The God of Valor

Skadi stood apart from the thrumming crowd, her cloak billowing gently in the cool morning breeze. Her icy blue eyes, as sharp and unyielding as the glaciers of her homeland, scanned the bustling tournament grounds. She was an enigma amidst the chaos—a solitary figure of poise and purpose, her presence a stark contrast to the animated contestants and spectators around her.

She watched Algrim as he concluded his announcement, her gaze flickering briefly to the Chief Advisor. His words were calculated and commanding, but Skadi's attention soon shifted to the crowd of contestants dispersing toward the registration tables. Her focus, as always, was sharp and unbroken, her thoughts a constant churn of strategies and contingencies.

From her vantage point near the shadow of a tall oak tree, she watched Haraldr and his friends with a careful, practiced gaze. They moved as a cohesive unit, their camaraderie evident in the easy smiles and banter exchanged between them. Her lips twitched ever so slightly, not quite a smile, but the barest hint of amusement. Friends. They'll hold each other back.

Her eyes narrowed, her analytical mind dissecting each of their movements. Haraldr's confident posture, Susan's unrelenting energy, Neville's nervous but determined adjustments to his armor—each detail was noted and stored away. They were all competitors, of course, but Haraldr stood out. He always did.

With a quiet sigh, Skadi leaned against the tree, her arms crossed over her chest, the dark fur trim of her cloak accentuating her fair complexion. "So, these are the ones everyone whispers about," she murmured to herself, her voice a low, melodic lilt tinged with frost.

"They don't seem that extraordinary," she continued, her tone contemplative as she watched Haraldr exchange words with Susan, the two of them laughing at some shared joke. Her gaze hardened. "But arrogance has a way of breeding carelessness. And carelessness is fatal."

As the contestants began to file toward the registration area, Skadi pushed off the tree and stepped into the light, her boots crunching softly on the frost-kissed grass. She moved with a predator's grace, her stride measured and deliberate, her presence commanding attention despite her silence.

Her approach did not go unnoticed. Haraldr caught sight of her first, his eyes meeting hers across the crowded grounds. There was no fear in his expression—only curiosity, perhaps even a glimmer of respect. Skadi held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary, her icy blue eyes unblinking, before turning her attention back to the path ahead.

Draco, standing just to Haraldr's right, smirked as he followed Skadi's movements. "Well, she certainly knows how to make an entrance," he drawled, his tone laced with a mixture of admiration and disdain. "Cold as ice, isn't she?"

"Skadi Culsdottir," Luna said dreamily, her gaze following Skadi with an almost ethereal fascination. "She walks like the frost itself. There's something... ancient about her, don't you think?"

"Ancient or not," Susan muttered, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Skadi disappear into the crowd near the registration tables, "she's got that look. The one that says she's already planning how to take us down."

Haraldr, still watching the space where Skadi had stood, nodded slowly. "She's calculating, I'll give her that. But plans fall apart when the fighting starts." His voice was calm but firm, a quiet assurance that carried weight. "We'll see how well she holds up in the arena."

Unaware—or perhaps unconcerned—about the conversations swirling in her wake, Skadi approached the registration table. Her movements were fluid, her expression cold and detached as she handed over her token to the official overseeing the duels.

"Skadi Culsdottir," the official announced, his voice clipped as he marked her name off the roster. "Your duel will take place in Arena Four. Prepare yourself."

Skadi inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, her lips curling into the faintest ghost of a smile. "Always," she replied, her voice like the whisper of snow on stone.

As she turned to leave, her gaze swept over the other contestants milling about. Her thoughts churned once more, the image of Haraldr and his group flashing through her mind. They're strong together, she mused. But togetherness is a weakness as much as it is a strength. Alone, they'll falter. And if I face Haraldr?

Her smile returned, sharper now, colder. I'll be ready.

—

The children crowded around the enormous board listing the first-round matchups, their faces a mix of excitement, nerves, and fierce determination. The golden morning light bathed the scene, and the hum of voices from the gathered crowd added to the electric energy in the air.

Susan leaned in close, brushing a strand of copper-red hair from her face as she scanned the names. Her green eyes lit up with relief. "None of us are matched against each other in the first round," she announced, her voice carrying her signature blend of practicality and optimism. She pointed to the list, her finger hovering over the names. "See? We all have different opponents."

"Brilliant," Draco drawled, his smirk as sharp as the tilt of his platinum-blond head. His arms were crossed casually, but there was a spark of competitiveness in his pale blue eyes. "That means I don't have to humiliate any of you just yet."

"Careful, Malfoy," Neville shot back, giving Draco a warning look that was undermined by the twitch of a smile on his lips. "Wouldn't want to hurt your pride too early in the tournament."

Draco raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, his smirk widening. "Pride is only a problem when you can't back it up. Luckily, that's not an issue for me."

Susan rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her amusement. "Play nice, boys. You're going to need all that energy for your actual duels." She tapped the list again, as if to refocus them.

Luna stood a step back from the group, her wide blue eyes taking in the board as if she were admiring a piece of art. She clasped her hands together, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. "It's lovely that none of us are pitted against each other so soon," she mused, her voice soft but cheerful. "It gives us time to cheer each other on. I always find it easier to fight when I know there's someone in the crowd who believes in me. Don't you?"

"Absolutely," Hannah agreed, her warm brown eyes filled with sincerity. Her blonde hair was tied back in a practical braid, though a few stray strands framed her freckled face. "We've got each other's backs, and that's what matters."

Leif, standing tall and broad-shouldered beside her, gave a confident nod. His strong jawline and striking features were shadowed slightly by his thick blond beard. "We're a team," he said, his deep voice carrying an easy authority. "Doesn't matter who wins or loses today. What matters is giving it everything we've got."

Astrid, her golden hair catching the sunlight, shot him a playful grin. "Spoken like a true Asgardian. But, for the record, I do plan on winning." She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, her emerald-green eyes glinting with determination.

Bjorn chuckled, his red hair gleaming like fire in the morning light. "You'll have to get through me first, sister," he teased, though there was no mistaking the affection in his tone.

"Save it for the later rounds," Viggo said, his deep voice steady as he crossed his arms over his chest. His hair was slicked back, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to take in everything at once. "Right now, focus on the fight in front of you. One duel at a time."

The group nodded, the weight of the day ahead settling over them. As they began to step away from the board, Haraldr lingered for a moment, his eyes catching on a figure at the edge of the crowd.

Skadi stood a short distance away, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. Her icy-blue gaze was fixed on the board, but there was no mistaking the intensity of her focus. She looked as though she were mentally dissecting each name on the list, her calculating nature as sharp as the blade she would soon wield.

Haraldr frowned slightly, his curiosity piqued, but he forced himself to turn away. "Let's get ready," he said, his voice steady and commanding. "We've got a long day ahead of us."

Susan fell into step beside him, glancing up at him with a small smile. "You're thinking about her, aren't you? Skadi."

Haraldr hesitated, then gave a small shrug. "She's...interesting. Dangerous, too."

"Dangerous is just another word for determined," Susan replied, her voice light but thoughtful. "Don't let her get in your head."

"Don't worry," he assured her, his tone laced with confidence. "She won't."

As the group walked toward the preparation area, Luna skipped ahead, her voice floating back to them. "We should come up with a cheer for each other! Something uplifting. Maybe involving moonbeams or nargles."

Draco groaned, though there was a faint smile on his lips. "Lovegood, you're going to give me a headache before this tournament is over."

"That's the spirit, Draco!" Luna called back, her laughter echoing in the crisp morning air.

Neville shook his head with a grin. "Well, at least we won't be bored."

And with that, they continued on, their camaraderie strong as they prepared to face the challenges that awaited them.

—

The arena buzzed with anticipation as the first round of duels began. Viggo, his newly acquired long bow slung over his shoulder, stepped into the designated dueling area. Across from him stood his opponent, a tall, muscular Vanir teen named Haldor. The crowd hushed, their eyes trained on the two competitors.

Algrim's voice boomed over the arena, announcing the start of the match. "Viggo, Ullrson, versus Haldor of Vanaheim. Combatants, ready yourselves!"

Viggo took a deep breath, unsheathing the sword his father had given him for the tournament. The blade gleamed in the sunlight, its edge sharp and ready. He gripped the hilt firmly, feeling the familiar weight and balance. Across from him, Haldor brandished a heavy broadsword, its blade already showing signs of battle.

"Begin!" Algrim's voice echoed through the arena.

Haldor charged forward, his broadsword held high. Viggo stood his ground, his eyes locked on Haldor's movements. At the last moment, he sidestepped, avoiding the heavy downward swing. He countered with a quick slash to Haldor's side, but Haldor's armor deflected the blow.

The crowd leaned forward, eager to see who would gain the upper hand. Haldor swung his broadsword again, this time with more control. Viggo parried, the clash of steel ringing out. He used the momentum to spin away, creating distance between them.

Haldor pressed the attack, his strikes powerful and relentless. Viggo parried and dodged, his agility keeping him just out of reach. He saw an opening and thrust his sword forward, aiming for a gap in Haldor's armor. The tip of his blade found its mark, causing Haldor to grunt in pain and step back.

Viggo pressed his advantage, moving with the speed and precision his father had drilled into him. He feinted to the left, causing Haldor to overextend. With a swift, decisive move, Viggo struck Haldor's wrist, disarming him. The broadsword clattered to the ground.

Before Haldor could react, Viggo brought his sword to Haldor's neck, the blade stopping just short of the skin. The message was clear: the match was over.

Algrim's voice rang out, declaring Viggo the winner. "Viggo Ullrson advances to the next round!"

The crowd erupted into applause. Viggo stepped back, offering Haldor a respectful nod. Haldor, though disappointed, acknowledged Viggo's skill with a curt nod of his own.

In the stands, Haraldr and his friends cheered loudly, their excitement palpable. Eirlys, Loki, and Thor watched with pride from the VIP section, Loki nudging Thor with a smirk. "Told you Ullr's son was impressive," he said.

Thor grunted in agreement, a begrudging smile on his face. "That he is."

As Viggo exited the arena, his friends gathered around him, congratulating him on his victory. The first round of duels had begun, and each of them was more determined than ever to prove their mettle in the tournament.

—

The arena erupted into cheers and shouts as Haraldr stepped forward, his golden Asgardian armor gleaming under the midday sun. The youngest Prince of Asgard moved with a quiet confidence, his azure cape trailing behind him like a banner. From the stands, his friends leaned forward, the tension among them palpable.

Luna clapped her hands together dreamily. "He looks so majestic out there, like an eagle about to take flight."

"More like a peacock," Draco muttered, though his smirk betrayed his support.

"Quiet, Draco," Susan chided, her green eyes fixed on Haraldr with a mix of worry and pride. "He's got this."

Across the arena, Fenrik of Vanaheim emerged, towering and broad-shouldered. His polished steel armor glinted menacingly, and his eyes glowed faintly with the hint of Vanir magic. He carried a massive broadsword with ease, the blade etched with intricate runes. Fenrik sneered at Haraldr, his voice booming. "The youngest prince steps into the arena. Tell me, Haraldr—how much of this is your skill, and how much is just Asgardian bravado?"

Haraldr stopped at the center of the arena, his sword in hand, his expression calm and unreadable. "I don't need words to prove myself, Fenrik. You'll see soon enough."

Fenrik barked a laugh, raising his sword in a mocking salute. "Then let's see if the pup can bite."

"Duelists, ready!" Algrim's deep voice rang across the arena. The crowd stilled, anticipation thick in the air. "Begin!"

Fenrik moved first, charging like a battering ram. He swung his broadsword with enough force to shatter stone, but Haraldr sidestepped the strike with the grace of a dancer. The Asgardian prince's sword lashed out in a counterattack, the sharp clang of steel-on-steel ringing out.

Fenrik snarled, recovering quickly, and unleashed a flurry of powerful strikes. Haraldr parried each one with calculated precision, his movements a seamless blend of agility and strength. Sparks flew as their swords met again and again, a symphony of combat that left the crowd breathless.

"You're fast, I'll give you that," Fenrik growled, circling Haraldr like a predator. "But speed can't save you forever."

Haraldr smirked, his emerald green eyes flashing with confidence. "Maybe you're just slow."

With a roar of frustration, Fenrik unleashed a burst of Vanir magic, sending a shockwave rippling through the ground. Haraldr leapt into the air, narrowly avoiding the blast. Mid-flight, he twisted and brought his sword down in a powerful arc. Fenrik barely managed to block, the force driving him back a few steps.

The crowd roared, their cheers growing louder with each exchange. From the sidelines, Viggo nodded in approval. "He's baiting Fenrik into losing control. Clever."

Astrid grinned, her green eyes sparkling. "Clever or not, it's risky. Fenrik's stronger."

"But Haraldr's smarter," Susan added, her voice steady with quiet faith.

Back in the arena, Fenrik's attacks grew wilder, his frustration evident. Haraldr seized the opportunity, weaving in closer with blinding speed. With a feint to the left, he caught Fenrik off guard, twisting his blade to disarm him in one smooth motion.

Fenrik's massive broadsword clattered to the ground, sliding several feet away. Haraldr moved in, his blade stopping just shy of Fenrik's throat. The arena fell silent for a moment before erupting into thunderous applause.

Fenrik, panting heavily, stared at Haraldr with a mixture of resentment and reluctant respect. "You... fought well, Prince," he admitted grudgingly, wiping sweat from his brow.

Haraldr lowered his sword, extending a hand. "So did you, Fenrik. You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

Fenrik hesitated, then clasped Haraldr's arm in a firm warrior's grip. "I'll see you in the finals, if you make it that far."

Haraldr grinned, the corners of his mouth quirking upward. "Count on it."

As he walked back to his friends, the roar of the crowd echoing in his ears, Haraldr allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. His friends were waiting for him at the edge of the arena, their faces alight with pride.

"Not bad for a peacock," Draco said, though the genuine admiration in his tone softened the jab.

Susan punched Draco lightly in the arm before turning to Haraldr with a beaming smile. "You were incredible. The way you disarmed him—it was perfect!"

"Not perfect," Haraldr said, his tone modest despite the grin on his face. "But good enough."

"Good enough to win," Neville said, clapping him on the shoulder. "That's what counts."

Luna's smile was serene as she gazed at Haraldr. "You moved like starlight dancing across the heavens. It was beautiful."

Haraldr raised an eyebrow, though he chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment, Luna."

Astrid folded her arms, her grin mischievous. "Don't get too comfortable, Prince. Your next opponent might not be so easy."

"Easy?" Haraldr laughed, shaking his head. "Fenrik wasn't easy. But don't worry. I'm ready for whatever comes next."

With that, the group turned their attention back to the arena, the tournament far from over, and the challenges ahead only growing fiercer.

—

Skadi stood alone in the shadowed corner of the contestants' waiting area, her arms crossed over her chest. The muted roar of the crowd reached her ears as Haraldr's duel came to its climactic end. Her icy blue eyes followed his every movement, her focus razor-sharp. The way he moved—quick, calculated, precise—was impressive, but not flawless.

"Overconfident," she murmured to herself, her voice low and edged with disdain. "Quick on his feet, but that arrogance will slow him when it matters most."

Her lips twitched into a faint smirk as she watched Haraldr return to his friends, basking in their praise like some overgrown pup. The camaraderie between them was almost sickening. Friends only slow you down, she thought, glancing briefly at the chattering group. Her own isolation had never felt more like an advantage.

Turning her gaze back to the arena, she replayed the duel in her mind, dissecting Haraldr's movements, his strategy, his reactions. She whispered under her breath, as if narrating a mental checklist: "Fast, but predictable when pressured. Relies too much on parrying instead of redirecting. Leaves his left side slightly open when retreating."

The corner of her mouth twitched again, this time into a grim smile. Noted.

From the sidelines, Algrim's booming voice announced the next pair of combatants. Skadi barely registered the names. They didn't matter—not yet. Her attention flicked to the board listing the matchups. Her name gleamed coldly against the others. Her turn would come soon enough, and she would make them all remember it.

She allowed herself a small exhale, glancing back toward the arena where Haraldr's group lingered, laughing and congratulating their prince. "Enjoy your moment," she muttered, the words barely audible. "When it's my turn, there'll be no applause for you."

Her fingers brushed the hilt of her blade, an almost subconscious gesture. She closed her eyes briefly, drawing on the icy calm she always carried within her. Emotions are weaknesses, she reminded herself. Friends are distractions. Resolve is everything.

The clashing sound of another duel snapped her back to the present. Her eyes flicked toward the arena as the next competitors took their positions. She didn't care about the outcome, not really. What mattered were the patterns, the techniques, the flaws she could exploit. Every duel was a lesson, every movement a potential advantage.

One of the nearby contestants, a nervous boy with trembling hands, dared to speak to her. "Aren't you excited? It's such an honor to compete here."

Skadi didn't bother looking at him, her voice as cold as the frost beneath her name. "Excitement is for fools. Honor won't win duels. Skill will."

The boy fell silent, shrinking back under the weight of her words. Skadi smirked faintly. Good. Let them fear me.

Her gaze shifted back to Haraldr, now engaged in a lively conversation with his friends. The way they gravitated toward him, the easy camaraderie—it was as foreign to her as a summer in Jotunheim.

"You're not as invincible as you think," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the noise of the arena. Her expression hardened, the determination in her eyes like ice. "And when the time comes, I'll make sure you remember that."

With that, Skadi leaned back against the cold stone wall, her focus shifting to the current duel. Her time would come soon enough, and when it did, she would remind them all why isolation was a strength—and why she was a force to be reckoned with.

—

Susan Bones stepped onto the arena floor, her heart racing but her expression calm. She gripped her sword tightly, its weight familiar in her hands. Across from her, Eira of Alfheim stood poised, her slender form radiating confidence and grace. The girl's long, silver hair cascaded down her back, shimmering like moonlight as she twirled her blade effortlessly in her hands.

The crowd hushed, the tension thick in the air. There was an electricity that seemed to pulse through the very ground beneath their feet. Susan could feel every eye on her, the weight of the moment sinking into her bones. Eira's cool, calculating gaze met hers, and the silent exchange of respect passed between them like a spark.

With a sharp whistle from Algrim, the match was underway.

In an instant, Eira was on her, moving with the fluid grace of a predator. Her blade cut through the air, aiming for Susan's ribs. But Susan was ready. She twisted to the side, the sword grazing only the edge of her armor, and retaliated with a quick thrust that Eira easily deflected.

The clang of metal echoed through the arena as Susan spun, her footwork graceful and calculated. She could hear the crowd murmuring, but it was the sharp, rhythmic beat of her own pulse that kept her focused. Eira's style was fast, almost ethereal, her strikes quick and precise like a dancer. But Susan, she was different. She had power to her movements, force behind each strike, tempered with her own nimbleness.

"You're quick," Susan said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her. "But it won't be enough."

Eira smiled, a flash of amusement in her eyes. "We'll see, won't we?"

Eira was a blur, her sword moving in rapid arcs, aiming for Susan's head, her legs sweeping low in an attempt to unbalance her. But Susan had trained for this. With a swift parry, she blocked the strike and spun into a defensive stance, her sword raised high, her posture grounded like the oak trees in the forests of Hogwarts.

Eira attacked again, her strikes coming faster and faster, a storm of steel aimed to break Susan's defense. But Susan's experience showed. With a flick of her wrist, she deflected a particularly brutal swipe and slid beneath Eira's guard, bringing her sword up with precision. It was a strike aimed at Eira's shoulder, but the Elf deflected it just in time, stepping back to regain her footing.

The crowd gasped, some on the edge of their seats as the two girls exchanged blows with unrelenting force. The sounds of their swords clashing rang like thunder in the air.

Susan could feel the heat of the battle, the sweat collecting on her brow, but she didn't let it distract her. She felt every muscle in her body working in perfect harmony—strength, speed, agility. She was no longer just the girl who had once been afraid of the spotlight. She was a warrior, forged in the fires of training, and she was ready.

Eira's movements were a blur, but Susan had learned to read her opponent's rhythms, learned to anticipate the fluid, almost hypnotic pace the Elves had mastered. Eira lunged, a lightning-fast jab aimed directly at Susan's midsection.

But Susan wasn't there.

With a swift sidestep, she evaded the strike and in one seamless motion, swung her sword in a fluid arc toward Eira's sword arm. The strike landed with a satisfying clink as Eira's blade was knocked from her hand, skittering across the dirt.

The crowd went wild, the roar of applause and cheers filling the arena like a wave crashing against the shore. Susan stood tall, her sword pointed toward the ground as she caught her breath, her chest heaving from exertion.

Eira, now disarmed, gave Susan a respectful nod. "Well fought, Bones," she said with a wry smile, though there was no bitterness in her voice. "You've earned this."

Susan, breathing hard but smiling, lowered her sword. "Thanks, Eira," she replied, offering her hand. "You're incredible. You almost had me there."

Eira took her hand, her grip firm. "Next time," she said with a sly grin. "Next time, I'll win."

The crowd erupted into applause, the match having been one for the ages. Susan stepped back, her friends already making their way toward her, their faces alight with pride and excitement. Amelia was first, throwing her arms around Susan in a tight hug.

"That was amazing!" Amelia exclaimed, pulling back to grin at her. "You were incredible, Susan!"

Sirius nodded enthusiastically, clapping her on the back. "That was some solid swordplay. Sif and Tonks are going to be proud."

Neville and Haraldr caught up with the group, both offering congratulatory smiles. "Great work out there," Neville said, his usual shyness replaced with admiration. "You handled Eira like a pro."

Susan beamed, her chest swelling with pride. "Thanks, everyone. I couldn't have done it without all the training." Her eyes sparkled with determination. "But that's just the first step. There's more to come."

Luna, who had been watching silently from the sidelines, offered her characteristic serene smile. "It was like watching the dance of two stars in the sky," she said softly, her voice as dreamy as ever. "But one will always shine a little brighter."

Susan chuckled softly, her nerves now replaced with a confident calm. "Let's see who's next," she said, her gaze shifting to the next matchup. "I'm ready for anything."

And with that, she joined her friends as they made their way back to the preparation area, their camaraderie and support carrying them forward as they all prepared for the challenges still to come.

—

Amelia Bones stood tall at the edge of the stands, her eyes locked on the arena below, where her niece, Susan, was locked in a fierce duel. Her posture was regal, but her gaze was softened by a deep sense of pride. Beside her, Sirius Black leaned slightly forward, his usual smirk replaced by a rare look of intense focus and admiration as he watched Susan deftly parry a strike from her opponent.

"She's doing brilliantly," Sirius said, his voice thick with pride. There was an edge of awe in his words as he followed every move Susan made, as though he were remembering her as the small, shy girl who had once timidly arrived at Hogwarts. Now, here she was, a confident young woman wielding a sword like someone born for it.

Amelia's lips curled into a smile, though she didn't look away from the fight. "She's always had a knack for swordplay," she replied, her tone warm but steady, like the quiet strength she embodied in every aspect of her life.

Sirius turned his head toward her, raising an eyebrow. "Is that so? I wasn't aware that her father had been a knight."

Amelia chuckled softly, her gaze never leaving Susan, though her mind wandered back to the years spent with her niece, watching her grow from an awkward child into a fierce young woman. "It's a bit more than just talent," she said. "Susan's always been determined. Once she sets her mind on something, nothing can stand in her way."

Sirius watched Susan weave through the duel, expertly blocking a strike with her shield before countering with a swift, powerful lunge that disarmed her opponent. The crowd roared with approval, and the exhilaration of the moment made Sirius grin. "I can see that. She's definitely her aunt's niece."

Amelia's smile deepened, and she could feel a warmth settle in her chest. "She's always been like that. A quiet force, capable of surprising everyone." Her fingers tightened slightly around the railing as Susan delivered the final blow, knocking her opponent's sword from their hand with a sharp, precise strike.

"That's my girl," Amelia said softly, her voice laced with a note of maternal pride that she didn't often allow to show.

Sirius' smile matched hers, his eyes glowing with approval. "She's a natural," he agreed, his voice a little gruffer, as though the words had to be fought for. His gaze followed Susan as she stood victorious in the arena, raising her sword in the air in triumph, her face flushed with exertion but beaming with joy. The crowd's applause was deafening, but Sirius knew it was deserved. She had earned every cheer.

Amelia sighed, a soft, contented sound. "I knew she was capable, but to see her actually perform like that... It's overwhelming. She's come so far."

Sirius nodded, his eyes still locked on Susan as she made her way toward the edge of the arena, greeted by her friends and supporters. He placed a hand on Amelia's shoulder, his touch comforting but firm. "You've been a big part of that, you know. Susan's got your strength in her. That's what drives her."

Amelia's heart swelled with the praise, and for a moment, she let herself lean into his touch, allowing her usual composure to slip just a little. She was proud of Susan, but she was also proud of the woman she'd become. "I just hope she doesn't take too much after me," she said, her voice light with a trace of humor. "I have a habit of pushing too hard. But I think she'll be all right."

"She'll be more than all right," Sirius said, his voice warm but tinged with admiration. "She's a force of nature. And with you in her corner... she's unstoppable."

The two of them watched as Susan finally reached the stands, her friends already surrounding her with congratulations. Amelia's smile softened, and a look of quiet satisfaction crossed her face. She had watched her niece grow, nurtured her, but today she saw something else—Susan had truly come into her own.

As the crowd's applause continued to echo through the arena, Amelia spoke again, her tone softer this time. "I couldn't be more proud of her. Of everything she's achieved."

Sirius smiled, his gaze lingering on Susan as she embraced her friends. "You've raised her well, Amelia. She's got everything she needs to stand tall."

Amelia's eyes shone with quiet pride as she watched Susan exchange words with her friends, her laughter mingling with the applause around them. "I've done my part," she said quietly. "But it's all Susan now. And I think she's ready for whatever comes next."

Sirius clapped her on the back, his expression a mix of admiration and fondness. "She'll be just fine."

And with that, they both stood in quiet contentment, watching as Susan's journey continued. The tournament was far from over, but for now, the young woman in the arena had already made her mark. And that, Amelia knew, was only the beginning.

---

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