Aidan Lestrange

Iris remembered how they had once run into each other just outside the Great Hall. The corridor was crowded—lunch had just begun, and everyone was crowded in anticipation.

"Swan!" Lestrange called after her, so loudly that even the seventh years turned around. "Are you free tonight?"

The crowd immediately began to murmur and look curiously. Iris felt her insides tighten.

"I don't date!" she blurted out before he could finish.

The corridor froze for a few seconds, and then exploded with laughter and whistles. One of the Gryffindors shouted:

• Lestrange, you're a romantic!

Aiden froze, then frowned so much that the laughter only got louder:

• Dates? What are you talking about?! I'm talking about a duel! At seven in the evening!

The crowd literally doubled over with laughter. Iris felt her ears burning, but she stubbornly lifted her chin.

“Well, then prepare to lose,” she said, trying to hide her embarrassment.

Lestrange squared his shoulders, as if this was what he had planned - to put on a show in front of half of Hogwarts.

• That's great! - he barked. - It's seven o'clock. Everyone heard!

And, of course, the next day the whole castle was already discussing how Lestrange “asked Swann on a date, and she agreed... but with a wand.”

Iris remembered that evening after Potions very well. Everyone had already left, the classroom was gradually emptying, and she stayed behind to finish washing the cauldron. The silence of the dungeons was calming, but not for long - because a booming:

• Swan!

Iris winced and swore, turning around. Lestrange was standing at the door, his hands in his robes, his expression the most insolent possible.

“What are you yelling about?” she asked coldly.

“So you can hear me,” Aiden replied smugly and walked inside without an invitation. “Today. Six o’clock. Duel.”

Iris rolled her eyes and demonstratively sat down on the edge of the table, wiping her hands on a rag.

• I'm busy.

“Yeah,” he nodded seriously. “Are you going to lick the book?”

She raised an eyebrow:

— Read, Lestrange. People read. I advise you to try, there are words longer than three letters there too.

He bared his teeth:

• Why? All I need is the expelliarmus and your face when I knock your wand off again.

Iris narrowed her eyes.

• You are too self-confident. Have you forgotten who made you retreat last time?

Aiden snorted, shaking his head and, as if on purpose, raising his voice:

• Didn't retreat. Tactically changed position.

“Of course,” she drawled, “that’s what they call running away.”

Lestrange's smile widened, as if she had only egged him on.

• So it's decided. Six o'clock in the evening.

• I said I'm busy.

“Excellent,” he interrupted. “Then at seven.”

Iris sighed with displeasure and turned away to the cauldron, but a familiar anticipation stabbed her chest.

Iris also always remembered with a smile one incident in her fourth year. On the eve of the Winter Ball, a fellow Ravenclaw invited her, but she just waved it off:

“I don’t dance,” she snapped then and considered the topic closed.

The next day, during dinner, Lestrange unexpectedly sat down at their table. He had such a smug smile, as if he already knew that he would get what he wanted. He leaned his elbows on the back of his chair and, without even bothering to say hello, blurted out:

• Are you free? Great, I...

Iris, remembering yesterday's invitation and deciding that the conversation was again about the ball, interrupted irritably:

• I told you, I don’t dance!

The look of bewilderment on Lestrange's face was so great that even his classmates sitting next to him stopped eating. He froze for a second, then raised his eyebrows in obvious indignation and said through gritted teeth:

• Dance? Merlin with you! What are you talking about?! I'm telling you: the duel is on Monday at seven in the evening!

“You’re crazy,” Iris rolled her eyes and returned to her plate.

“Excellent, then we have an agreement,” Lestrange completely ignored her and grinned contentedly. “Now that’s an answer I understand.”

Someone nearby snickered, laughter was heard from the Ravenclaw table, and Iris silently promised herself that next time she would think twice before interrupting Lestrange mid-sentence.

Aiden always viewed the world from a strange, unique perspective. Girls? For him, they weren't a mystery or a subject of particular interest; he saw in them exactly what he saw in boys – rivals, allies, witnesses, participants in his games. He was too consumed by fights, duels, and the eternal pursuit of power to be distracted by infatuation, courtship, and all those subtleties. Too… indifferent to romance to waste time on it.

But Iris was an exception. She didn't attract him with coquettishness or gentleness, but with strength. Real, bold strength, capable of withstanding a blow and responding in a way that made his heart leap with delight. For Aiden, this was more important than any "girlish charms." He was looking for an opponent—and for the first time, he felt that this strength in someone had captivated him. What would happen next—he didn't know, he didn't plan. Maybe romance, maybe a new duel. He lived by the principle of "let's see where it leads."

And he himself never realized it, but perhaps it was precisely because he had never been in love that he didn't understand what it was like to feel differently, more deeply. In his world, respect and strength meant more than anything else.

"They're supposed to have children," he casually spat in Signus's face, not even bothering to be embarrassed that there were girls nearby. He never cared how things sounded. Words burst out of him as boldly as spells. And the embarrassment, someone else's, feminine, only amused him.

Iris remembered that scene in the lecture hall—how Aidan, refusing to take no for an answer, roared across the room: "Seven o'clock, Monday is booked!" And no one doubted that arguing with him was pointless. He grinned as if he had already won any duel before he even stepped onto the ring. That was his very essence: ravenous for battle, he craved fights as much as air.

But it wasn't just about the desire to win. Aidan loved the battle itself, the excitement, the clash of forces. He didn't attack from behind, he didn't set treacherous traps – for him, the pleasure lay in facing a worthy opponent head-on and giving his all. This was his strange kind of honor: no sneaking, no petty cunning, only spells, speed, and strength.

And yet Iris understood all too clearly: Aidan wouldn't rest until he proved himself. Until he defeated her—honestly, openly, in the fire and flame of a duel. And the thought was unsettling: his hunger for battle was akin to madness, but it was precisely that madness that made him a dangerous and, in his own way, fascinating opponent.

Aidan Lestrange is a daring and passionate duelist who loves fighting for the sake of it. He has a sharp tongue and a loud character, but he is not confrontational - his sarcasm plays to the audience more than it hurts. He loves to steal attention and argue, but he does it with a smile and without malice. Vulnerability can be guessed behind the bravado: he easily rushes into battle and just as easily ends up in a hospital bed, thus remaining bright, lively and passionate. His character is sharply different from his family - where the Lestranges are proud of their lineage and blood, Aidan recognizes only strength and the ability to prove himself in action.