"Stop!"
The single, sharp command ripped through the roar of battle. Sebastian, his chest heaving and his adrenaline spiked from the sheer terror and exhilaration of being hunted by a literal demigod of conflict, thrust his hands out in the international sign of 'time out.'
Gryffindor, who was mid-leap—his magical longsword poised for a downward strike that would have certainly shattered Sebastian's hastily erected seven-layer shield—skidded to a halt. The sheer kinetic energy of his stop cracked the ground beneath his feet.
The silence that followed was dense, broken only by Sebastian's gasping breath. For a warrior of Gryffindor's magnitude, halting a duel mid-clash was not merely poor sportsmanship; it was an act of profound disrespect to the spirit of combat itself.
The Founder's massive form, cloaked in seething red magic, seemed to swell with outrage. His eyes, the color of molten gold, widened in disbelief. His hair and beard, thick and wild, momentarily crackled with static electricity, and he lowered his sword just enough to unleash a tidal wave of vocal fury.
"What is the meaning of this insolence, boy?!" Gryffindor roared, the sound echoing off the tree line. "Have you lost the courage to continue? Did the sight of my true power cause the yellow streak of your House to finally shine through? I am immensely disappointed! When a challenge is issued, a warrior sees it through!"
Sebastian, though internally recoiling from the pure volume of the rebuke, held his ground, his composure returning rapidly. He was no longer a duelist; he was now a demanding student.
"Sir Gryffindor," Sebastian stated, his voice calm and precise against the Founder's emotional storm. "I find your method of instruction fundamentally inefficient, and I hereby formally request a methodology change."
The rage in Gryffindor's eyes intensified. He began pacing back and forth in a tight, agitated circle, stomping his foot hard enough to shake the earth.
"Inefficient? You criticize the teaching methods of a Hogwarts Founder who trained champions for generations? Is that truly what you think, you arrogant, little green-and-silver brat?" Gryffindor's tone was thick with sarcasm, practically vibrating with suppressed violence.
"Then, by all means, Master, enlighten me! What brilliant pedagogical secret did Slytherin teach you that surpasses a rigorous, practical, life-or-death scenario?"
Sebastian smiled, a small, knowing upturn of the lips that did nothing to soothe the Founder's fury. He knew the best way to deal with a powerful, emotional personality: feed their ego with a dash of impossible challenge.
"My House taught me a different kind of skill," Sebastian explained, dropping his aggressive defensive posture. "It is the technique of Absolute Magical Perception and Imitation. I don't learn by receiving a beating; I learn by understanding the structure of the magic."
He took a challenging step forward. "Simply demonstrate the spell-casting process for me once, slowly and meticulously, and I guarantee I can replicate your core Magic Stacking Charm immediately."
Gryffindor threw his head back and laughed—a harsh, barking sound of utter disbelief.
"One viewing? Ha! A magnificent lie crafted by a young serpent to avoid further physical discomfort! You are truly a slippery one, Slytherin!" He stabbed his sword into the ground, crossing his arms.
"If you could master the precise control required for this in three days, you would be considered a prodigious talent even in my time. Two days was the absolute peak of exceptional genius! One viewing? Impossible! Absolutely and definitively impossible!"
"I'm sure you've taught many students this trick, haven't you?" Sebastian pressed, sensing the Founder's pride was ripe for manipulation.
"Indeed! And few—very few—could crack the three-day mark! Most of your peers would never grasp the concept in their entire careers. Learning from simply watching? That's not learning; that's cheating, and it's a fantasy!"
Gryffindor looked up at the vast, green canopy of the forest, pointedly ignoring Sebastian with an air of theatrical dismissal.
This was Sebastian's cue. He knew that the only thing stronger than Gryffindor's conviction was his pride and his obsession with courage. He adopted a slightly whining, manipulative tone, leaning into the Founder's prejudices.
"Oh, my. Is the great Founder of Gryffindor truly afraid?" Sebastian muttered, loud enough to be clearly heard.
"I only asked for a demonstration, yet you refuse, stating it's 'impossible.' Could it be that your courage only extends to hitting a boy who is already exhausted, but not to the simple act of proving your own technique's complexity? I mean, no way! The founder of Hogwarts would never dare back down from such a simple challenge, right?"
Gryffindor's face immediately darkened to the color of a bruised plum. The magical energy surrounding him surged like a sudden, violent tide, pressing down on Sebastian. He was incensed. To question his courage was to question his very existence.
"Silence, insolent pup!" Gryffindor's roar shook the earth again. He snatched his sword from the ground.
"I accept your absurd, impossible challenge! But hear this clearly: If you fail—if you cannot reproduce the Charm after this single, painstaking demonstration—I will beat you senseless to discharge the anger you have caused me with your manipulative, silver-tongued slander!"
The threat was clear, but the victory was Sebastian's. He had forced the proud Founder to commit to a teaching method that perfectly suited his unique, observational magical ability.
"Watch closely, Slytherin!" Gryffindor's anger was now channeled into intense focus. "I will show you slowly, in agonizing detail. You had better etch every single fluctuation of magic into your memory!"
The Founder raised his wand. He didn't speak. He acted.
Gryffindor began the intricate casting process. He didn't just cast a spell; he performed a ritual of pure, controlled force.
"First, you must initiate the Ironclad Curse—the familiar protective shield," Gryffindor explained, his voice deep and measured, contrasting with his massive, fiery presence. A shimmer of translucent magic, the first layer, appeared around him.
"The first difficulty is here," he continued, focusing intensely. "Instead of letting the spell complete and lock its energy, you must abruptly, meticulously slow the magical flux just before the final moment of completion. You must hold it, suspended, perfectly formed but infinitely malleable."
Gryffindor demonstrated this slowing—a magical feat that defied natural law. The first layer of the shield seemed to hover in existence, incomplete, its energy signature deliberately throttled. Sebastian, watching through his intense magical perception, felt the strain it took; it was like holding a thousand pounds of water in a net that wanted to instantly dissolve.
"The second difficulty is maintaining absolute control over your own magical output. Now, without allowing the first component to collapse, you must immediately initiate the second Ironclad Curse, connecting its nascent magical structure to the suspended tail of the first."
Gryffindor seamlessly transitioned to the second component, which locked onto the first. He was essentially casting two distinct, high-tension spells simultaneously while ensuring they behaved as a single, unstable unit.
"If your control falters for a heartbeat," Gryffindor glared at Sebastian, "the two spells will be released simultaneously, resulting in a horrific, concentrated rebound that will collapse both spells directly back onto your own magical core! It is a devastating failure mode that has permanently disabled many overconfident students."
Sebastian didn't move, savoring the raw flow of energy. His unique perception allowed him to see beyond the visible light of the magic and witness the foundational magical syntax being written in the air.
He watched as Gryffindor methodically repeated the process: three, four, five layers. Each layer was meticulously staggered and precisely placed, not sitting directly on top of the previous one, but interlocked, like the tiny scales of a dragon's hide or a complex piece of enchanted chainmail.
The staggering precision was what stunned Sebastian. In his heightened state of magical awareness, he saw the final pattern, and a profound realization struck him, pulling him out of the immediate tension of the duel.
This layering technique… this precise, calculated interlocking of multiple single-spell components to form a unified, geometrically stable whole… it is not spell-casting at all!
It is the exact methodology used to create intricate, self-sustaining magical circuits in the field of Advanced Alchemy! The spell stacking is merely a practical application of foundational alchemical circuit design, disguised as a protective charm!
Suddenly, the difficulty of the technique made perfect, horrifying sense. It was no wonder that a standard Defence Against the Dark Arts student could never learn this. It required not just magical prowess but a deep, structural understanding of how magic binds, transmits, and reinforces itself—the very core of practical transmutation.
Without basic alchemical knowledge of pattern establishment and magical density regulation, attempting this was truly a fool's errand. It was like asking a carpenter to build a suspension bridge using only a hammer.
He's not forging armor with a single Ironclad Charm; he's weaving magical chainmail capable of reinforcing itself from the surrounding energy field.
Sebastian felt a surge of genuine, profound respect. Godric Gryffindor wasn't just a brave duelist; he was a pioneering magical engineer. The significance of his name suddenly felt heavier, imbued with the weight of ancient, forgotten science.
"Okay, now pay attention to the final step of the layering process!" Gryffindor's booming voice snapped Sebastian back to the present. He looked up just as the Founder was completing the ninth component.
With a final, sharp snap of his wand—a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture—the ninth spell was locked into place. The nine separate, suspended Ironclad Curses instantly became a single, thick, self-contained shell.
"This is the Stacked Magic! Nine individual Ironclad Curses are meticulously linked to form one dense, unified layer of defense. In principle, the more layers you add, the stronger your defense becomes, approaching an infinite capacity!" Gryffindor explained, his voice laced with the pride of true invention.
"However, with each layer, the required absolute control over your core magical output increases exponentially. If your concentration wavers, even a little, the entire multi-layered construct collapses catastrophically."
Gryffindor paused, stepping out of the newly created shell, which remained perfectly stable behind him. He looked meaningfully at Sebastian, reading the deep analysis in the young man's eyes.
"It seems incredibly laborious, doesn't it?" Gryffindor challenged. "In the heat of a real battle, one does not have time to meticulously cast nine separate, linked spells. Wouldn't a simple, singular, fully cast Ironclad Charm be far more practical? Why bother with all this fuss?"
Sebastian, still processing the alchemy connection, nodded slowly. "It appears so, sir. The casting time is excessive. It seems… old, slow, and outdated."
Gryffindor grinned—a wide, ferocious, proud flash of teeth.
"You believe it to be mere theatricality, boy? That's where every single one of my modern students fails! The truth is, this is not a dynamic combat spell. It is a spell of preparation and endurance!"
He walked over to his stable, nine-layered shield, tapping it with his sword. The sound was a low, resonant thrum.
"Once the spell is successfully formed, it instantly becomes a permanent, closed Magical Circuit. It then operates like a highly efficient magical parasite, constantly drawing small, sustainable amounts of ambient magic from the surrounding air to maintain its stability and integrity."
Gryffindor raised his voice, hitting the climax of his teaching. "This means you can cast and perfect this defensive shell in advance! You can layer it slowly, over hours, days, or even weeks. Once complete, it hides itself completely—an invisible, weightless cocoon that does not affect your daily life. It only manifests when you are attacked, or when you actively summon it with a single, simple act of will!"
Sebastian felt a sudden, electric shock of realization. An invisible, constantly maintained, infinitely stackable protective shield that can be prepared in advance?!
It wasn't just defense; it was the ultimate strategic advantage. It meant a wizard could walk around with the protection of a fortified castle, completely invisible, and be ready for an assassination attempt, a surprise duel, or a fall from a height—all without needing to dedicate a single bit of effort until the moment of crisis.
Incredible.
An infinitely increasing defense, prepared and stored like a magical bank account. The most cunning defensive spell in existence.
The Slytherin in Sebastian recognized the sheer, overwhelming tactical genius of the concept. It was not courage; it was absolute, paranoid, beautiful preparation.
"This, sir Gryffindor," Sebastian breathed out, his voice a whisper of awe, "is truly magnificent. It is a work of art."
Gryffindor watched the transformation of understanding on the young man's face, immensely pleased that he had successfully broken through the boy's intellectual barrier. He retrieved his sword, resting the hilt on his shoulder, and adopted a posture of supreme smugness.
He stroked his beard and delivered his final, sarcastic taunt with a theatrical flourish. "Well, then, sir. The demonstration is complete. You have witnessed my secret, ancient technique in its fullest, most meticulous form. Now, please, begin your miraculous performance! Let us see if the cunning of Slytherin can truly defy the natural laws of magical aptitude."
He leaned in, his golden eyes sparkling with challenge. "Your wand is ready, boy. Show me the magic."
Sebastian raised his Holly wand, his eyes fixed on the stable, nine-layered shield behind the Founder. He took one final, deep breath, tasting the air thick with ancient magic and Gryffindor's competitive fury. He felt the precise memory of the magical circuit snap into place in his mind, the blueprint now perfectly defined.
Now, to pay the debt of my arrogance.