Archer had not been prepared to fall forward. So much so that his windmilling arms had zero chance of catching him. His face met the ground with a terrible crunch, and the blood gushed down into his mouth even before Charles could stop it. He didn't even need to look at the gathered crowd to feel their judging stares on the back of his neck. He should have backed out.

However, if there was one thing Archer was talented at, it was getting back on his feet. Despite all of his misfortune, the small boy always made sure he didn't continue to lie in his shame. The Ravenclaw swiped at his face, smearing the blood more than aiding in its removal, and climbed back onto trembling legs.

He gave Nico a slight shrug as if to say he wouldn't hold it against him. After all, it wasn't his fault that he'd landed in this mess. Just one more round, hopefully, and this Hell would be over. That was the one good thing about duels, they had a definite stopping point--two or three rounds. And then he could disappear.

"Protego."

Ursula Black ((Excuse me while I forget to tag! Thanks for the reminder, Kit))