-#-

Chapter 4

Duelling Club

"You have armadillo bile, moondew, chizpurfle carapace, bicorn horn, erumpent tail, fluxweed, boomslang skin, wartcap powder, and honeywater at your disposal," Slughorn said, turning to the class. "You have one hour to make a potion using those ingredients. The more ingredients you use, the higher your mark will be." He smiled at Harry, probably still hoping that Harry would finally demonstrate his "talent" and create some complicated potion.

Harry smiled back weakly and turned away.

Even though it'd been weeks since the beginning of the school year, he still caught himself thinking how odd all of it was. After a year of horcrux hunting, after the war, after everything that had happened, returning to Hogwarts and being just a student felt…surreal – nice, but surreal.

And it was probably weird of him to be noticing this only now. But then, considering that he had spent the previous weeks obsessing over Riddle, too frustrated and pissed off to pay attention to other things, it probably wasn't that surprising.

Harry grimaced. Thank Merlin he was over it. Looking back, he couldn't help but cringe at his paranoid behaviour. Yes, he still didn't trust Riddle, since he probably was up to no good, but Riddle was hardly going to cast the Unforgivables at other students the moment Harry looked away from him. Riddle had had the perfect opportunity to attack him the other night if he wanted, but he didn't, and as much as it pained Harry to admit it, he had helped him. Whatever Riddle's motives were, his Dark Arts lesson did help: Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt so good. There was no trace of the ever-present building tension in his body and he hadn't lost his temper or broken anything with his accidental magic in days.

And all it took was to cast a few dark spells a day. Harry could live with that. Usually he just pretended that the spells weren't dark, which was easy enough to do, since Sectumsempra and Vulnera Sanentur seemed no different from other spells he was used to, just more draining. They were nothing special. Nothing extraordinary.

I could do harder spells, a little nagging voice whispered in the back of his head. I could do that other spell again.

Harry squashed down the thought, forcing himself to think about the spells he'd been practicing.

Actually, the hardest part was finding a place to practice. The Room of Requirement didn't seem to be working after the Fiendfyre, and since Harry wasn't sure whether the school's wards could detect dark magic, he'd had to go to the Chamber of Secrets again. He was determined to find another place, though; he didn't want to accidentally meet Riddle there—not that Riddle had been paying him much attention lately.

Not that Harry cared.

"Stop daydreaming, Potter, and make yourself useful," Malfoy snapped, pulling him away from his thoughts. "I'm not going to do all the work myself! You might be Slughorn's pet, but I'm not, so I won't get away with a slap on the wrist if we don't get the potion done. Cut the boomslang skin, will you?"

"Someone's pissy today," Harry murmured, but reached for the skin nonetheless. "What did Rosier do this time?"

Malfoy just scowled, throwing a glare towards Rosier, who was working on his potion with Selwyn at the front of the classroom. Harry barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes; he didn't want to be hexed.

"You know," he started, cutting the boomslang skin automatically, but forgot what he'd been about to say. He stared at the skin. "Hey, Malfoy."

"What?" the blond grumbled, cutting the erumpent tail.

"Do you know how they get boomslang skin?"

Malfoy stopped cutting. Slowly, the grey eyes looked up at him. "Maybe," he said, his face wary but curious.

Harry wet his lips. "They use a special dark spell for that, don't they?"

Malfoy's eyes widened. He glanced around the classroom, but no one was paying them any attention. Slughorn was explaining something to Ron.

"Why the sudden interest, Potter?" he said evasively, his voice a bit high.

"Have you ever cast it? The spell, I mean."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Do you seriously expect me to admit casting an illegal dark curse?"

Harry held his gaze. "If I wanted you to get thrown into Azkaban, I wouldn't have testified on your behalf."

Malfoy looked highly uncomfortable, as he always did at the mention of the topic. He never spoke of the trial and had never thanked him, not even when Harry gave him back his wand. Harry couldn't help but think he was an ungrateful brat. It wasn't that he particularly wanted Draco's gratitude, but hell, he did save him and his parents from getting thrown into Azkaban and he did stop the Ministry from confiscating all their properties, making a lot of people angry in the process.

"Fine, I have," Malfoy said testily.

Harry bit his lip. "Did you…Did you like it?" Or is it just me? Am I just as sick as Riddle?

"I'm not discussing this with you," Malfoy said quickly, shifting his gaze to their cauldron. "Can we just get on with the work?"

"Not until you answer me."

"Fine; I did," Malfoy snapped. "Now cut the bloody skin, Potter!"

Harry smiled.

-#-

"The hottest Slytherin girl," Ron prompted, grinning.

Harry took a gulp of his butterbeer, trying and failing to think of someone.

"Hmm, Daphne Greengrass," said Terry from where he sat leaning against Dean's bed.

"Her little sister is way hotter." Seamus leered. "Those legs...damn."

"Diana Zabini," Neville said, not looking as uncomfortable with the topic as he once would have been. The old Neville would have been blushing and stammering. Harry had to admit he liked the new one better.

"Helen Flint," Anthony Goldstein said.

"Pansy Parkinson," murmured Cornfoot.

Michael Corner cringed. "To each their own, I guess. It's Daphne for me."

"As much as it pains me to agree with Finnigan," Malfoy drawled out from his bed. "Astoria is gorgeous."

Harry hid a smile. For someone who claimed to hate spending time in the company of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Malfoy never left the room when the eighth year boys gathered in their room on Friday evenings. Since they weren't welcomed in the Slytherin common room and it was impractical to go all the way up to their own common rooms, it had become a tradition of sorts to gather in their room.

"Diana Zabini," drawled Smith with an obnoxious smirk. "Best tits."

"Oh yeah, Diana," Ron said with a dreamy smile before giving Harry a panicked look. "Don't tell Hermione, mate!"

Harry chuckled. "I won't, Ron, relax. It's just a game."

"What about you, Harry?" Anthony asked.

Harry shrugged. "Probably Astoria. She's very pretty."

"Okay, my turn," Seamus said with a smirk. "The hottest Slytherin bloke."

Ron groaned. "Come on, mate, some of us don't swing that way at all!"

Grinning, Seamus lifted his eyebrows. "So? You have eyes. Admitting a bloke is handsome won't make you gay, Weasley. Rules are rules."

"Fine," Ron grumbled. "I guess Malcolm Baddock is okay looking. For a bloke."

Shaking his head, Harry took another gulp of his butterbeer.

Seamus sniggered. "He looks like a girl, mate. But whatever floats your boat." He leered. "Personally, I'd fuck Tom Vergne."

Harry nearly choked on his drink but managed not to snort it out of his nose.

Neville grimaced. "Vergne? He gives me the creeps. He pretends to be nice, but he's actually an arrogant arse."

Harry always knew Neville was a smart one.

"Oh come on, Nev!" Seamus said. "Who cares about his attitude when he's drop dead gorgeous? Just looking at him makes me all hot and bothered."

Harry wondered if the Wizarding world was always so open-minded about same sex relationships and he just missed it.

"I care," Neville said firmly. "Zabini's handsome too, but he isn't a two-faced snake. Your turn, Zach."

"Sebastian Rosier," Smith said with a leer. "He's got one nice body."

"No taste at all," Malfoy grumbled. Everyone ignored him.

"One hundred percent straight here," Dean said, blushing slightly. "But even I can see Vergne's hot."

Anthony looked thoughtful. "Yeah, Vergne's probably the best-looking bloke in school, but I'm not really into the whole 'tall, dark and dangerous' thing—no offence, Harry."

"None taken," Harry said with a snort. "And I'm not dangerous."

Smiling, Anthony saluted Malfoy with his drink. "So...I'd say Draco Malfoy."

Malfoy's cheeks went pink. "At least someone here has an excellent taste," he said smugly. "I suppose I can't choose myself, so...Vergne. He's almost as handsome as me."

Zach snorted. "Right. Comparing incomparable."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him. "What is that supposed to mean, Smith?"

Zach smirked. "Isn't it obvious? Vergne is handsome and hot. You're pretty and girly. Feel the difference? You can't compare yourself to blokes like Vergne, Rosier and Potter."

Flushing with fury, Malfoy gave him a murderous look. "I'll have you know I'm very handsome!"

"Mates, come on!" Seamus said before it could escalate into an ugly argument. "Terry, your turn."

"Rosier," Terry murmured with a blush.

"Vergne," Cornfoot said.

Corner grinned. "I won't be original: Tom Vergne. Gorgeous hands, if you get what I mean."

Harry took a big gulp of his butterbeer.

"What about you, Potter?" Malfoy asked. "Who'd you rather shag?"

Smith sneered. "Hoping it's you, Malfoy?" He yelped when Draco hexed him.

"Yeah, mate, come on, it's only fair!" Ron said.

Harry fidgeted under everyone's expectant gazes. "I guess Rosier is handsome."

"Rosier?" Seamus said with an obnoxious smirk.

Harry met his eyes steadily. "Yes, Rosier."

"Oh come on, I don't believe you, mate!" Seamus wiggled his eyebrows. "I caught you a few times looking at a certain Slytherin, and it wasn't Rosier."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Seamus. If I looked at Vergne once or twice, it obviously means that I want to pin him down and fuck him senseless."

"Ew," Ron said, growing red in the face. "I really, really didn't need that image in my head, mate."

Harry scowled, nursing his butterbeer and wishing for a stronger drink.

"Alright, my turn," Malfoy said, breaking the somewhat awkward silence. "Slytherin you dislike the most."

"Ooh, that's a good one!" Ron said with a wide grin. "My vote goes to you, Malfoy!"

Malfoy smirked. "Coming from you, I'll take this as a compliment. My vote goes to the Senior Prat, also known as Sebastian Rosier."

Smith snorted. "What a surprise. My vote goes to you."

"Tom Vergne," Neville said.

Yeah, Neville definitely was a smart one.

"Sebastian Rosier," Dean said, nodding to Malfoy. Malfoy smiled approvingly.

"Theodore Nott," Seamus said, his face darkening. Harry winced. He knew Seamus's roommates were making his life a living hell, Nott more so than the others.

"Yeah, Nott," said Goldstein.

Terry nodded. "Same here."

"Rosier," said Cornfoot. "His smile annoys me."

"Nott," Corner said.

Harry shrugged slightly when it was his turn. "I don't dislike anyone."

And it was true. He couldn't say he liked Slytherins, but he also couldn't say he particularly disliked any of them. He wouldn't really call whatever he felt for Riddle 'dislike.' The word was too…inadequate.

Too weak.

-#-

"Welcome to the Duelling Club," Professor Augusta Frulli said cheerfully to the crowd of students gathered around the duelling platform she stood on. "I'm aware that some of you participated in a Duelling Club six years ago, but I doubt you will find any similarities between my club and Professor Lockhart's. For one thing, only sixth, seventh, and eighth years were allowed to join. I know that many of your younger friends and relatives weren't happy about it, but the age limit is there for a very good reason." She held a dramatic pause, making sure everyone was paying attention.

Harry didn't quite know what to make of her. She was certainly one of the best DADA professors they had ever had, but she had her quirks. Being an Italian, she didn't care much for the British Ministry rules, and Harry suspected that many of the spells they had been learning wouldn't be approved by the Ministry. He didn't think they were dark spells per se— at least not if he went by Riddle's definition of dark spells. Some of them were simply questionable in their purpose and intent. Hermione had tried to tell the professor that, but Frulli shrugged it off, saying that those spells were perfectly legal in Italy.

"The age limit is there because this club would have been too dangerous for younger students." Frulli held another dramatic pause. "You may use any curses and hexes you have learned, bar the Unforgivables."

"What?" Hermione gasped as the excited murmurs filled the room. "But that's irresponsible and dangerous!"

"Come on, Hermione," Ron said with a grin. "We aren't kids. It's time to show off all the spells we've learned! We'll have an advantage over them!"

Hermione gave him a look, but Ron only grinned wider. "Come on, I know you're dying to show off your skills."

Hermione smiled reluctantly. "Fine, I suppose it won't be too bad. And earning fifty points is no joking matter. Harry? What are you looking at?"

Harry watched the corner of the room where Riddle held court. As usual, Patrick Selwyn and Sebastian Rosier stood by his sides and were conversing with him in hushed tones.

"Looks like they want those fifty points, too, Hermione," Harry said, nodding towards the trio.

Hermione frowned, the corners of her lips turning down. "Well, I'm sure we can beat them. Selwyn and Rosier both have excellent marks in DADA, but how much practical experience could they possibly have? They didn't fight in the war. And Vergne... I've ever heard professors gush over him, but he's only a sixth year. He can't be that good. We have two years of experience over him."

Ron didn't look so sure. "Hermione, I don't think the bloke who found his way to the top of the Slytherin food chain within a few weeks is anything but dangerous."

She didn't look convinced. "I'm certain I can handle him."

Harry remembered Riddle's words about Hermione being powerful. Combined with her encyclopedic knowledge of spells, she probably stood some chance against Riddle. Some.

Frulli spoke again. "There will be a duelling tournament near the end of the school year, but for now, we'll use the following system: every house will choose a champion. The champions will be paired, and the winners of each pair will duel each other. The winner of the final duel gets fifty points, as I mentioned earlier. You have five minutes to choose your champion." She waved her wand and a clock appeared in the air.

Immediately, Harry, Hermione and Ron were surrounded by Gryffindors.

"Harry, of course!"

"Maybe Hermione—"

"No, Harry should be the champion! He's never let us down!"

"I don't know, I really want to participate myself—"

"Yeah, Harry—he won the Triwizard Tournament!"

"Hermione knows more spells than anyone!"

"And she has the best grades!"

"But Harry killed You-Know-Who!"

Right now, Harry wanted to kill them all.

Ignoring his overly-loud housemates, he looked at Slytherins, who were gathered around Riddle. They weren't loud at all. They stood in silence, observing Gryffindors with condescending smirks on their faces.

Riddle wasn't looking at Gryffindors at all, though. He was too busy whispering something in Selwyn's ear. It looked obscenely intimate. Selwyn's pale face was flushed, his blue eyes glazed as he looked at Riddle.

Harry averted his gaze.

"Your five minutes are up," Frulli announced. "Champions, step forward."

Terry Boot left the crowd of Ravenclaws, accompanied by the applause of his housemates.

Anne Devero, a seventh year Hufflepuff, was another champion.

Harry looked at the Slytherins, expecting Riddle to step forward. He didn't. Instead, Selwyn did, looking very arrogant and confident.

Harry narrowed his eyes. Slytherins were up to something. Why would they choose that pretty boy over Riddle?

"We're waiting only for Gryffindors," Frulli said, raising her voice when Gryffindors continued arguing.

Slytherins started sneering and sniggering.

"Enough," Harry growled at his housemates. It came out louder than he expected and everyone shut up. Harry felt them stare at him in surprise. "I'm going." And he strode to the platform before anyone could protest. No one did.

Harry's lips twisted. Sometimes being the Saviour did have its advantages.

"Very well," Frulli said, smiling. "Today it will be Gryffindor against Hufflepuff, and Slytherin against Ravenclaw. Then the winners will duel each other. Boot and Selwyn, you're the first to go!" She hopped off the platform and motioned them to proceed.

They did.

Harry watched their duel with interest. Even though Terry was very good, pretty soon it became obvious that Selwyn was going to win. Harry wouldn't say Selwyn was that better than Terry; he simply fought more ruthlessly, not shying away from mild dark curses and some questionable Transfiguration spells.

The duel lasted three minutes, and by its end, Terry was barely able to move, his face bloody, his clothes half-burnt and his arm broken. Selwyn looked impeccable and very pleased with himself as he stepped off the duelling platform. His expression changed when he looked towards Riddle: like a lovesick dog wanting to be praised by its owner. Harry snorted. The only thing that was missing was a wagging tail.

Riddle simply nodded to Selwyn, his eyes cold, but the blond grinned widely, like he'd received the best praise in the world. Pathetic, Harry thought.

"Potter and Devero," Frulli called out.

Harry got onto the platform, determined to make it quick.

It didn't quite work out like that. He barely scraped a win because his concentration was shot to hell. He didn't know why; he'd felt perfectly fine before the duel.

"Harry!" Hermione grabbed him arm as soon as staggered off the platform.

"What the hell was that, mate?" It was like Ron's voice was coming from very far away. "You should have beaten her much easily! She's good, but she's not that good!"

Harry shook his head, trying to concentrate. "I don't know, Ron. I just couldn't focus. Still can't."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She waved her wand and gasped. "You're cursed!"

Harry went still. Then, he turned his head towards the Slytherins. They were smirking, though some of them were wearing disappointed expressions. They were probably disappointed that he'd managed to win at all.

Selwyn was grinning triumphantly, looking particularly smug.

And Harry saw red.

He knew it wasn't recommended to try ending the curse if one didn't know what curse it was, but at the moment, he didn't particularly care. "Finite Incantatem," he growled, waving his wand over himself, willing it to work.

It did.

"Harry! It was too dangerous to—"

"Not now, Hermione," he said, climbing back onto the duelling platform.

He would show them. He'd show him.

Gripping his wand, he looked at Selwyn. Riddle was whispering something into his ear again, looking right at Harry—for the first time since their 'lesson.'

Go ahead, teach your fuck-toy more dirty tricks, he thought viciously, looking right into Riddle's eyes. I'll beat him anyway.

He averted his eyes from Riddle only when Selwyn climbed onto the platform.

They bowed to each other and, turning around, started to walk away.

"One, two—"

Harry whirled around, knowing that Selwyn wouldn't wait until 'three.' He was right.

He ducked from the red beam of light that had been heading in his direction. He recognized what it was: the nasty skin-burning curse favoured by Yaxley. Selwyn definitely wasn't going to play nice.

Well, neither was Harry.

Raising a strong shield, he let several spells bounce off of it, quickly considering and discarding ideas. He was extremely tempted to use the Sectumsempra curse but didn't want Riddle to think him unimaginative, nor did he want to use a Dark spell.

Harry grinned, suddenly remembering the spell he had found this summer in the Blacks' library but hadn't had the chance to try out yet because it required a living target. Harry figured it was a variation of Serpensortia: aimed to scare, not hurt. It was perfect for the occasion.

Moving his wand in an intricate pattern, which was the hardest part of the spell, and willing it to work, Harry shouted, "Serpentis ingruo!"

He felt a warm rush of power sharpening his senses, which was his first clue that something went wrong. For a moment, nothing happened. But then, hundreds of snakes appeared out of nowhere and, in the blink of the eye, attacked Selwyn.

Paling, Harry could only stare as Selwyn was completely covered with hundreds of hissing, writhing snakes. It only took seconds before shrieks and screams of horror filled the room.

Harry turned his head to the panicked crowd and found a single student who stood completely still in the middle of the chaos. He was neither panicking nor casting spells at the snakes.

Tom Riddle was looking right at him.

And he was smiling.