Chapter 14 – Code Duello

The news that a pair of first years had been selected as Ravenclaw's newest players had spread amongst the student body by the day's end, finally unfrozen from the state of stasis that the break had elicited.

At first, Scott and Alex received numerous degrees of congratulations from those that they came into contact with – especially those who had learned of the news via members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Even a few Slytherins had been somewhat accommodating, despite their upcoming game against one another, happily breaking with the Slytherin stereotype that Scarlett Skeres had contributed to.

By the following morning, however, the initial wave of complimentary language had come to an end. In truth, the new Beater pair had been expecting some amount of tension from their rival houses; everyone wanted their own house to win, after all. What neither Scott, nor Alex, had expected was the sudden upsurge in sideways glances, whispered words, conversations cut short, and secretive titters originating from the members of their own house.

A walk through the Ravenclaw common room now felt like walking into a courtroom, with at least a hundred eyes slowly following behind. Both Scott and Alex resolutely avoided the judging gazes whenever they were forced to make the unhappy treks to and from their dorm room. As the days crept by, and their classes and homework returned in full swing, the tension had become entirely unbearable. The three friends had often tried to parse the meaning behind the suddenly changed behaviour of their housemates, but with little success. Whenever they tried asking anyone they were usually met with blank looks, awkward stuttering, or confrontational statements of: "If you don't already know, then we have nothing to discuss."

The trio were sitting at a table by one of the graceful windows in the common room, attempting to ignore the occasional glance in their direction. They were working on an essay for Magical Theory each: Provide a full explanation of each of the Four Precepts of Linguistic Connotation in Incanting – but they occupied themselves more with trying to work out the predicament they found themselves in.

"No one on the team will explain it to me," Scott was saying. "They just get a guilty look on their faces whenever I ask, and try to change the topic. What about you, Alex? You were going to ask Davies directly today, how'd that go?"

"Er," he muttered, "it didn't really 'go' at all."

"What d'you mean?"

Alex looked very uncomfortable. "Well, I was going to ask, and then I didn't."

Scott raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, really? So what did you talk to Roger Davies about?"

"Nothing," he snapped back. "I got scared and ran away."

Ethan blinked confusedly. "Why?"

"Never mind that now," he said quickly. "What matters is that we're still no closer to figuring out why everyone's acting like we murdered their families."

"Perhaps I can help."

The three of them looked up at the sixth year prefect called Robert Hilliard, who had carried a chair over. He placed it down facing away from them, and sat down in a reverse seating arrangement so that his arms rested on the back of the chair.

"You can?" Scott asked hopefully.

"You might not like what you'll hear, but you ought to know, anyway," Robert continued. He paused for moment, clearly thinking hard about what to say next. They waited patiently for his next words.

"Most in Ravenclaw," he began again, "are fairly proud of the reputation we've gained. We're known universally as 'the smart house', where the ones with brains get placed. There's a certain push to keep that standard going, at all costs. We like to maintain our reputation as the smartest, the ones who blow the other houses out of the water – academically speaking."

"Don't I know it," Scott mused.

Alex and Ethan nodded – there certainly was an atmosphere of competitiveness for the title of 'the smartest' in Ravenclaw. It wasn't difficult to see that in other houses, like Hufflepuff, such concerns were far less important.

"But what's that got to do with...?" Alex gestured vaguely at the common room.

"Well, Ravenclaw's made up of a lot of differing people," Robert went on. "But one of the less popular pursuits of Ravenclaw is Quidditch. More than a few of our housemates don't think very much about the sport – they think it barbaric, I suppose."

"Well, I mean," Ethan began defensively, "it is, right? People only like it because everyone else around them does."

"Regardless," Robert said quickly, as Scott had shown every sign of angrily disagreeing, "attitudes are fairly mixed when it comes to Quidditch. Their opinions of those who play it tend to be mixed, too. A collection of, suffice to say, oddballs lost in their own heads aren't as likely to hold the athletic type in high regard, if you catch my meaning."

Alex looked nonplussed. "So they're judging us because we're playing a sport? But I've not seen anyone else on our team get looks, so why single us out?"

Ethan squinted in contemplation. "I actually think I might know why..."

They all turned to look at him expectantly.

"So... Okay, hear me out, right? So Quidditch is bad enough, and the big fit types aren't everyone's favourite, but what's the most extreme, idiotic, dumb, stupid, not-smart thing someone who likes Quidditch and is fit could do?"

Alex still looked confused, though Scott looked thunderous. He forced out through gritted teeth: "Play Beater?"

"Precisely!" Ethan exclaimed enthusiastically.

Robert shot him a quelling look, and Ethan quickly schooled his expression. "Not exactly how I'd have put it," the prefect said, sighing, "but not necessarily incorrect, either." He looked from Alex to Scott beseechingly. "You have to understand, the Beaters who came before you made Ravenclaw look like a joke. Everyone was livid to see the housemates who were chosen to represent them damage the house's reputation like that. Is it true that you were selected because there were no other options?"

Scott didn't answer, just glared at nothing in particular. Alex nodded dejectedly.

"I'm not surprised," Robert said. "Not many people would have wanted to take on the role after what happened with Harris and Hutchens." He sighed again, and leaned in, his eyes moving between them sympathetically. "I won't lie to you two, there isn't going to be much support from Ravenclaw coming your way between now and the match against Slytherin. I don't know how much help it'll be, but I'll be bringing this up to the other prefects - we might be able to stop the others from treating you differently. The issue is..."

"That won't stop them from continuing to think we're morons," Scott finished once he had trailed off.

"I'm sorry you got dragged into this," Robert said. "You had no way of knowing – you're only first years. If it's any consolation, I'm sure it'll pass given enough time."

It was an easy read to see that it wasn't – Scott still looked silently furious, Alex miserable, Ethan conflicted. The rest of the evening continued in an uneasy silence from that point, until they each went to their respective dorms.

The general disrespect that Scott and Alex had garnered for their appointment to the team continued to bubble as the days passed, its intoxicating fumes causing no small degree of disquiet for the two new Beaters. As January progressed, and the frigid temperatures continued, they found themselves unable to escape the judgement of their peers. To make matters worse, it seemed that Slytherin had cottoned on to the new dilemma, and in the wake of the upcoming match, quickly turned their taunting onto the already put-upon Ravenclaws.

Skeres, most predictably, had latched onto the sudden turn against her mortal enemies with vindictive enthusiasm. Potions class had somehow become even more unbearable, especially as Professor Snape, who had always made a habit of commenting on Scott and his friends' intellect, made no attempt to stem the tide of taunting they now faced.

In the face of general opinion turning on the group, particular idiosyncrasies and factors of their persons were now in the public spotlight for all to judge. Alex's shifting nature had always flown under the radar, but was now on display for all to form opinions on – many of which were less than supportive. To their credit, Alex was dealing with the poor treatment remarkably well, at least externally. Only Scott really knew of the extent of the hurt they were experiencing, whenever he overheard the small gasping sobs from the neighbouring bed late at night.

Even Ethan, despite his lack of relation to Quidditch, was quickly finding himself the target of bullying – a result of his continued association with what was considered to be Ravenclaw's most embarrassing members. Nary a croak had sounded from Ethan's direction since they'd returned from holidays – Cyril was still deep in hibernation – but this didn't stop the insults, of which 'frog-kid' was a favourite of many. It was at the point that whenever his surname was called on by a teacher, ripples of laughter would sound out in the classroom.

Scott faced a great deal of discrimination, too; tall, broad, and tan, when combined, were not traits that garnered the image of an intellectual – at least not in the eyes of many at Hogwarts. He saw the majority of the 'prat' claims, among the more specialty 'lumbering brute', 'half-blood-half-giant', 'knuckle-dragger', and 'club-swinging-troll'. The latter insult had just landed from one Mark Stebbins as the class left a lacklustre History of Magic lecture that Scott had elected not to commandeer.

"Yeah?" Scott growled furiously, taking a step forwards, a fist raised threateningly. "I've got my club ready if you want a go, Stebbins!"

He only acquiesced to his friends dragging him away to avoid a confrontation in the same vein as a prior run-in with McLaggen that had earned them both detentions.

"Come on, Scott!" Ethan admonished patronisingly once they were away. "You realise you're just proving their point by trying to fight them all the time?"

Alex shook his head warningly at him.

"Brilliant," Scott groused, striding down the stone corridor. "You always know just what to say, Ethan. Thanks a lot."

"Maybe if you just stop reacting so much, you'd stop baiting them," he continued, oblivious to the mounting fury on his friend's face.

"Look Ethan, could you just leave it?" Alex asked beseechingly.

Yet, still he continued his berating. "Y'know – y'know this affects me too, right? But I can't do anything to stop them from getting at me. Neither can Alex. I mean, I don't feel the need to do frog impressions every time they call me names, so why do you keep trying to prove them right?"

"Just stop it!" Alex cried.

Ethan turned his gaze onto the blond, squinting confusedly through his glasses. "Alex, weren't you the one pestering him last year – y'know, when he was doing the exact thing he's doing now?"

"And weren't you saying for me to drop it, then?" Alex replied. "Ethan, we decided on Halloween not to bother Scott about this anymore. Hanging on him to be nice all the time isn't going to help. Facts are; he's got a lot of pressure on him at the moment, we all do!"

"Exactly! You think I'm not being affected by all this bad treatment you two have brought? I've never so much as touched a Beater's bat in my life, but look what I'm getting from everyone!"

Alex glared. "'This bad treatment you two have brought'? We never asked for this, Ethan!"

"Neither did I!"

"Is this about Charms?"

Ethan looked furious. "Is this – Cha - No, it has nothing to do with Charms!"

"There's plenty I struggle with, too, Ethan," Alex reasoned. "Scott as well. There's no shame in it."

"I'd like to see you deal with McLaggen and his cronies calling you names like that!"

"I do deal with it!" Alex shouted. "Do you know what Hooper called me last Wednesday?" Ethan didn't immediately respond, but Alex continued regardless, "He called me 'the confused ladyboy' – Oh buggering hell!"

The sudden physiological change of becoming several inches shorter, among other distinct alterations, seemed to be an uncomfortable one. Now presenting far more femininely, though bogged down by clothing not at all fitting for her current body, Alex sighed in defeat. Ethan's face twisted with guilt and pity.

"Er, we'll be late to Charms, but I can wait for you to change, er, if you want?"

"No," Alex muttered. "I forgot to bring a change of clothes again. I need to head back up to Ravenclaw tower."

"Well, maybe today you might just have to go to class with boys clothes on?" Ethan ventured. At Alex's unimpressed look, he hastily backtracked, "Er, or not. It's just you'll be really late otherwise. But maybe Scott can come with you; Flitwick'll let you off for being late if you're with him. Scott?"

They both glanced around for their friend, but found nothing. Evidently, he had wandered off at some point during their discussion.

"Must've wanted to be on time for class," Ethan remarked.

Alex sighed. "Just go to Charms. I'll be down later."

Scott, it turned out, was not in Charms class. Ethan found himself oddly comforted by this. He sat himself beside his dormmate, Declan Haworth, and though Charms wasn't typically a reinforcing activity for his self-esteem, he found that he was somewhat relieved by the absence of Alex; constantly fretting as she was, and Scott; whose brooding rage made him unpleasant to be around. Besides, much of the teasing he received was because of their proximity to him. Sitting next to Haworth, he seemed to face less discrimination than he had recently.

Throughout the lesson, Ethan constantly expected the arrival of either Alex or Scott, but never did they show. He supposed that he should have been concerned about this, but resolved to simply not think about it. He needed to concentrate on his Charmwork, after all.

Scott sighed, standing before the door. He wasn't sure what he'd been thinking coming here, but his feet had simply carried him away once his brain had gotten too overwhelmed with anger. They'd led him here, and he couldn't help but feel pathetic for it. Nevertheless, he found himself raising an arm and knocking.

He waited for a second – two – when he suddenly decided he was being ridiculous. He'd be late for Charms, and he hardly expected to be listened to, anyway. He took a step back from the door, but was stopped from moving further when the door opened an inch.

Professor Foley looked surprised to see him standing there. "Scott! Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Sorry, Professor," he said, cringing inwardly. "Er, do you have a class you need to be at?"

Foley blinked. "No, actually. One of my few free periods; was going to use it for... Well, anyway, did you need me for something?"

"Could I come in?" Scott said in a rush.

"Er, well, I was going to... The thing is..." Foley hesitated for a moment longer, but then he took a closer look at him. "Sure, Scott."

Scott entered the office, noticing at once that it looked far less clean than it had before the holidays. Dust clung to several surfaces, and parchment was strewn about the room. A potions book was lying on the desk, open to a page with a long set of instructions. Scott was slightly surprised that no house elf had seen to some of the mess, but he supposed they didn't clean teachers' offices.

"Excuse the mess," Foley said, as though reading his mind. He made a swift show of shoving away much of the parchment and the book. Scott caught a glimpse of a chart of constellations. "Tea?" Foley asked.

"Er, yes please."

Professor Foley set about boiling water and gathering two mugs, before turning his attention back to Scott. "Sorry I've not been able to talk much since term resumed, Scott. I've been extremely..." he trailed off, considering. "Well, I've been busy. But I –"

"Wanted to be there. That's okay," Scott interrupted, and suddenly, to his utmost horror, he felt a lump in his throat – and a prickling behind his eyes. He imagined violently beating the instinct to weep with a Beater's bat, and quickly composed himself, clearing his throat.

"So how's the excavation been going?" he said, occupying his mind with archaeology to distract from his woes.

If Foley had noticed Scott's struggle, he said nothing of it. "The excavation? Oh," he said, laughing nervously, "yes. Oh, it's going fine."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said earnestly, grinning. Foley smiled widely, too, though it seemed somewhat fixed.

"I'd love to see the Governors' faces when they find out they can't get a hold of what's down there," Scott continued. He remembered what he'd been told by Florean on his birthday. "By the way, do you know a Tristan Fortescue?"

"I – Tristan?" Foley asked incredulously. "Er, yes, as a matter of fact, I do." He finished preparing tea, and placed a cup of the piping hot liquid before Scott. "But that's enough about that right now. I'd like to talk about you."

"Me?" Scott queried, feigning ignorance.

"I may not have been able to see you much over the past few weeks," Foley said, a mild, but sad smile on his lips, "but it hasn't escaped my notice that you've been awfully quiet in class as of late."

Scott said nothing, opting to simply sip his tea.

"Your standard of work has been just as excellent as always, of course. You're progressing well with the Smoke-Screen Spell, and while I haven't finished marking them; your poltergeist essay is an easy one-hundred."

Scott tried to take comfort from the praise, but the words seemed strangely hollow considering everything else going on.

"But it's not like you to not contribute in class," Foley continued. "And furthermore, you're here now. You're here because you need help."

Scott shook his head. "I don't need –"

"It's okay," Foley said. "Look, Scott, you're a smart kid."

He nodded, wanting to believe him.

"And I can tell you've got a lot mounted against you at the moment," his teacher continued emphatically. "I wish I could say I don't know how that feels, but lately, I've felt the same. I suppose you feel trapped – like there's no way of escaping a waking nightmare. But believe me when I say that that isn't true – not one bit. As long as you never let up your efforts, you can make it in the end. Life isn't always easy, but that's no reason not to keep going!"

He wasn't even looking at Scott anymore as he spoke with feverish intensity. Scott had the oddest sense that he was almost trying to convince himself, just as much as he was assuring Scott. He wondered if there was more to the ordeal with the Board of Governors, but decided that now wasn't the best time to divert the topic.

Professor Foley let out a long breath, and turned his attention back onto Scott. "I've said it before, Scott; you can't let others keep you from the things you need to do. And if anyone can manage it, it's you. You've got the wits and the guts to keep going. Just keep on pushing, and I know you'll make it."

Scott looked him in the eye and nodded. "I will."

"Thank you."

They lapsed into silence for a while after that, sipping their tea contemplatively. Eventually, Scott's attention was caught by something – or rather, the absence of something.

"The Pensieve's gone."

Foley glanced over at the empty glass case that once held the stone basin. "Ah, yes. It's been moved, er, back to the site for now."

"Speaking of the site," Scott followed up eagerly, "what exactly have you discovered so far?"

Foley seemed to consider the question for a while. "Well," he finally said, after much hesitation, "whatever the site was, it was more than likely used to store something precious. More than that, I... I cannot say."

"Could I come with you next time?"

Foley shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Er, difficult to say, really. There are procedures involved, and that's not to mention the potential dangers. Maybe not, Scott."

He felt as though a balloon inside of him was being slowly deflated, with the excitement that had once filled it being lost in the process. He figured that his disappointment must have shown on his face, as Professor Foley sighed again.

"How about," he deliberated, "you get onto finding a better place to be – mentally – and then... I'll see what I can do. How does that sound?"

Scott nodded fervently.

In the world of phraseology, there exists a certain saying that applies almost universally to humanity. The expression of one's hatred of Mondays is one delivered by young and old, working or ruling class, student or adult. Scott Carter, on the other hand, held no great dislike for Mondays. It was Wednesdays that he despised.

The day was entirely laden with subjects that just so happened to line up perfectly with Slytherin's, and so it was that every subject on a Wednesday was shared with them. For Scott, this meant a full day of Scarlett Skeres.

It begun with Potions – the dark, dank, dimly-lit dungeon introduced the first year cohort (many of whom were still recovering from the previous night's Astronomy class) to Professor Snape's cheery demeanour. In usual fashion, Scott and Scarlett were forced to partner up together, to their great happiness.

Skeres wasted no time in giving Scott hell, and quickly turned the conversation onto her potion supplies.

"Maybe you're too thick to understand how money works, Carter, but typically when you owe someone something, you make sure you pay them their dues."

"Me sorry," Scott grunted in his best troll impression. "Me not know what tiny girl saying, too squeaky. Like mouse. Hurt ears."

"I'm serious, Carter, you had better get me my money, or you'll be giving it to the boatman of the Styx."

Ignoring her idle threats, Scott continued cutting up the Moly he was preparing for their Fortification Draught. "Why do you even need money, Skeres?" he asked distractedly.

"Well," she said slyly, "I was hoping to bet a hefty amount against Ravenclaw's chances of winning. I was thinking... a Galleon or two?"

Scott continued his cutting of the white herbs, his slices becoming increasingly ferocious as he went.

"But then I figured that no-one in their right mind would actually place a wager on you to win in the first place, so –"

Scott had had enough. He reeled around and glared at her. "One more word out of you, Skeres, and I'll –"

"Stab me?"

It was then that he realised that he'd raised the knife, almost threateningly. Skeres was eyeing it with a mixture of apprehension and doubt.

"Put that thing down, Carter, before you do something we'll both regret," she murmured coolly.

He hastily dropped the knife back on the table, shaking his head to clear it. He glanced up to see if Snape had seen anything, but it seemed he was far more preoccupied examining the disaster unfolding in Belby's cauldron. Belby's partner, Eddie Carmichael, was presently coughing violently at the acrid stench that had arisen from the cauldron.

Scott didn't speak for the rest of the lesson, too incensed to commit to any words. Most of his anger was self-directed, which might have boded well for Skeres's wellbeing. He needed to remain calm – he'd made a deal with Foley to try and reach an appropriate headspace, after all. Bearing down on someone half his size with a cutting implement didn't exactly portray the idea of 'healthy mindset'.

Their next class was Magical Theory, which was a subject that combined the four houses to attend a lecture on the inner workings of magic, and the laws that governed it. Many of the metaphysical concepts described by their professor were hard to parse, though many found the subject more engaging than History of Magic, due to the fact that the theory could be applied to their other classes.

Scott was busying himself with the writing of notes when a folded piece of parchment drifted into the side of his head. He glanced around at the large lecture hall that the first years were all gathered in, and after a few moments of searching, found his target. Emile Pellon was subtly levitating the paper, his wand just barely poking out of his long sleeves. Scott narrowed his eyes at the boy, who responded by raising his eyebrows. Scott snatched the parchment from the air, and unfolded it.

Carter,

Money.

- Scarlett

He looked back up to see Skeres watching him. He theatrically tore the insulting letter into strips whilst she watched, a slight smirk on her face.

After morning break came their designated theory lesson for Astronomy, where they began by discussing the previous night's observations, and what they aimed to view the following week. Professor Sinistra, their teacher for the subject, informed them that their next practical lesson was to be called off due to a bout of heavy snowfall that was predicted to arrive. Scott was pleased to note that Skeres looked remarkably glum at this news. This wasn't all that brought him happiness; he'd be able to wake up at his usual time next Wednesday, allowing for the morning exercise he was always forced to miss.

Their Astronomy lessons were another that incorporated the entire year level, and as such, meant that Scott didn't have to sit in close proximity to Skeres or her toadies. Unfortunately, he still had to put up with her voice as she incessantly pestered Sinistra with questions and input. As the lesson dragged by, Scott had become far too irked to allow Skeres to continue her self-satisfied prattling.

"That's Algol, Professor!" she was saying, identifying a three-star system. "Also called the Demon Star, or Gorgona. It got its name from –"

"Ra's al-Ghul; The Demon's Head," Scott cut in. Both Sinistra and Skeres turned their gaze onto him, the latter regarding him in much the same manner as one would faecal matter. "Ptolemy designated it the head of Medusa in the Perseus constellation."

"Very good, both of you," Sinistra said. "Five points to Slytherin and Ravenclaw, I think. And since you mentioned Ptolemy, I think it may be prudent to further look at his designations."

Scott didn't add anything more to the lesson following his interruption, but he'd gotten what he'd wanted. There was no smug aura emanating from Skeres any longer; just a hefty dosage of burning hatred, all of it directed at him.

Their next class was Diction and Essaycraft, where, thankfully, Scott needn't even consider the existence of Skeres, nor Pellon. Skeres was apparently still smarting after being shown up in Astronomy, and Pellon didn't have a single independent bone in his scrawny little body, and so followed suit. Scott enjoyed a relatively harassment-free lesson, disregarding the few smirks that he spotted when his name was read at attendance.

Following lunch was Transfiguration, which saw a definite end to the small respite. Skeres had apparently regained her malicious intent, evidenced by her behaviour as they trooped up to their classroom. She seemed to revel in speaking in a voice loud enough for Scott to hear.

"Frankly, it's depressing," Skeres was saying to her snickering audience of Slytherins. "My father's very concerned about the falling standards here, but if he knew the sorts that managed to get into Ravenclaw these days, he'd have more than a few words to say."

Scott knew she was trying to provoke a reaction from him, but unfortunately for her he had incentive to act contrary to what she was hoping for. He wasn't about to let her make him look stupid, but he didn't need to turn around and hex her to win.

"So Alex," he said, loud enough for the Slytherins behind them to hear, "what'd you make of the Bats' miserable performance the other day?"

Alex shrugged. "Quigley did pretty well," she reasoned. "He's actually a decent Beater from what I've heard."

Scott glared and cleared his throat.

Understanding dawned on her face, and she made a quick glance behind her. "Er, but the rest of them were pathetic, really. O'Connell was Keeping the wrong hoop completely, it was like he'd been jinxed or something."

"It's a shame," Scott said with assumed affectedness. "And their chances for the League were so high before. Their followers'll be disappointed, I'm sure."

They passed a large mirror set into the wall, and Scott was able to just barely spy Skeres through it, looking distinctly irritated from behind him.

Once they had reached the fifth floor Transfiguration classroom following another flight of stairs, they were let in by Professor McGonagall. After finding their seats (Scott found one as far from Skeres as possible), McGonagall began the lesson. What followed was at first entirely per usual – a mostly pristine degree of attentiveness from the class resultant from McGonagall's severe demeanour. It wasn't until McGonagall turned her attention to the blackboard to chalk up a particularly complex spell model when it began.

It started, of course, with Skeres, who subtly passed the note to Pellon. He in turn handed it to Higgs, who gave it to Trinity Lynn. After receiving it from Lynn, Cho continued the wave of movement by passing it to Marietta, who shook her head exasperatedly, and passed it to Sophie, who passed it to Alex. Finally, Alex handed it to its intended recipient, a reluctant Scott, who looked down at it.

It was a folded piece of parchment, very much like the one he'd received earlier in the day. In taunting cursive calligraphy was his name. His first instinct was to simply tear it up like the previous note, but his curiosity quickly overwhelmed this notion. He instead opened it, and read the threatening words within.

I'm giving you another opportunity to deliver, Carter. You can fix this now and avoid what comes next, or continue being a stubborn idiot. I'll enjoy either outcome, I assure you.

You destroyed my potion supplies, and I want compensation. Bring ten Galleons to me at dinner tonight, and we can end this. Continue being unreasonable, and things will only get worse for you.

Yours in hoping,

Scarlett Skeres

Scott pulled a fresh sheet of parchment towards him, and began his response. His was shorter in comparison, but he thought it got his point across.

After careful consideration, I have decided that I'll be keeping the gold.

Yours in regret,

Scott

He raised an arm.

"Yes, Mr. Carter?" McGonagall asked.

"Would I be able to use the necessary, please?"

"Very well, be quick about it, won't you?"

He stood, folding the parchment out of sight of McGonagall. As he made for the door he glanced back to see if she was still watching. Finding that her attention was back on the blackboard, he quickly threw. Skeres' nose was suddenly met by the point of the paper aeroplane pitched with pinpoint accuracy by Scott. He glimpsed her outraged expression as he strode from the classroom, smirking to himself as he went.

The very last class of the day was Flying, and as far as Scott was concerned, it couldn't come quickly enough. After the initial first few minutes, in which Madam Hooch updated the three groupings of students based on experience and skill, they took to the air. Terence Higgs had graduated from the Intermediate group and joined his fellow Slytherins, Montague and Skeres. Scott watched Skeres make occasional glances in either his or Hooch's direction, and wondered what it was that she was plotting.

He needn't have wondered for long, as when Hooch became occupied with instructing Ethan on how best not to fall off his broom, she and Montague suddenly rammed him from either side.

"Hey!" Alex shouted furiously.

Montague had slammed his full weight into his side, while Skeres had jabbed the point of her broomstick into him. Cho glanced over at Hooch, her face full of concern and anger, while Higgs hovered nearby uncertainly. Scott felt pain blossoming from his shoulder and just below his ribs. He wobbled slightly, but managed to maintain his balance, perched as he was about thirty feet in the air. A fall from this height could get ugly, even with the protective enchantments that Madam Hooch had taken the time to lay out.

Alex flew to his side, her face red with anger. She glared at the two aggressors, who circled around them like predatory animals.

"They'll expel you both if you keep this up, you know," Scott said roughly.

"I know that, Carter," Skeres sneered, braking smoothly and coming to a halt in front of him. "I just wanted to get my point across."

"Point taken," Scott grumbled, massaging where she'd practically impaled him.

"I won't be denied, Carter. You'll give me the gold one way or another, and I know just the way to make you do it. A challenge."

Scott scoffed. "A broom race? Gladly."

She smirked. "As much as I'd like to destroy you in the air, I'd much rather destroy you for real. I challenge you to a Wizard's duel."

Cho's eyes widened, and Alex looked slightly alarmed.

"I accept," Scott said after a moment. "But no half-measures, Skeres. We're doing this properly. I invoke Code Duello."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she replied, a note of relish in her voice. "We do it at midnight, this Tuesday, the lecture hall. We won't be heard over the snowstorm. Do you have a second in mind?"

"Alex," he said without hesitation. He glanced at her. "Er, if that's alright with you?"

Alex blinked, and shrugged. "Um, okay?"

"What about you?" Scott directed at Skeres.

Montague looked hopeful, but Skeres' head snapped around to look directly at Pellon, who was hovering in place by the Intermediate group. He'd evidently been waiting for this, as when Skeres looked at over at him, he immediately gave a singular nod of his head.

"Emile," she announced decisively. She began to move away, smiling tauntingly at Scott. "I'm onto all your little tricks, Carter. There won't be any Muggle duelling here – just magic."

"I'm counting on it."

At that moment, Madam Hooch flew over to check on their exercise progress. They resumed what they'd been doing before their confrontation, acting as though nothing was wrong. Cho looked shaken, Higgs unsure, Montague disappointed, and Alex confused. But Scott was burning with renewed purpose. In his mind he heard Professor Foley telling him that he couldn't let others stand in the way of what he needed. What he needed now was to win – to make Skeres pay, and prove that she couldn't get the better of him. If he could just do that, everything else would be a cinch. He could beat the other Slytherins in Quidditch, could prove that he was good enough for Ravenclaw, and show Foley he was happy enough to be included in his work. All of it rested on what came from this duel. Tuesday, Midnight; he would be ready.