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Perhaps this was Arkham Academy of Magic's final moment of glory. Though it no longer existed in this world, the students who had once walked its halls ensured that its name was remembered once more.
And not just in some obscure corner of Europe—no, Arkham's name was now being uttered in the grand arena of the Young Wizards' Duel Tournament, a stage broadcast live to thousands of spectators.
While the elimination rounds hadn't garnered much attention—most people were more interested in the real finals beginning tomorrow, where the twelve remaining competitors would be recognized as the most talented young wizards of their generation—what was happening now on the battlefield had seized everyone's focus.
A performance bathed in crimson. A desperate struggle. A clown whose ridiculous antics should have been laughable but instead left an unforgettable impression.
On the shattered, blood-red carpet of the dueling stage, a grand, twisted, and unsettling performance was reaching its climax. The spectacle was both terrifying and absurd, making spectators shiver even as they chuckled involuntarily.
Arthur's new ability—his human Animagus transformation—was vastly different from the usual kind. Unlike others who required a completed second-stage transformation or an artifact like the Philosopher's Stone to enhance their abilities, Arthur's clown form retained all of his spellcasting prowess, along with some unexpected and bizarre new talents.
He could conjure invisible threads, allowing him to move swiftly through the air, bind his opponents like puppets, or even manipulate their bodies as if they were marionettes.
Like a magician's sleight of hand, he could create perfect decoys, leaving his foes bewildered—was the grinning clown before them real or fake? Pop his balloon-like duplicate, and you might be showered in harmless confetti… or find yourself at the mercy of a hidden, ignited explosive.
Even his mastery of the Disillusionment Charm had seemingly fused with his being. Without keen observation or an enchanted eye that could pierce illusions, one could easily become nothing more than a toy in his deranged performance.
But against an opponent whose skin couldn't be pierced by blades, who remained unfazed by spells, who could see through invisibility and magic itself, and who possessed strength so overwhelming that even severed threads couldn't budge a single one of his fingers—
Harry's greatest kindness was allowing Arthur to finish his grand performance, to let him display his brilliance before the eyes of thousands, completely unrestrained.
But the final victory?
"Sorry," Harry thought. "That's not something I can concede."
"I Did My Best."
Arthur Phoenix once again stood before Harry, his breath unsteady. Sweat trickled down his forehead but did not smudge his face paint. Or perhaps… that wasn't face paint at all, but simply the true appearance of the clown.
"Hoo~" With a long exhale that carried both exhaustion and relief, Arthur's upturned lips no longer bore the exaggerated grin of a jester but rather a small, satisfied smile.
"But I'm afraid," he murmured, "I was never meant to be an ideal audience member."
Then, with a dramatic flourish, he bowed deeply. "But you," Arthur declared, "are the best scene partner I've ever had, my friend."
He straightened and looked around at the vast stands filled with spectators. A chuckle escaped his lips.
"I lacked the skill to make you laugh, but I'm sure the audience enjoyed the show."
Lifting his gaze to the crowd, he continued, "My dream was to perform on a stage bathed in light. I never wanted to be a clown cast aside by a circus, left to rot in some dark alley. Even if my jokes are cold, even if I fail to bring joy, at least… I can still deliver a good scare."
Arthur turned toward the referee, raised his right hand, and, with a smile, declared, "I forfeit."
From the very beginning, this had never been a fair fight. But then again, life had never promised fairness, let alone a mere competition.
With Arthur's surrender, the referee announced the end of the match. However, as Arthur stepped off the stage, Harry called out to him.
"What Will You Do Next?"
To be honest, Arthur had performed remarkably well. Compared to the other competitors from the European division, his strength was second only to Harry's. Especially now, with his mastery of the humanoid clown Animagus form, most opponents would have stood no chance against him.
His unpredictable Transfiguration techniques, his seamless illusions, and his ability to vanish at will—paired with his arsenal of hidden daggers and wand-concealed blades—made his fighting style both eerie and lethal.
"Maybe I'll get a job offer from a circus?" Arthur mused, his demeanor shifting the moment he shed his clown persona. The manic energy was gone, leaving behind a somewhat reserved young man.
"Do I have a bit of fame now?" he asked hesitantly, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.
"But Maybe You Belong Somewhere Else."
"Where?" Arthur asked, intrigued.
"A place where you dance on the edge of a blade, where you walk the line between death and shadow. There may be no audience cheering for you there, but what you will gain is recognition, respect, and the true honor of a warrior."
"The Abyssal Battlefield. That's where I'll be heading soon—alongside my comrades."
Arthur's expression grew serious. He nodded. "I know that place. My teacher once told me about it. But he never went there, and I never had the chance either."
"I heard you need to pass some kind of screening to get in, but I don't even know where to apply. When I first left school, I was broke—couldn't even scrape together a single Galleon. I knew that place was somewhere you could risk your life to make a fortune. I once thought about trying my luck there."
"That… I actually don't know much about," Harry admitted.
This was the first time he'd heard about any kind of entry requirements. Almost every exceptional graduate from Hogwarts took a trip to the Abyssal Battlefield at some point. Even Charlie Weasley, the older brother of the Weasley twins, had gone there after graduation. He had even joined a special unit—perhaps he had already become a Dragon Knight by now.
Arthur shrugged. "You're from Hogwarts, so of course, you don't have to worry about these things. But my teacher and I… we came from a small magic school that went bankrupt and shut down."
"Then come to Hogwarts with me," Harry suggested. "You could use some extra lessons, right? I might not be able to pinpoint every mistake you made in the arena just now, but I can tell that if you deepen your understanding of spells, you could be even better."
"My Charms professor, Filius Flitwick, is just over in the resting area. I'm sure he'd be happy to meet you. And if Professor McGonagall were here, she'd definitely want to discuss your Transfiguration—it's… unique, to say the least."
Harry genuinely hoped Arthur would grow stronger and continue down the path of magic. They had shared drinks together, after all, and Harry had a good impression of him.
But… if he was being completely honest, there was also a bit of mischief in his intentions.
A clown from Arkham meeting his godfather… Wouldn't that be interesting?
Sure, this Joker wasn't that Joker, and Snape wasn't exactly Batman… but something about the idea just felt too entertaining to pass up.
"This…" Arthur hesitated. "Are you sure that's okay?"
"Of course. No problem at all."
(End of Chapter)