Chapter 9: The Duelling Association

Why couldn't he get through the door?

The half-heard whispering whispering still echoed around the corridor, frustratingly unintelligible. He knew, somehow, that the eye carved into the door was the key; work out what it was for, and he would be through. He was strangely reluctant to try anything though. Something about the door scared him, a feeling that he really, really didn't want to go through. Yet, when he dreamt of it, it consumed him. It was the whispering, he decided.

Someone was talking to him.

Or, maybe, talking about him.

He had long since worked out that whoever it was, it wasn't Titus; he had been having the dream every couple of nights for weeks now, even though he forgot it upon waking, and he knew that Titus did not seem to exist in these dreams. While he would not claim to be an expert on the spirit – for he had decided that spirit was the best and simplest way of defining Titus, even if it wasn't really correct – he occasionally provided commentary on Harry's dreams. Presumably, then, these were not normal dreams. Harry could not really bring himself to be surprised by this knowledge. He would be more surprised when nothing unusual happened to him.

If they were not normal dreams though, what was causing them? He did not claim to be a seer, although he supposed that judging that by his prowess in Divination classes was eminently stupid. He assumed though that someone in the dorm would have woken up if he had started having the kind of prophetic fit that Professor Trelawney had suffered in his third year. Even Ron didn't sleep that lightly.

He had dreamt of Voldemort before – but this was different. Every time he had dreamt of the Dark Lord, he had been watching proceedings from Voldemort's perspective, inside his head. Unless Voldemort was regularly taking leisurely strolls into (Harry assumed) the Department of Mysteries, this, too, seemed unlikely, although not impossible.

Could they possibly be coming from somewhere else? Possibly, the place he had summoned the sword from? This seemed the most likely prospect, Harry felt. Although quite what linked the sword and the Department of Mysteries was, ironically, a complete mystery. Of course, Harry really wasn't that certain what the Department of Mysteries actually did. He knew it was something research based, at least primarily, and a magic sword would probably have been of great interest to them.

That still didn't answer the question of why he was dreaming about the Department. Or, indeed, who or what was speaking, and what they were saying.

Harry gazed up at the eye on the door, considering it. He was sitting, leant against the stone wall, as he usually did on the nights he dreamt of the door. He was trying to pluck up the courage to test his magic against it. He wasn't sure what, if anything, would happen. When he had thought he was affecting his dreams before, he had actually been attacking his own magical core, albeit for his own good. Would his magic affect something in a dream of dubious origin? More to the point, did he really want to know what was behind the door? Harry knew better than many his age that investigating mysteries was not necessarily good for mind, body and soul.

Cautiously, he allowed his magic to flare slightly, unconsciously stroking the charm bracelet that hung on his wrist even here. As the familiar breeze began to shift around him, the whispering grew louder, more fervent.

It sounded angry, somehow.

He clamped down on his magic. If the voice didn't want him to go through, he wasn't going to argue.

Then the corridor jolted, violently, shaking from side to side as if a giant had picked it up and thrown it. Harry leapt to his feet, but was instantly thrown to the floor again, sprawling there.

The stone walls melted away, the door disappeared, and he found himself falling, falling, until blackness surrounded him. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, calming breath, and opened them again. Everything was different. He could almost have believed himself back in the Ministry courtroom.

The room was lit with a green glow that reminded him uncomfortably of the Killing Curse. It gave the room an unreal sheen, and he felt his fist tighten. He looked down, and realised that he was sitting in a chair of black wood, with shimmering silver serpents embossed on the arms. Was it a trick of the light, or were they writhing under his gaze? And his hand – what had happened to his hand? It was pale, the fingers elongated, almost stretched, ending with nails so long and sharp that they were more like claws than anything else.

"My Lord?"

The familiar voice made him look up sharply, and he hissed.

Sirius. Sirius addressing him as 'Lord'.

He was dreaming of Voldemort once more.

"Are the preparations complete, my friend?" The Dark Lord spoke absently, distractedly, but Harry felt it was an act. He looked around, tilting his head back. The glow was coming from the ceiling, which was covered in shining five-pointed stars. Thousands of them, glittering as they bathed the room in deathly light. There was one larger one on the floor, with Sirius standing in the middle of it. It was surrounded by rows of benches, all empty at the moment, but clearly meant for an audience.

"They are indeed, my Lord." Sirius bowed his head reverently. "The attack will take place just as planned. I will lead it myself."

"Take Rosier with you," Voldemort interjected casually.

Sirius stiffened, his mouth set and his eyes narrowing slightly. "My Lord, I assure you – I am perfectly capable of leading the attack by myself."

"Oh, I know that, Sirius, I know. But dear Evan gets so restless when he's cooped up like this. Better for him to stretch his legs like this than to start indulging his little whims on the help, wouldn't you say?"

Sirius looked mollified, but only a little. "As you say, my Lord. Spitewinter still refuses to be in the room alone with him after the last time."

Voldemort chuckled with grim amusement. "Spitewinter is a pompous fool who should know not to play with dangerous animals. It was about time someone taught him his place – but perhaps you disagree?"

"Not in your assessment of his character, my Lord, but he is providing valuable…" Sirius trailed off. "Well, he is providing assistance, at least. We would not have anything like the numbers we need for the attack were it not for him, even if most of his followers are idiots."

"True enough. All the more reason to exercise Evan, wouldn't you say?"

Sirius bowed his head, acknowledging the point. Not that he would argue now even if he didn't agree; Harry knew it as firmly as Voldemort knew it.

"If that is all, Sirius…"

His godfather bowed once more, but hesitated before leaving.

"What is it?" Voldemort spoke quietly, but he was obviously not pleased. Harry noticed – and he was sure that Voldemort would have noticed – that Sirius flinched, just slightly.

"My Lord, I was just…I merely wondered if you had decided what to do about the boy?"

Voldemort smiled coldly, his fangs bared. "Still so concerned about him, Sirius? How touching."

"My Lord, he is a powerful wizard – he would be a valuable ally."

Voldemort chuckled. "Potter will not join us. Why would he? But, should you meet him in battle, feel free to make the offer. Just do not hesitate to bring him to me when he refuses."

"I know why you believe that my Lord, and I respect that. But Harry knows what it means to wield power, he knows that power deserves respect. And he will never be satisfied with the constraints placed upon all wizards by the Ministry."

Harry felt a great swell of outrage within himself. Could Sirius really believe what he was saying?

"Do not try my patience, Black." Voldemort's voice was measured, but the anger was evident. Sirius fell to one knee.

"My Lord, I know why you wish Harry dead, I just – " a troubled expression passed over his face. "I cannot believe that he will blindly follow Dumbledore into a self-made prison. There's something wild about him that will never be tamed. And he is open-minded. If he can be swayed, he would be of tremendous use to our cause."

"And, perhaps, a worthy successor to my throne?" Voldemort asked, pointedly.

Sirius looked up, his eyes blazing with fervent belief. "No, my Lord. How can you be succeeded when you will never die? But even gods must have their right hand, and you must admit that Harry could be greater than any other wizard of his generation."

"True enough," Voldemort admitted. "But you know why he must die. And even if it were not so, I killed his parents, and I have tried to kill him on several occasions. Why would he even consider it? Offer, if it makes you happy, but you will obey me, when it comes to it."

"Of course, my Lord."

"Good. Now, leave me. I would be alone."

Harry woke with a gasp, throwing the covers from the bed. Suddenly cold, he hunched up, scowling in anger. How could Sirius seriously think he would turn? He was no Dark wizard. He might dabble in a few less socially acceptable spells, but he was no potential Death Eater, even without the personal grievances. Sirius must be crazier than he had thought.

As ever, he remembered nothing of the door.

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A few days later, Harry was sat in the common room copying spells from a book Remus had sent him. It was a little more than he had asked for – there was no way he was even going to attempt to teach something like the Foe-Hammer curse to the majority of the school, for instance, however intriguing it looked – but there were several spells in there that he thought would suit Dumbledore's purposes nicely. He just needed to pluck up the courage to actually teach them, which was easier said than done.

Umbridge's classes had not improved. The only saving grace was that the work was so easy there was little in the way of homework, so Harry was, for the first time he could remember, managing to avoid all-nighters on potions essays. He supposed that was good, although putting work in for Snape rather went against everything Harry stood for. He was determined to ace his O.W.L. though, if only to spite the potions master. Transfiguration was coming ever more naturally to him now, although that didn't help his essays. He might be able to transfigure water into wine, but that didn't mean he understood how he was doing it. Charms was much the same, although oddly he found the theory easier for that class. Ron had opined that it was due to Flitwick being 'less of a catty bitch', which Harry had felt was a little unfair to McGonagall, however stern she might be. Divination and Care of Magical Creatures remained entertaining and relaxing, while Ancient Runes was piling on the work so fast that Harry was beginning to think some sort of duplication spell had been cast. History of Magic, of course, remained an hour set aside for catching up on sleep, or finishing other work. Really, Harry was surprisingly well rested for a fifth year. It was infuriating Hermione, who seemed to have twice his work load, but he was remaining calm about it.

Ron was practising a charm they had learnt earlier that day, animating paper aeroplanes and sending them flying towards other people. There were quite a few of them circling the room, and Seamus was languidly using them for target practice. He clipped one with a purple jet of light, and the plane exploded in a cloud of confetti, sprinkling directly over Lavender Brown. She giggled, batting it out of her hair, and Harry grinned as he watched. Lavender hadn't been smiling much this term; she was missing Parvati almost as much as he was, in a way.

Hermione looked up at the noise, and frowned. "Ron, you shouldn't be encouraging them. They could at least wait until after dinner!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "It's just a bit of fun, Hermione. You remember fun? It's what you have when you're not buried in a textbook. Same goes for you, Harry."

"This is quite interesting actually, mate. Did you know there's a spell that can turn someone's kneecaps backwards? Not exactly a duel finisher, but I can't imagine it'd be fun dealing with that…" Harry looked up at his friends. "What do you think? Add it to the list?"

Hermione looked faintly disgusted. "How does someone come up with a spell like that? Who sat down and thought, 'What the world needs is a way to flip kneecaps.' I mean honestly, did they have nothing better to do?"

"I dunno, I think it sounds pretty cool." Ron jabbed his wand at an imaginary opponent. "Imagine doing it to Filch!" The caretaker had docked Ron two house-points for tracking mud into the castle the previous day; Ron was still bitter, despite winning them back in Charms that afternoon. Harry shook his head in amusement, and scribbled the incantation and wand movements down. It wasn't something he'd teach everyone, but maybe those who were doing well in a session could learn something fun.

Hermione sighed. "You really shouldn't hold grudges like that, Ron. It's not a healthy state of mind."

Ron ignored her, lost in mildly vengeful fantasies, and she turned back to Harry. "When are you going to start this club up, anyway? I want to see what we're going to be learning! I wish you'd let me help…"

"I will, I told you. But I want to see what people are capable of before we load them up with too many spells. There's no point teaching them an amazing new jinx every week if they can't manage a Stunning spell. And I'm probably going to get Dumbledore to start it on Halloween, before the Feast. Bit of a treat for everyone, you know."

"Cool," Ron butted in. "That'll build my appetite up nicely that will!"

"If it does, I'm stunning you until we've all got our helpings, ok?" Harry retorted. Ron flicked his wand, muttering something, and Harry groaned as static ran through his hair, shooting it up on end. Ron had learnt the spell from the twins over the summer; they had been getting everyone in the Burrow with it, and Harry was starting to think they might actually have invented it themselves. He glared at his friend as he tried to make his hair lie flat again. "No fair, jinxing me when I'm relaxing!"

"Stop whinging – constant vigilance, remember?" Ron told him with a grin. He laughed as Harry stuck two fingers up at him.

"Honestly," Hermione huffed, drawing her wand smoothly and tapping Harry's scalp with it. His hair fell down once more, and he smiled at her.

"Thank you. Nice to know someone's on my side!"

"I'm not, Ron's right. You ought to have learned to keep your wand to hand at all times by now," she responded tartly, causing Ron to let out a bark of laughter. Harry shot her a look of betrayal, and she sniffed dismissively before turning back to her work.

Harry returned to his own book, muttering grumpily. He flicked through another few spells, turning up a page corner at a rather nasty looking curse, then closed the book. "That'll do, I think. Twenty spells…think that's enough? Should be alright for a couple of weeks, at least."

Hermione smiled fondly at him. "It will be fine, Harry, stop worrying about it. I keep telling you, you'll be brilliant."

"Wish I had your confidence…"

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Harry stared out over the sea of students, and hoped that they couldn't see him sweat.

There were hundreds of them! It looked like the entire school had turned out. Dumbledore had warned him, he supposed, but he hadn't taken the Headmaster seriously. He really needed to remember how famous he was, at times.

Dumbledore had swept the tables to the side of the room, with a single duelling stage where the staff table would have been. There would be more for future sessions, but for now people were just standing in clumps around the room. A lot of the students were chattering excitedly, but more than Harry would have liked were staring at him expectantly. It made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. He opened and closed his hands a few times, psyching himself up. At the front of the duelling stage, Ginny caught his eye, and flashed him a thumbs up. He smiled gratefully at her. "Now or never," he muttered to himself, and he strode out onto the stage.

He was rather surprised when silence instantly fell across the room. Off hand, Dumbledore and Snape were the only people he could think of who achieved similar effects – although Voldemort probably managed it as well, now he thought of it. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and began to talk.

"Um, hi."

In front of him, Hermione closed her eyes in despair, and he tried again.

"Well, welcome to the Duelling Association." He swallowed again, and cast his mind about desperately for something to break the ice. "Those of you who've been here a while probably remember the last time the club ran; hopefully it'll be running a little smoother this time!"

A small ripple of laughter ran through those in the crowd who remembered Lockhart's catastrophic attempts to teach them to duel, and Harry spoke on, emboldened by this success.

"So yeah, um, well, over the next few months, we're going to be teaching everyone a few things about duelling. Obviously, I guess. I've already got a few helpers, but if anyone else from fifth year or above wants to help out, have a word with Hermione at the end of the session, ok?" He paused to let Hermione stand up, then carried on, warming to his theme. "You all know what's out there. That Voldemort – " he paused while the gasps died down, sighing irritably. "That Voldemort is out there, ready to fight. We all need to know how to defend ourselves; there's no reason any wizard or witch can't do a few basic self-defence spells, you don't have to be an Auror or anything, and you can't always rely on someone being there to protect you. I'm not going to expect you to go out and tackle Voldemort head on, of course, but there's only so much you can learn in the classroom…"

There were a few chuckles, and Harry allowed himself a small smile. He didn't really need to mention Umbridge by name.

"So yeah, we'll be meeting once a week, we'll all do a bit of training and hopefully have a bit of fun as well! We're not going to work on too much tonight, just a couple of basics to start us off. So, erm…if you could all pair off, that'd be great."

He paused while everyone shuffled around, and glowing lines appeared on the floor within the various groups, giving them a training spot. Ron slouched onto the stage, carrying a couple of cushions which he dropped behind him, and he faced Harry with a slightly apprehensive look. He had been volunteered to be the training dummy for the day. When everyone had settled down, Harry smiled at them all.

"Great. Now, some of you may already know these spells, in which case I apologise, but it never hurts to practise. To those of you who don't – if you learn nothing else from the club but these two spells, that's fine, but you absolutely need these two. They're the bread and butter of any wizard or witch's grimoire.

"First of all, the Stunning spell. Fairly simple to cast – there's no real wand movement for it, you just point your wand at your opponent, like so…" He turned away from the crowd, and assumed the en guarde position, aiming his wand at Ron's chest. Ron shuffled, bracing himself. "Then the incantation, Stupefy!" The red light hit Ron square in the chest, and he fell backwards onto the cushions, unconscious. Harry turned back to the crowd. "As you can see, it's a simple, reliable spell. There are drawbacks though – specifically, if it's not a one-on-one duel, then your opponent isn't likely to stay down for long." He turned back to Ron, and cancelled the spell. His friend sat up, rubbing his shoulder where he had overshot the cushions slightly.

"Like I said, it's not a perfect spell, but if you can't master this then you might as well not even attempt the more advanced spells." He winced a bit as he realised how judgemental that could sound, but forged on. "So, why don't you guys have a go? A few of us'll be wandering around giving tips, and waking people up if necessary. We're not expecting you to master it straight off!"

He hopped down from the stage, and set off round the hall as the pairs faced each other, Ron, Hermione and the twins setting off as well. As he walked, Harry felt a wave of relief that Dumbledore had suggested the training lines. He had set them up so that the spells wouldn't go beyond the barriers formed by the lines, and it was a good job he had – there was a lot of poor spellwork, with jets of light flying everywhere. Only about half the spells were connecting at all, and of those not all were actually knocking people out. He enervated a few people, and passed on a few tips, winding his way around the room back to the stage. He checked his watch, and called for attention. Most people did not stop, caught up in their own fun, and he let off a bang from his wand.

"Thank you. Ok guys, some good stuff there. A lot of room for improvement, obviously, but that's a good start. Now, I just want to quickly show you another spell, then you can have a try with that one."

Ron climbed back up on to the stage, brandishing his wand. They had flipped a coin for who was going to demonstrate which spell, and Harry was now the dummy.

"This is the Disarming charm, which will – obviously – disarm your opponent. Ron?"

Ron leapt into en guarde, and then snapped off a decent Disarming charm, shouting the incantation clearly for all to hear. Harry's wand leapt out of his hand as the spell touched him, clattering to the floor in front of Ron. His friend picked it up, grinning at him. Harry nodded his approval, then turned back to the crowd.

"Again, there are drawbacks – it's easy to counter, as is Stupefy, and if you've got more than one opponent, then it's easy to get distracted while they go for their wand again. Also, a lot of serious duellists will carry more than one wand, so don't get too confident. If you disarm someone, follow it up with a Stunning spell, ok? Right, go for it!"

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"Well, that went pretty well."

Harry grinned at Ginny, nodding in agreement. "It could have been worse, yeah. How many did we get wanting to help out?"

Hermione unravelled the sheet of parchment, scanning it quickly. "Ten or so. Ernie Macmillan, Draco – can we not have him? He'll be thoroughly obnoxious."

"He knows his stuff though. Put him on probation, if he's too much of a prat we'll kick him out, ok?"

"Huh. Ok, I guess. The twins wanted to teach, but I didn't bother putting them down, because really."

"I'll agree with that one! God, can you imagine the chaos? Dumbledore would have me in detention for the rest of the year…"

"You assume Filch wouldn't kill you before Dumbledore even heard about it," Hermione pointed out reasonably.

"True. So, Ernie, Draco – who else?"

"Susan Bones, Daphne Greengrass, Anthony Goldstein, Cho Chang –"

"Well, that'll make the boys happy at least!" Ginny butted in with a wink at Harry and Ron.

"It's true," Ron said with a shrug. "No guys going to learn anything if she's teaching them – unless she offers personal lessons in wandwork, I suppose." He nudged Harry, and grinned lasciviously.

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione said in her haughtiest tones, "You are one of the most degenerate people I have ever met."

"That's my charm, Hermione, you know that. The twins taught me well, what can I say?"

"Give me strength…I suppose it would be pointless to mention that she's still dating Cedric?" she asked.

"Pretty much," Ron agreed. "We're not thinking about dating her, just that she's got a cracking pair of –"

"Yes, thank you Ron, step out of the fantasy," Hermione scolded, a look of disgust crossing her face. Her anger was rather undermined by Harry roaring with laughter at her side. "Moving on…yes, Ernie, Draco, Susan, Daphne, Anthony, Cho, Cormac McClaggan, which could be interesting…John Carter, he's a Ravenclaw seventh year, Su Li, and Marcus Crawley, he's a Slytherin sixth year."

"At the risk of sounding rude, do we really want Slytherins teaching here?" Ginny enquired hesitantly. "Even if you accept that they're not all Death Eaters in waiting, and I do by the way, they're not exactly known for their people skills."

"True," Harry admitted with a slight grin. "Maybe we'll stick them with the more advanced students, what do you think?"

"Might be for the best, yes," Hermione said, nodding.

"Brilliant. I'll have a think about what we'll do next time later, circulate it round."

Hermione grinned. "You're much more enthusiastic about the whole thing. Anyone would think you'd enjoyed yourself."

"I…it's growing on me, let's say," he admitted. It was true; once the initial nervousness had passed, he'd found teaching coming naturally to him. "I'm glad there's going to be a few more helpers though!"

Ron nodded fervently. "Too right. There were bloody hundreds of them! Must have been the entire school, pretty much."

"Yeah…that was not what I was expecting, I'll admit it."

Ginny giggled. "You looked like you were going to pass out for a moment there, it was very cute."

"Thanks. Always nice to have sympathetic friends," Harry commented drily.

"Oh, I'm only teasing and you know it. Come on, let's go get ready for the feast. I'm starving!" She stood up, and bounded off ahead of the trio, who followed at a more leisurely pace.

"Ah, the Weasley appetite. I suppose we should at least be grateful that Ginny picked up the concept of table manners…" Harry remarked to Hermione, with a straight face. She nodded solemnly.

"Absolutely. It'd be really embarrassing if they were both such animals at dinner time."

"Guys, I'm standing right here…" Ron complained.

"They know that, Ron. That's the point. Just ignore them, they'll stop being childish soon," Ginny called over her shoulder.

Harry chuckled, reaching up to rub his head absently.

Then he stumbled, falling to his knees as pain flashed through his skull.

"Harry?"

He clenched his eyes shut tightly, trying to block out the pain. It was coming through his scar, and felt like someone had buried an axe between his eyes. "It's Voldemort. He's – he's happy." A picture floated into his head, and he opened his eyes in shock.

"Azkaban."

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A/N: The idea of the Star Chamber, (Voldemort's office) belongs to Hellinbrand. Thanks for letting me use it!