his wand, catching himself in the last moment and extending his right arm for the wand instead of his natural left.

“If you had been given a neutral wand in your first year instead and told it was a match, would you be able to tell the difference?”

Dee frowned at the odd question, tilting her head as she considered it. How could you... not know? Not be sure? "Didn't they have you try several wands?" she asked. That's how it'd been for her; the first one hadn't been a match. It hadn't been terrible, nothing had exploded, just... entirely unremarkable. The second try had been worse rather than better, feeling cold and unfriendly in her grip, and she hadn't had to be told to put that one back. She wouldn't have wanted it even if she'd been told that was the one. There'd been more, but when she'd finally touched this one, she'd known immediately.

Even still, if somehow, magically, the first wand she'd ever touched had been hers, if she hadn't nicked her parents' wands now and then as a child, she'd touched other wands since. This kid's was just one of them. Then, at the latest, the difference would have been clear. Holding Hui Ming's wand in comparison to her own was like night and day; and it wasn't just because of the work she'd put into the relationship with her cherry wood phoenix core 'quite rigid' wand.

"I mean, there must be something off if you constantly feel like it's fighting you," she finally remarked, frown deepening. "I've never heard of anyone who had that problem." Surely, if one of her duellists had been struggling with anything like that, she'd know. Automatically, her fingers slid to her own wand, rolling the warm wood between her fingers in an unconscious motion.

A thought occurred, and she raised an eyebrow. "Did it feel not right when you first got it? Didn't you wonder why the wand you got would feel wrong in your hand?" It seemed like something to question, at least; she would have. Next step, of course, was problem fixing. "Have you tried anything to make it better?"

Dee paused, hesitating, then shrugged. It seemed only logical to suggest. "Wanna hold mine, for comparison?"

@Fang Hui-Ming