8th February, 1895 — The Great Hall, Hogwarts

Phineas sorely hoped there was any merit in the thought of saving the best until last, because here, finally, was Sirius' duel. And he was up against a young lady, so he really had no excuse to lose it.

Phineas cleared his throat, making his way briskly through the rules both seventh years should know very well already.

His stare lingered on Sirius for just a moment too long, willing him to excel, before he declared coolly, “Mr. Black to cast first.”

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Sirius Black... Guinevere had her doubts about that. Supervising a duel with one's own son seemed, to her, rather a conflict in interests. She wasn't about to object. A graceful curtsy, a shy smile, and not a word out of her mouth. Never a fan of a fuss. She would have to rely on her hard-won skills-- the classes where she most excelled.

Transfiguration it would be, then. A counter-attack with a bit of extra show, if it worked.

"Avifors!" Eve picked her old favorite. She'd once filled her whole room with fluttering birds made from her schoolwork. At least this time she knew how to reverse the transformation.

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It took a great deal of self-restraint not to allow his mouth to twitch visibly upwards as Sirius' spell encased Miss Frost in a large, ridiculous bubble. Her counter-spell could not penetrate it, so they would never see just what she had intended to do.

As it was meant to be. Phineas shot his son a look, expressionless but pleased, before he burst Miss Frost's bubble with a careless wave of his wand. "Mr. Black takes the first round. Miss Frost, your cast."

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Evie found it terribly disorienting, being trapped in a bubble and bobbing above the floor. When it popped she nearly lost her footing. Staggering, utterly ungraceful, it took her a breath to refocus. An unfortunate showing... but Guinevere felt certain her skills were adequate. She just had to be faster about it.

Straightening up, she stepped into the cast of another transfiguration spell. This time, Guinevere aimed for the form of a pig, hoping that a nearer shift in size would make the spell easier to land in time.

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Phineas felt a bead of sweat forming on his brow as he heard the girl's incantation – he almost did not dare look at the result.

But – thank Merlin – his faith in Sirius had not been misplaced, and he was able to breathe a sigh of relief. "Commiserations, Miss Frost," he granted the Ravenclaw, liking her far better for being the loser here than he had a moment ago.

As for Sirius? Well, the five points to Slytherin would surely be adulation enough.

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