Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.
Here you go - the first part of the competition. Don't forget to review! You've no idea how much I love those, even if it is just to say something obvious.
I want to thank Sun Blinded and emerald777 for lifting my mood.
"The contestants are stationed here; eight students from each year level, two students from each house. Students of the same year are situated in the same row, hence the reason for seven rows. The other students who are not participating will be sitting apart from the contenders," Snape explained.
"What about the rules of the competition?" Harry questioned, an urgent expression on his face. He was feeling slightly light-headed, and he knew he was pale and clammy. He had difficulty breathing evenly; one breath long and one breath short.
Suddenly, without warning, Snape seized Harry's wrists and said in a low voice, "Calm down, Potter. Get yourself together. You have come more prepared than most of them" – he nodded vaguely at Harry's other opponents – "so you have nothing to be nervous about."
Then in a louder voice, he said, "Here, Potter. Sit down." And steered Harry into his seat.
Almost quivering with apprehension, Harry sat on the soothingly cool bench, his face still a pasty white.
"I'll come back later to explain the rules and run a few pointers with you," Snape assured, before striding away.
Harry tried to calm his racing heart and took a couple deep breaths. The moment he sat down, his limbs seemed to have turned into marshmallows. In his nervousness, he hardly even noticed Draco Malfoy sitting directly next to him.
Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for Malfoy, who raised an eyebrow at Harry and sneered.
"Oh, look who it is!" he said in a disgustingly syrupy voice. "Fancy you being here, Potter… but then who isn't? Hey, I don't see your mudblood girlfriend anywhere."
Harry was glad his brain hadn't shut down like his limbs. "Really? Then you must be blind. She's right there," he retorted, gesturing at Hermione who was waving encouragingly at him from the other side of the hall.
Harry returned Hermione a tentative smile.
Meanwhile, Malfoy had turned away from him in a huff, and Harry was happy to bask in his moment of undisrupted peace for a couple of minutes.
At that point, Draco said out of the blue, "You don't actually expect get into the second round for the competition, do you?"
Harry's brows knitted together in a mocking way, as if he was truly considering what Malfoy had said. "Nah, not really. I expect I'd get into the final round."
Of course, he was fibbing – he had no such intentions – but Malfoy's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in shock, greatly amusing Harry.
"The colour of arrogance doesn't suit you, Potter," Malfoy spat.
"I know. It suits you best because it's become used to you."
"I'm not as arrogant as to believe I'd win the competition!" Malfoy raised his voice indignantly. "But I'm aware of one thing; I'll wipe the floor with you."
Harry was feeling rather thankful towards Malfoy. The Slytherin was, in fact, distracting him from his own stresses by engaging him in an argument.
"How wonderful," Harry replied, in a bored tone.
Draco's face flushed the colour of a flustered beetroot. "I'll embarrass you in front of everyone so much that you'll never dare to show face to your mudblood girlfriend again," he promised.
"When I beat you, you won't be calling her that foul word anymore."
"Why, you insolent little bastar–"
"Are you sure you want to finish that sentence, Draco? You know I don't tolerate swearing from children."
Malfoy was interrupted in midsentence by an icy voice that literally seemed to still the air.
While Draco twisted around in shock to look at the newcomer, Harry froze in his seat. He'd be able to recognise that rich voice and cold undertone anywhere.
It seemed Voldemort had come to watch the show.
"Sor – sorry, my lord," Draco stuttered. "I didn't know you were coming tonight."
Voldemort smiled charmingly. "I wouldn't miss this competition for the world." Here, he gazed intently at the stage, as if imagining duelling students. "We're not here on business, Draco. There's no need to be so formal."
"Yes, my lord," said Draco.
"So you've made it into this competition…" Voldemort remarked. "Congratulations, your father will be so proud, just as I am."
Draco's chest instantly puffed up. "Thank you so much, my lord. I am the best first year duellist in Slytherin…but it isn't worth boasting about, because I do not yet have the title of the winner of the competition tonight."
"Ever so modest, Draco," complimented the Dark Lord, eyes twinkling.
Harry nearly gagged. Best duellist in Slytherin? Not yet having the title of the winner of the competition?
He wondered if Draco even knew what the words 'shame' and 'pride' meant. If the Slytherin had any sort of pride, apart from the arrogant kind, he would not dishonour himself by exaggerating his own capabilities in this fashion.
"I wonder what your father will say if you do win tonight's competitions," commented Voldemort casually. "Even I will be remarkably impressed. But the older years have such a head start, such a huge advantage."
"Isn't it the mark of an excellent duellist? To duel people double their age and win?" Draco said.
"It is, indeed," the Dark Lord agreed, smiling.
"Who do you think will win?" Draco asked Lord Voldemort boldly, almost rudely. The poor idiot was probably still giddy after receiving so many praises from the dark wizard.
Harry saw the Dark Lord's face darken for the slightest of moments. "I truly have no idea." He shrugged delicately. "I'm not placing any bets until I've seen their capabilities. But I suppose you stand as much of a chance as any other student."
Draco's grin lit up his whole face like a Christmas tree. "You really think so?"
"How can I not?"
Harry noted a mocking edge to the Dark Lord's tone. He felt a snort of laughter rising up at Draco's own childish foolishness, but he suppressed it with a polite cough.
Lord Voldemort turned his head Harry's way and genuinely seemed to see him for the first time. "Mr Potter, how delightful to see you're one of tonight's participants. I will be keen to see you duel with top-duellist Mr Malfoy here."
"How do you do," greeted Harry, as courteously as he could.
"I'm very well, thank you," said Voldemort abstractedly. But he didn't seem overly interested in hearing what else Harry had to say.
"Oh look, Severus is coming this way. I'd better be on my way. I'll see you later, Draco. Good luck to both of you."
With that, the Dark Lord disappeared into the crowd.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. This confirmed that Voldemort was no longer interested him. Since that day he found out about his dad, the dark wizard had not bothered him. The Dark Lord had plenty of opportunities; he was frequently around Hogwarts – Harry had seen him up on the stands with the other staff during Quidditch matches and often in the great hall, but Voldemort never approached him.
Harry had been afraid that this night, seeing Harry was also competing, Voldemort's interest in him would reawaken. He counted his lucky stars that the Dark Lord didn't even pay much attention to him.
A moment later, Professor Snape walked up to the pair of them. "The competition will launch in a couple of minutes at most. You should prepare yourselves, mentally. Once you're out there, the pressure is on."
"Professor, the rules of the competition?" Harry asked.
"No maiming or fatal injuries. There were no mentions about serious injuries, so keep in mind that many students will be ruthless. The use of the Killing Curse is forbidden but the two lesser Unforgivables are not."
"What?" Harry blurted angrily. "Are they serious?"
"Scared, Potter?" Draco smirked.
"You wish," he shot back.
"Be quiet, both of you." Snape turned back to Harry. "Unfortunately, yes; they're serious about free use of the Unforgivables."
Harry glared in the direction of Carrow.
"I was not forewarned about the Unforgivables, so I didn't teach you how to resist the Imperius. It's too late now. Draco, Potter, if you feel the effects of the Imperius upon you, try to resist whatever it tells you to do. Use your willpower to break free of its hold as soon as possible."
"Anything else?"
"Starting with the first years and going up, one student from every house is going to get eliminated, leaving only four students from each year level. Those four students will fight all at once on the stage, again with the first years up first. Each student aims to conquer the other three. That means a total of twenty one students will be eliminated, leaving only seven; one from each year level. The first year champion will be pitched against the second year. Depending on who wins, she or he will proceed on to battling the third year student. The winner of that duel will fight the fourth year… and so on."
"Sounds complicated," muttered Malfoy.
"You'll wrap your head around it soon enough," answered Snape. "A last word of advice, Potter, keep your head up and shoulders back. Whatever you do, just don't let your opponent intimidate you. If you keep your cool, half the battle is already won. Dig for your rival's weakness – you can't always rely on raw power. And Draco, just remember your spells."
Harry nodded numbly.
"Now that you have a rough idea of what's going to happen, I have to go."
Harry watched anxiously as the Slytherin Head turned away.
"Oh, and Potter?" Snape stopped suddenly, beckoning for him. "Come here."
Harry went.
"Do not show your full capacity until you have to. The surprise element will work to your advantage," Snape whispered into Harry's ear.
Harry watched as Carrow stepped up to address the whole school. She was wearing dark purple robes, instead of her ordinary black.
Her shoes clicked with each step as she approached.
"Hem," she cleared her throat. "This is the biggest event we've had this year. Naturally, it is all very exciting. I know you've all looked forward to this for weeks. I know the tension is in the air. I know the audience is restless. I know many of you have friends as participants. Therefore, I thrilled to announce the duelling competition's official opening!"
The Headmistress suddenly brandished her wand and jabbed at the air. The plain walls of Hogwarts were instantly draped with gold curtains with silver rims. The old stage became polished and shiningly black. The staff table was moved closest to the stage. And finally, the entire hall erupted into thunderous applause.
Carrow stepped down, and Voldemort, in smart black robes, took her place.
His icy blue eyes swept the hall, and his pale lips stretched into a seemingly sincere smile. He folded his hands neatly together, the slender, pale fingers entwined.
"Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen, students and staff. I welcome you to tonight's duelling competition, lined with the finest young contestants I have ever seen. For those of you in the audience, I encourage you to learn from these participants and enjoy this event as thoroughly as you can."
His voice was smooth, dripping with honey.
"As for the contenders, your main purpose is to give us a good show."
The hall burst into chuckles. The Dark Lord smiled a little.
"Today is history. Today will be remembered. Years from now, your children – grandchildren will ask with wonder about this event. But what is so special about this evening, you ask, it's only a duelling competition. That is where you are wrong. Tonight will be recorded down in Hogwart's most ancient books as something of magnificent importance – not only to our school but to the whole nation. Treasure every moment, because today is history and you are a part of it."
The Dark Lord straightened the sleeves of his robes coolly. "I speak now, contenders, to you alone. I want for you all to take this seriously. The competition tonight is not a fun fair. If you treat it like one, you'll be disqualified. The rules, which you already know, clearly state the use of the Unforgivables is permitted, excluding the Killing Curse. And I am not about to contradict that."
Outraged gasps from the audience echoed resoundingly through the hall. They hadn't been informed until now.
The Dark Lord ignored these sounds as he continued calmly.
"If you are eliminated from the competition, you are eliminated. There are no second chances. However, if you win, you'll be rewarded handsomely and personally by me. You will not only receive eternal glory but you'll also find that your future is secure. Your yearly grades for Dark Arts, transfiguration and charms will all be marked as Outstanding. You will get special rights around the school, for example, using the Prefects' bathroom when you're not a prefect. Unfortunately, there can only be one victor. And that one victor is who we will celebrate. This is all I will say for now. Let the duelling competitions begin."
Voldemort stepped away, and Bellatrix took his spot.
"The first round of duels will proceed in this following sequence; first year Slytherin verses first year Slytherin, first year Gryffindor verses first year Gryffindor, first year Ravenclaw verses first year Ravenclaw, first year Hufflepuff verses first year Hufflepuff… Second year Slytherin verses second year Slytherin, second year Gryffindor verses second year Gryffindor, second year Ravenclaw verses second year Ravenclaw, second year Hufflepuff verses second year Hufflepuff… Third year Slytherin verses third year Slytherin, third year Gryffindor verses third year Gryffindor, third year Ravenclaw verses third year Ravenclaw, third year Hufflepuff verses third year Hufflepuff… Fourth year Slytherin verses fourth year Slytherin…and so on."
Harry's breath caught.
"Will the first year Slytherins please come up?" requested Bellatrix. "Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter."
Dazedly, Harry moved up the stage, feeling the frantic thumping of his heart.
They took their positions at opposite ends of the stage and bowed courteously to each other, in the exact way Snape had drummed into their heads earlier in the day.
Harry swallowed nervously. He was confident he would be able to beat Malfoy…but his limbs felt excessively rigid. He knew Snape had high expectations for him, both Snape and Hermione. He had to admit to himself he did not want to disappoint either of the,
"On the count of three…one, two…three!" Bellatrix gave the starting call.
Draco reacted before Harry did.
"Crucio!" he yelled. "Crucio, crucio!"
The red lights that flashed out of Draco's wand looked weak and sickly; more of a pinkish colour than red. Harry doubted the Cruciatus Curses would do too much harm even if they did come in contact with him.
However, he wasn't about to risk it.
He watched and waited as the spells spun closer and closer with a strange sense of impassiveness. At the last possible moment, he nimbly sidestepped all three curses, not bothering to even conjure a shield.
"Too slow, Malfoy," Harry remarked, aware of the number of people watching. "Your aim is rubbish."
He felt uneasily awkward, speaking so freely in front of the whole school, but saying those words felt extraordinarily good.
He was determined to humiliate Malfoy while he could; he'd had enough of the arrogance of the blond haired rat.
A pale blush spread over Draco's cheeks. "Actions count more than words," he answered. "Expelliarmus."
Harry didn't even make an effort to dodge this time, letting the spell fly over his shoulder. "I agree." He shrugged. "Actions do count more than words."
Perhaps he ought to consider becoming an actor for his future career – it was remarkable how his voice disguised ever trace of his nervousness. It surprised even him.
"You're a stupid hypocrite, Potter," Draco spat.
Harry smiled exasperatedly; Draco's distracted mind left a giant gap in his defence. Harry went for it.
"Capillus rosea."
The Slytherin didn't even have time to raise his wand before the spell struck his forehead. Immediately, every single piece of his hair turned bright pink.
Revenge completed.
The entire student-body roared with laughter. Harry thought he even saw somebody fall off their seat.
He grinned slightly, losing some of his prior anxiety. It was nice to be the creator of such humour, and what made it even better was that the humour was at Malfoy's expense.
Harry scanned around for Snape, who was sitting very close to the stage, at the staff table. His lips were twitching faintly.
"Stupefy!"
The hex nearly caught Harry on the arm, due to his lack of concentration. He berated himself fiercely.
Not paying complete attention was an act of idiocy on his part. How ironic it would be if Harry himself was beaten for something so trivial.
"Rictumsempra," Harry called.
His aim was perfect, but his spell died away upon touch with Malfoy's shield.
"Petrificus totalis!" Malfoy shouted back.
Harry sent a spell which met Malfoy's in mid-air. Both forces were destroyed in a clap of coloured sparks.
"Crucio!"
Harry prepared his body for a giant bound over the spell. His leg muscles tensed, ready for the spring. Waiting until the final moment, he jumped.
That was when it happened.
Instead of a graceful, antelope-like leap, he launched into the air with his legs bonded together. His shoelaces. The shoelaces on both shoes were tied together.
He couldn't believe he had fallen head-first into Malfoy's ploy. Draco must have gotten a spell across to Harry without him noticing.
It was these little spells originally intended for mischief that were the hardest to discover – too weak to detect and too effective to stop until it was too late.
Harry staggered right into the way of the oncoming Cruciatus.
A yelp ripped out of his mouth as strength of the curse propelled him backwards. He was thrown like a rag doll somersaulting into the air.
Then he plummeted straight for the ground.
He landed on his back. Suddenly, his world of comparative peace was intruded by a sharp pain that racked through his entire body.
No, it wasn't the curse. The curse hadn't worked. Well, hadn't worked the way it was supposed to.
He managed to withhold a scream as he heard the crack of a bone in his body. Stupid, stupid. Beaten by Malfoy.
His ribs felt like they had been run over by a truck. He wondered whether his legs were broken.
Harry felt dizzy, light-headed; that he'd black out from the agony.
Blurrily, he saw a figure abruptly stand up from the staff table. It was Snape. Snape looked as if he intended to stop the duel right then and there, but a small, disapproving shake of the head from the Dark Lord made him sit back down again.
Draco was advancing on him, wand raised smugly. "Who's humiliating who now, Potter?"
Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut as Malfoy sent a malicious cutting hex at him, followed by a stinging hex.
Both times, they struck. He had no way of stopping them. His wand was lying several metres away from him.
Hopeless. And he'd had high hopes for this competition. He could hardly believe it, as Malfoy kicked out at him. Taken out on the first round, taken out by worthless Malfoy.
It truly was happening… it really was, but that didn't mean he had to accept it. A fire flare sparked to life in his heart. His will to persist in this competition flared to life again.
He gathered all his energy and rammed the agonising pain forcefully to the back of his head, and targeted a well-aimed, full forced kick at Malfoy's right leg.
He heard a crunch as Malfoy fell to the ground, with a shriek.
Using the remainder of his strength, Harry hoisted himself from the ground and lunged in the direction of his wand.
He fell short. Harry hoisted his body up again and threw himself forward, again. And again. And again. Until he felt his wand in its rightful place – his hand.
Harry turned around, saw Malfoy still sobbing where he'd last left him, and rasped out the quickest spell to eliminate Malfoy from this duel. "Stupefy."
Malfoy's eyes rolled back, and his head fell with a thud.
With an exhausted sigh, Harry let himself drop to the floor too. He had won his first duel. He had won!
The Dark Lord stood up from his place at the staff table and faced the audience. "The first to be eliminated – Draco Malfoy. Mr Potter will proceed onto the next round."
Harry saw Bellatrix step up onto the stage with a stunned expression, and awaken Malfoy using 'ennervate' before directing him off the stage, with him, eyes tearing and hands supporting his leg.
The moment Voldemort finished speaking, Professor Snape sprung from his seat with a speediness Harry had never considered possible, and headed towards him in large strides.
"Potter," he said. "Can you walk?"
"I don't know," Harry said. And that was the truth – he didn't.
Professor Snape, with an unusual gentleness, supported Harry off the stage, through the hall and to his potions lab.
Along the way, Harry saw a red-eyed Hermione.
"Oh Harry!" she cried. "I can't believe them! Pull out, Harry, you have to pull out!"
Harry gave her a watery grin. "After beating Malfoy? No thanks. Calm down, Hermione. It's nothing."
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Snape stepped roughly in front of Harry.
"Granger, he has to be fixed up. Would you rather make him wait here while you rant on and on until he dies from blood loss or would you rather kindly allow me to do my job?"
Harry looked down at his robes. It was true – he hadn't noticed it before – but red blood was showing through, the wet patch becoming bigger by the minute.
That didn't mean Snape had to be so harsh though, because Hermione, already worried about Harry, burst into small sobs again.
"Sorry, Professor, I didn't –"
Snape didn't even linger long enough to hear the rest of her apology. He quickly sped Harry as fast as he could down to his lab.
He made Harry sit down on one of his armchairs while he rushed to the potion storage to collect the right potions.
Harry thought he heard the sound of smashing glass and someone cursing. It seemed Professor Snape really was in a hurry.
"Here." He handed Harry a potion. "Drink all of that."
Harry obeyed without any questions. The moment he downed all of it, the pain eased by any indescribable amount.
"Will you allow me to feel around your ribs and back?" asked Snape, eyes hard. It was obvious that no matter what answer Harry gave, he was still going to do it.
Harry nodded, simply.
He felt cold fingers running down his back, probing lightly at different spots. Harry winced in many places, but Snape kept going.
At one spot, Harry let out a small yell.
"Struck gold," Snape muttered dryly.
He took out his wand and cast a spell on that spot.
"I'm no mediwitch, but I still am capable of fixing you up," he said.
Harry nodded. If Madam Pomfrey wasn't available, then surely a Potions Master was the next best thing.
"Was it broken?" Harry asked.
"Luckily, no. Nothing was broken. You suffered severe bruising, blood loss, and your left shoulder was dislocated, but you'll be fine…"
Snape muttered another incantation, and directed the magic flow at Harry.
Instantly, all the pain disappeared. Harry blinked up at Snape in amazement.
"What?" Snape gave a small smirk. "I do have a few tricks up my sleeve."
He felt…not quite as good as new…but close, very close. Apart from feeling a little stiff, he suffered no other problems.
Now that Harry had just about recovered, Snape glared daggers at Harry.
"You are a disgrace, Potter."
"What?" Harry was caught off guard by the remark.
"Almost beaten in the first round by something so trivial. Did you even consider you could have lost because of bad luck? I didn't educate you for five months just to have you fail simply because you didn't notice something!"
Harry frowned back. "Seriously? Instead of fearing for my safety, you fear I won't win the competition?"
Snape slammed his hand down fiercely. "Potter!" he barked. "Clear your head. You nearly gave me a panic attack today! Do you realise because of you, I have discredited myself in front of the Dark Lord?"
Harry recalled that moment when Snape stood up despite Voldemort's warnings, and he felt guilty.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Speaking of the competition, don't you think I would miss out on the second round if I'm away too long?"
Snape shook his head. "No. They have the rest of the year levels to go through. While you're in here, I can give you some advice."
"Okay." Harry relented.
"Number one," Snape said, "don't ever overlook something again. Number two; don't ever let a Cruciatus touch you. It'll cause you so much pain that you'd never get back up on your feet again. Can you imagine what state you'd be in if Draco's Cruciatus did work? Because, Potter, I assure you, the older years are experienced with the Unforgivables."
Harry nodded.
"Thirdly, you do not linger on the stage longer than you have to. When you turned Draco's hair pink, you could have stupefied him instead. Four, you have to remember to use your stronger curses when needed. When facing the older years, you do not stay on the basic spells. Five, do not act the gentleman and go easy on them."
Harry looked indignant. "I'm not such an idiot!"
"Believe me; playing the gentleman is too much like something you'd do. Six, you should use the Unforgivables when you have to."
"What?" Harry looked repulsed. "No!"
"Look at me, Potter. Your Cruciatus is so strong that even the Dark Lord will look at you in another light. Trust me; it will work to your advantage. You have to play to your strengths."
"So basically, what you're saying is that my strong point is in the Dark Arts," Harry deadpanned, feeling annoyed at what he considered an accusation.
"Yes. You have to accept that you are talented in those areas."
Harry grunted.
"So…will you do it?" Snape questioned.
Harry still looked very unwilling. "…I'll consider it."
Oooooh...will Harry really use the Cruciatus? Wait and see. I promise I'll have the next chapter up in one week at most - most likely sooner.
I love reviews just as much as I love... I love Voldemort!