Chapter 15 – Terms and Conditions

The very first place that Scott dragged them was, predictably, the library. However, he soon made it entirely clear that his intention was not to study spells, but history. Alex supposed she shouldn't have been surprised – this was Scott they were dealing with, after all. As she watched him flick through a tome labelled 'Code Duello: A History of British Duelling Challenges', she pondered something that had been bothering her since their Flying class.

"Look, Scott," she eventually voiced, "I don't want to break you out of this... reverie you've got going, but I was just hoping to clear up something. What exactly is a 'second'?"

Scott smiled and slid the open book towards her. "I'm glad you asked."

He pointed at the page that he had turned to, which was conveniently titled: 'On Seconds'.

In a traditional engagement, the arrangement and negotiation are typically handled by the Duellists' seconds, who are charged with the responsibility of meeting to discuss terms of satisfaction and victory conditions on behalf of the challengers.

A second is typically a trusted peer or colleague of similar status or station to the Duellist, and are entrusted with the securing of any immediate possessions left behind by their respective Duellist should a defeat leave them incapable of doing so themselves, and to act as a witness to the engagement proceedings.

Alex looked up from the book. "So, I have to negotiate with Pellon about the terms of the duel?"

"Yeah," Ethan said. "But that's not all. Y'know, it would've been nice of Scott to mention it before roping you into this, but there it is."

Scott scowled at him and sighed, pointing to the next line on the page.

Should a Primary Duellist find themself incapable of continuing an engagement due to an onset of death, incapacitation, or disarmament, the Duellist's second is then honour-bound to take their place as Secondary Duellist – only in the instance that the challenger decides satisfaction has not yet been reached.

"So... If you go down, I take your place?" Alex asked apprehensively.

"It's not going to happen," Scott said.

"Right, that's great, but Scott, I don't know if I know any good spells for duelling. What if –"

"What if nothing, Alex," Scott insisted. He started flipping through pages again. "It shouldn't come to that, and if it somehow does, well, you've got Flipendo, and you'd be surprised how useful some of the spells you already know can be."

"And you're way better at spells than me," Ethan added. "You'll do fine, believe me."

"Besides," Scott said, "Skeres has no idea that we'll know every move that she plans to make before she makes it. As a wise Muggle once said: To defeat your enemy, you must first know your enemy. And we can learn a whole lot with just a lesson in history."

He'd found the page he was looking for, in a section of the book dedicated to compiled accounts of historical duels. There appeared to be an entire portion dedicated to one Cepheus Skeres, who was apparently a prolific duellist.

"This is...?" Ethan asked.

"Skeres' great-grandfather. He was supposedly legendary for his duelling skills; luckily for us, his techniques were very well recorded. The exact strategies he used are all laid out right here."

There was indeed a series of in-depth recounts of the many duels of Cepheus, detailing everything from his starter moves to his finishers. There was a retelling of a climactic battle between a rival, one Minos Malfoy, over some petty dispute. From the descriptions, Skeres had employed speed and a superior repertoire of spells to gain the upper hand over his foe. Malfoy had been spared in this particular duel, though not all of Skeres' victims had been quite as lucky.

"So this is supposed to give us some idea of how his descendent might fight?" Alex asked doubtfully. "But would she even really know about all these strategies? This was almost a century ago."

"In her family?" Scott replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if instead of Beedle the Bard, she was read 1001 Victories of the Skeres Line as a baby."

Alex looked down at the duel narratives, which were full of incantations the likes of which she'd never seen. "I don't know any of these spells," she confessed.

"With any luck, Skeres shouldn't either," Scott said. "Although that does bring me to another point I wanted to look into."

He pulled another book that he'd previously retrieved towards himself. Alex saw that this book was titled: 'Ancient Families and their Ancient Mysteries'. Scott opened the tome and made a quick scan of its table of contents. After a moment, he turned the book to a very short chapter on the Skeres family.

"Hmm," he intoned enigmatically. "As I thought; nothing concrete. There's something here theorising on the 'Unbreakable Vow', but... Well, if there is anything else; not likely to be a spell for duelling – Cepheus' duels were too well documented to exclude a mystery spell."

"What are you looking at now?" Alex asked.

"Most of the older Wizarding families like to hold to a tradition of maintaining certain secrets," Scott explained, flicking back a few pages. The names of several families flashed by; Shacklebolt, Selwyn, Rookwood, and Prewett were just a few. "There'll sometimes be some sort of magic or likewise they keep hidden. But sometimes, those secrets don't stay secret. Just look here," he turned the book around to show its contents. The subtitle she saw read: 'Parkinson Family'.

"Their secret weapon was the Full Body-Bind Curse," Scott continued. "But then the secret got out, and then everyone had knowledge of the spell. Next thing you know, everyone duelling a Parkinson knew a counter-curse to the Body-Bind, and the Parkinsons never won a duel again."

Alex thought she knew what he was getting at. "So, the hope was that we could use Skeres' magic against her?"

Scott shrugged.

"Well, no luck there," Ethan said. "Er, if it's just the Unbreakable Vow, looking up how to break it is a bit redundant... And if there's something else... I mean, her family's kept whatever it is so secret that we don't even have a nugget of an inkling of what it could be, if it even exists."

"Well," Scott said, smirking. He turned the pages back towards the chapter of the Skeres family, but stopped short a page prior. "Not necessarily – at least, not all her family have managed to hide everything.

"The Shafiq bloodline,"he read, "is one relatively novel to Great Britain, the family having emigrated from Egypt in 1918 after a series of scandals diminished their reputation and influence. The Family has seen to it that their heritage and culture is maintained, despite their extreme remoteness from their origin.

"A large degree of secrecy has been exercised on the Shafiqs' part, an attempt to maintain the exclusivity of their idiosyncratic magicks. This can be observed in the secret spell known as the 'Curse of the Consumed', the true nature of which being a mystery due to the efforts of the Shafiq Family. According to legend, knowledge of the curse was bestowed by a malevolent ifrit, a tale that is reflected in the Shafiq family crest.

"The Curse of the Consumed, while unknown in effect, is said to be extraordinarily potent. When used by a Shafiq on another living being, dark and terrible things are said to occur. In Wizarding duels, both the rival duellist and their second were never able to reveal the spell's incantation or effect when it was used against them, as they usually perished following its usage. The moderators of these duels have not been forthcoming with the knowledge either, and it has been speculated that this could potentially be a result of fear or memory modification."

When Scott had finished, Ethan filled the gap of silence with his own voice. "And the Shafiqs are relevant because...?"

"Because Skeres is half Shafiq, through her mother's side," Scott expounded.

"Wh – How in Merlin's name do you know Skeres' mother's maiden name?" Ethan asked, dumbfounded.

"'Know your enemy'," Scott repeated seriously. He tapped the cover of yet another book; 'Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy'. "It's all in here."

But Alex was more occupied with what Scott was implying by reading out the chapter excerpt. "So, essentially, Skeres might know this spell through her mother?"

"Well there's no guarantee," he admitted. "But odds are Skeres' mum probably knows the spell, and I'll bet that if Skeres learned that there was a special family spell, she'd get her mum to teach her."

Alex thought that this line of logic made a certain amount of sense. Knowing Skeres, she would probably leap at the opportunity to feel superior with the knowledge of some mysterious forbidden curse, especially if it was exclusive to her family. Their talking about family mysteries had also caused Alex to wonder about something else.

"Hey, Scott," she said, "your family's pretty ancient, right? Does that mean you've got some ancient mystery, too?"

"If there is one, my Dad wouldn't tell me, anyway," Scott replied, sounding just an ounce too bitter for it not to have any significance.

"Well, what about you, Ethan?" she said, veering away rather than prying into whatever that was.

"Er, my parents are Muggle-born," her bespectacled friend replied.

"Right," Alex said, feeling stupid.

"Anyway, that's, er, all very interesting," Ethan went on. "But I had another concern. Code Duello states that an impartial moderator is needed for a proper duel; they make sure there's someone to call the shots and to serve as a witness in case a Duellist and their second die. If Skeres knows how duels work, then she probably has someone in mind to be moderator."

"That can't be good," Alex said. "You can say goodbye to impartiality if that's the case."

"These are all things you maybe should have considered before accepting an obvious ploy, Scott," Ethan chided.

"You can't turn down a challenge to duel, Ethan," Scott snapped. "Besides, I have considered them. All Alex has to do is convince Pellon to allow you to be moderator."

Ethan shook his head. "Scott, maybe you've forgotten the 'impartial' part of moderating, but, er, I'm not sure I'd be the best pick."

"Oh, you're right, I forgot," Scott said, irritation evident in his tone. "You'd be rooting against me – hardly a model of impartiality."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ethan snapped back, his voice rising.

They were interrupted by the sound of the librarian, Madam Pince swooping over and shushing them. Once Pince had left, they continued to bicker, now at a lowered volume.

"Look, Ethan," Scott hissed, "it's obvious that you think I shouldn't be doing this. Therefore, why shouldn't you be impartial? Or at least more impartial than whoever Skeres has in mind."

"Just because I don't think you've thought this through properly doesn't mean I don't want you to win!" Ethan replied.

"Can we not do this right now?" Alex pleaded, glancing around for Madam Pince. "Look, when I meet with Pellon, I'll try to make sure we get someone better than whoever Skeres wants. And if we're lucky, I might even talk them down from duelling entirely."

"Fat chance of that," Scott said, not sounding overly unhappy about the fact.

"Regardless," she continued, "we've got more important things to worry about. We need to make sure we're prepared to fight – spells, strategy, the lot. And I need to work out when I'm meeting Pellon for this discussion we're supposed to have."

The proceeding week found Scott and Alex splitting their morning routine between their usual exercises – a particular focus on cardiovascular and strength workouts, with periods of stretching and balancing – and their newfound duelling practice. Typically, they'd allocate an hour to each, and by the time they trooped back up to the castle for breakfast and to get ready for the day, they were very nearly exhausted.

The extreme cold was becoming less of a problem for the pair as they found themselves adapting to the conditions; though if anyone were to ask Madam Pomfrey, it was due to the large degree of Pepperup Potion that they were hoarding.

Their spellwork was becoming more and more refined in their duelling, which made the ache from a dozen hits from a Knockback Jinx worth it. Scott had been practicing the Full Body-Bind Curse that the book on Family Mysteries had spoken about, and had managed to entirely immobilise Alex in a rigid board-like state several times now.

Meanwhile, Quidditch practices went on even longer now that Ravenclaw were less than a month from playing against Slytherin. The general mood of these extended practices was something resembling a funeral, so dark were their prospects. Their team synchronicity was severely lacking, and it was easy to tell that many a team member's heart was not in the effort. Even Valerian, who was supposed to be encouraging better performance, seemed to not want to muster the energy. The team were very clearly operating under the impression that loss was inevitable, and did not wish to raise their hopes for disappointment.

When time had allowed, Alex and Pellon had managed to organise a discussion, set for the Sunday just days prior to the duel. Alex showed up to the organised meeting place; the classroom where Scott and Scarlett had had their aborted duel interrupted after their disastrous detention, a few weeks prior to Halloween. The room overlooked the very same lecture hall that the Midnight Duel was slated to take place, with a stone balustrade as the only thing separating the two chambers from one another.

Pellon was already there, looking as small and unremarkable as he usually did. He was sitting on a desk, kicking his legs idly as he waited for Alex to approach.

"So," Alex said, clearing his throat, "I suppose we need to talk about this duel."

Pellon didn't say anything, he merely watched and waited. Alex thought he looked annoyingly smug.

"I'd just like to say that you won't hear any complaints or taunts from our side if Skeres were to take back her challenge. We can end this a little more intelligently – if a bit unsatisfying – and that'll be the end of it. The two of us needn't step in if one of our friends goes down, and we won't risk injury or anything else."

Pellon spoke then. "Is that what Carter wants, or just what you want?"

Alex crossed his arms. "Scott's smart. He is," he added when Pellon smirked. "He accepted Skeres' challenge because it's customary. He'll be fine with not duelling her if he doesn't have to."

Pellon continued to smile, looking all too pleased with himself. "Well, Mudblood, you raise a good argument, but I'm afraid Scarlett won't be backing down from this. You see, your friend owes her something."

Alex rolled his eyes at the slur. He didn't appreciate the cold casualness that the Slytherin had said it with, but honestly, he'd been called worse names by better people. Those were the ones that hurt. He turned his attention back to the discussion.

"What does Skeres really want from Scott?" he enquired shrewdly. "She probably has all the gold she could need, so what's this really about?"

Pellon slid off the desk, and began to walk away, over to the balustrade. "Surely it's obvious?" he said, looking down at the study hall. Alex could hear the smirk in his voice. "She wants to be victorious over him. The gold's almost a sort of physical representation of that. She takes something of his, and that makes her better than him. The simple fact that he's so attached to that money is what inspired her to try and get it off him in the first place."

Alex shook his head. "But why Scott? I mean, why this feud at all? Look, maybe she doesn't like him much, that's fine; she doesn't have to. But why this war?"

Pellon turned to look at him. "The simple fact that Carter exists and acts like he does is enough of a reason. It's almost perfect; the degree to which Carter seems tailored to represent what she finds most frustrating." On that enigmatic note, he began to walk over to the door.

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Alex asked incredulously, watching him step past.

"Carter's apparent success in spite of his failings, the praise he gains for doing anything right, his cries for justice without properly comprehending the privileges he's afforded; in short, Scarlett thinks your friend's full of it."

"So, what you're saying is: Skeres is throwing a tantrum because she's jealous?"

Pellon stopped at the door, giving Alex a withering look. "Can we get back on track?" he asked contemptuously. He continued before Alex could answer. "Scarlett would prefer to discuss conditions of satisfaction on the Tuesday night in question. Now, I think it's time we discuss the matter of moderation. Luckily, we've got a candidate lined up already."

He turned the doorknob and pulled the door open, causing two tussling figures to fall over the threshold. Graham Montague had a struggling Ethan in a headlock, the latter of whom looked distinctly ruffled; Ethan's glasses were askew and his auburn hair was mussed.

"Oi!" Alex shouted, going for his wand.

"He was trying to eavesdrop," Montague said, as Ethan writhed, spider-like, in the larger boy's grip.

"Er, maybe let him go, Montague," Pellon suggested. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."

Montague did so, and Ethan took the opportunity to leap away from his attacker, readjusting his rumpled appearance.

"You alright?" Alex asked him.

"Brilliant," Ethan snapped back.

"Let me guess," Pellon said, smirking. "You want Frogboy here to moderate the duel. I'm afraid that won't work – moderators are impartial, and extremely well learned in the duelling code."

"Two things that Ethan has over him," Alex replied, indicating Montague. "In case you forgot, Montague witnessed the challenge, and even tried to become Skeres' second. Both of those mean he'll have an implicit bias going in. Ethan neither witnessed the challenge, nor would he want to be a second."

Ethan shook his head vehemently to accentuate the point. The Slytherins had no good refutations to this line of reasoning, and so were eventually forced to concede; Ethan was named as moderator.

Titus Skeres shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not from any social discomfit, but from the prolonged exposure to his chair. The Board of Governors had been gathered for six hours, and it seemed as though their endless agonising over minutiae would continue on far beyond midnight. He had initially wished to catch his eldest daughter before she could retire for the day – he had some very important information that he thought she was due for. With the way things had turned out that that was looking like less of a possibility; it was midnight already.

Titus looked about the room, well warmed by the roaring fireplaces – all the better, considering the frigid storm that was raging outside. The sound of the wind had been so deafening that they had resorted to muffling the gale's audibility within the Board Room with magic. The other Governors were seated in their usual places; the self styled 'intellectuals' gathered to his right – he watched Simon Kilgrave and Leland Nostrum mutter to each other, while Kuhlmann maintained a dignified silence – and next to them, Gamp and Belov.

The left side of the curved table had been where the Board's women – Derby, Bobbin, Gravius, and Muldoon – had congregated. Closer to Titus sat Eamon O'Malley, and even closer was, of course, Lucius.

The twelve of them had been delayed by the sheer lack of synchronicity on their collective part. They'd voted and revoted on several issues throughout the evening, and it was clear that they weren't having much luck with coming to any form of satisfying conclusion. Arguments about free tuition, uniform revenue, donations, and sponsorships had raged with fierceness to rival the snowstorm outside. Now it finally came to what would hopefully be the last issue of the night.

Titus watched Lucius out of the corner of his eye, imagining the schemes that were running through that platinum blond head. Their next scheduled issue had been a long time coming, and though the manner in which it had been postponed had brought Titus much frustration, he had since managed to gain a degree more perspective. Malfoy wanted influence, and respectably, further respect. If he had things his way, he'd gain all that and more. Titus didn't want that for the man, but an overt move to subvert Lucius' will was too bold a move without a prepared foundation to base it on.

Truthfully, he couldn't be certain of the verdict of the coming appeal, and though he knew which outcome he'd prefer; if what the Mudblood had to show was good enough it would serve Titus well regardless. It was vital, however, that Malfoy not gain cognizance of Titus' plan. The blond man, should he realise his claim to some unknown treasure was being contested, would not permit the manoeuvring, whether out of greed or pure spite. The rivalries between their families went unstated for the most part, but the competition was there.

Lucius' voice interrupted his musings. "Bring him in," he said clearly, his command conditionally calling the others to silence.

The Recording Secretary – the name of whom Titus found he couldn't remember – stood and opened the door. Foley made his way in uncertainly, as Titus and the rest of the Board observed him expectantly. The Recording Secretary (Titus decided he didn't really care what their name was) initiated the usual introductions, ending climactically with Titus' own name and title.

"Plea Order Three-Three-Four-Oh: Presented by Professor Michael Archibald Foley," Titus read from the ordered roster. "Subject: Following Up on Plea Order Three-Three-One-Two: Authority over Hogwarts Excavation. If you'd like to begin, Professor?"

The Mudblood nodded quietly, before launching into a spiel. "Governors. Four months ago we met and decided to wait before considering or changing the setup I've maintained until a time when my excavations would have found something worthy of the annals of history. Now I come before you once again to report that I have found... precisely nothing."

Titus blinked – once, twice. Beside him, Lucius' lip curled with disdain. "You mean to say," the sneering Chairman said, "that in the four months that you were given, all you achieved was the wasting of both our time and money?"

Looking as though he didn't know what to do with his hands, Foley replied awkwardly. "Regrettably, yes."

O'Malley scowled, and Bobbin looked rather disappointed. Many others simply looked bored or tired, the night having worn them down far too much. Kilgrave, on the other hand, looked shrewd, and Titus had no doubt that he too had deduced the truth, or at least part of it. Foley was clearly lying - a surprise initially, but very telling. Foley was clearly willing to go to great lengths to hide whatever he had likely uncovered from the hands of meddling forces, such as the Ministry or Gringotts.

Titus thought it interesting that the lie had been so blatant, however. Surely he didn't expect to be believed? And regardless of whether the lie was swallowed or not, there was no way Lucius Malfoy would be deterred from making certain. So what game was Foley playing? Malfoy was speaking again.

"I hope you will understand if the Board were to take measures to ensure we can agree with such an assessment," he said, fixing Foley with a hard gaze. "Some helping hands – moderators - could be useful in making sure that nothing was overlooked accidentally. I was thinking; perhaps a squad of some of the finest Curse-Breakers?"

Titus saw Foley's face tighten, and could have sworn that he saw his eye twitch involuntarily. Titus turned a smile onto Lucius. "No doubt one William Weasley would appreciate the opportunity. I understand he has family here."

It was an innocent observation, but the effect was instantaneous; Lucius gritted his teeth and couldn't quite conceal his shudder. Lucius' rivalry with the Weasley family was far more pronounced than any strain between the Skeres' and Malfoys. The man's pride simply wouldn't allow him to perform an action that could conceivably aid such a hated enemy. No doubt, Lucius had forgotten that Weasley had recently joined the ranks of the Gringotts Curse-Breaking team.

"I wouldn't want to pull anyone from any important work," Lucius ventured stiffly. "Regardless, the Board should screen candidates extensively before permitting them access. Security is of the utmost concern here."

Titus was considering how to approach the next phase of his scheme, when Madam Gravius performed it for him.

"Surely we ought to save time on such trifles?" she nearly pleaded. "We've spent long enough arguing over silly details – we ought to simply let someone trustworthy handle this... check-up – inspection – whatever it is."

Malfoy opened his mouth to interject, no doubt to volunteer himself, but Titus beat him to it. "Surely we can all agree that a matter as delicate and important as this requires a touch of similar quality?"

He saw Lucius throw a furious look in his direction, though Titus wasn't too concerned. If he had any suspicions, he would presumably chalk Titus' actions up to pure pettiness – typical of the relationship between the two of them. His true intentions were beyond the blond.

Titus continued once he was sure that everyone was heeding his words. "You will recall the Professor's concerns; this is our heritage, and could dramatically affect our knowledge of ourselves." Foley looked slightly surprised at the bringing up of his old argument. No doubt he had expected the same lack of sympathy that he had allowed in the October meeting. Titus continued, "Perhaps our priority in finding these answers should be entrusting the decision to those with the expertise and qualifications. Those who know best." He looked at the men seated to his right.

Titus liked to think that he was an excellent judge of character; he didn't think he'd have gotten to where he was if he wasn't. Simon Kilgrave was an enigma to most, and even Titus was sometimes clueless as to the man's inner workings. The man didn't seem to like to take sides, or make enemies. He seemed to appreciate gold, but not so much that it defined who he was. Titus was certain he knew what truly drove the man, however: an unquenchable curiosity, sated only partially by knowledge. And that was what Titus was counting on.

Kilgrave flicked at his goatee with his stub of an index finger. "I'd be more than happy to take on the responsibility. I can already think of a candidate that might suit."

All around the table there were shrugs and nods of assent. Even Foley looked strangely satisfied at the words. Titus watched as Malfoy took in the situation that had quickly unfolded. The man had been effectively trapped into following Titus' whims; he hadn't had time to create a counter-argument, nor had he been able to suppress his instinctual aversion to the Weasleys. The board had come to a unanimous conclusion for the first time that night, and there was no way he could sully the outcome now. Looking as though he was repressing an eye roll, he finally said, "I see no reason why not."

"Excellent," Titus said with some relish. "I'm glad that we could all agree on something. Professor Foley, would you be willing to accommodate whoever Professor Kilgrave chooses for the inspection?"

Looking both surprised and frustrated at being asked the question, he nodded. He likely knew that his answer wouldn't have mattered.

"We shall make our final decision on this project's termination once the inspection's results come back. I think we can finally adjourn for the evening. Thank you for your time."

Foley nearly ran from the room then, and Titus cursed under his breath. He rose and began to move after him, avoiding Lucius (who showed every sign of wanting a private exchange with him), and unfortunately passing Kilgrave (who he had wanted an opportunity to speak with before Lucius could get the chance). Stepping out of the board room, he could not see where Foley had disappeared to, but had a few guesses. He began to make his way to the third floor.

Foley was absolutely up to something. The man had lied to their faces, but had not even bothered to fight against the verdict they reached. He had put no effort into what one would have assumed would be a heart-wrenching appeal. Titus had been watching the Mudblood's face throughout the discussion, and he had seemed oddly relieved when Malfoy's suggestion of Curse-Breakers had been circumvented, despite the inspection still going forward.

Titus could freely admit that he had a tendency to stick his nose where many would think it did not belong. It was why he had always been such an unparalleled journalist. It was that tendency that drove him now – to pursue the answers that Foley was clearly concealing. His wand was in his hand, and soon he was cloaked with a Disillusionment Charm, blending in with his surroundings perfectly, as though he were a chameleon.

Whilst Michael Foley was stepping into the Board's meeting, and the Recording Secretary blithered on, three figures stole their way through dark passages, moving through hidden tunnels, and behind sliding panels to reach their destination. The three Ravenclaws had opted not to travel by wand-light for fear of discovery, and so had to slowly make their way through the freezing passageways and down flights of stone stairs, relying mostly on touch, rather than on their straining eyes.

Alex, her blond hair barely visible in the blackness, found herself wishing that her Metamorphmaging could come along with more speed. She would give her wand to be able to create for herself thicker skin or a coating of hair to lessen the cold's effect. Regular exercise in the snow had dulled the cold's hold over her marginally, but at least then she was actively warming herself by building up her fitness. Creeping about in the dark didn't exactly earn much warmth from her body.

She was itching to drink from the bottle of Pepperup Potion she had tucked into her robe pocket, though Scott – who was moving beside her, bent slightly for the sake inconspicuousness (for all the good it did him) – had insisted that they save their last remaining tinctures for the duel itself. He wanted to preserve the potion, as Madam Pomfrey had cut them off, claiming that she simply didn't have enough mandrake roots to brew more.

Through the gloom she could spy the brutal implement that Scott had stuck to his back with magic, and she recalled the conversation that they had had prior to venturing out.

She'd been idly flicking through the pages of Quidditch Through the Ages, nervously jiggling her leg as she waited for Scott to return from his impromptu return to their dorm. Ethan had been relentlessly pacing up and down the common room, which hadn't helped her anxiousness much. She'd checked the old Swatch she'd received a few birthdays ago – it was a little slow, and she'd continuously forgotten to adjust its displayed time – and had found that midnight was creeping uncomfortably close. Finally, Scott had come striding into the blue-lit room; clutched in his hand and resting on his shoulder: his Beater's bat.

He'd stood there, grinning, with an expectant look in his eyes. Sure enough, Ethan had spoken up. "Er, Scott? What's that?"

"Beater's bat, Ethan," Scott had said, with a crooked tilt to his wide smile.

Alex's worry had not been alleviated by the club's appearance. Scott held Skeres in utter contempt, but surely this was going too far? Alex had expected a wizard's duel, and as intimidating as that seemed to her, it at least seemed less extreme than outright attacking someone with a cudgel. Scott, she knew from Quidditch practice, had a wicked swing; the thought of tiny Skeres, no matter how awful she was, facing that force, seemed unnecessarily brutal. Surely Scott knew that, right?

"Scott," Ethan had begun seriously, "you can't."

"Oh?" the larger and darker boy had replied innocently.

"No," Ethan said, shaking his head. "It's against the rules. It's magic only."

While Alex appreciated Ethan's protestations, she had wished it had been for a reason other than what some archaic code demanded. She'd looked beseechingly at Scott. "You aren't actually going to use it on her, right Scott?"

"Of course I am," he'd said simply, gauging her reaction. Evidently he'd found it incredibly amusing, as he'd burst into noisy laughter that she'd been sure would wake the rest of the Ravenclaws. "Alex, flick to Chapter Six of that fine book I got you, please."

She had done so. There she'd found a comprehensive run-down of several alterations to the way Quidditch was played since the fourteenth century. Thinking of the wood-and-metal instrument currently being wielded by her friend, she'd looked at the section that gave a run-down of the Beaters' bat.

"'Magically reinforced'," she'd read out loud. As she'd continued to read, things had started to become more apparent to her.

"These bats are all charmed with magic," Scott explained, mostly for the benefit of Ethan, who'd squinted confusedly. He'd held the bat out in front of him. "Magic that helps the Beater deflect a Bludger without worrying about damaging the bat itself."

"It's indestructible? An Unbreakable Charm?" Ethan had guessed.

"Not necessarily," Alex had put in. "That was apparently tried initially, but whenever the bat and Bludger would collide... well..." She'd looked at Scott, the history professional.

"The energy – the kinetic force – of the Bludger colliding had to go somewhere, and with a charm forcing the bat to take none of it, it simply travelled down to the next possible target," Scott had explained, smiling grimly. "The hands and arms of the Beaters."

Ethan had cringed, no doubt imagining the injuries that would have resulted.

"Needless to say," she'd said, "a lot of Beaters received a crash-course in physics, and another solution was found."

"A Redistribution Charm," Scott had said with satisfaction, leaning the bat back against his shoulder. "Take the energy from the collision, and simply deflect it right back at the Bludger. Made things a lot more convenient for us Beaters when our arms stopped being torn off by an angry Bludger if we tried to meet one head-on."

"Er, but Scott," Ethan had said slowly, "I really doubt Skeres is about to come at you with a Bludger."

"Of course not," he'd replied. "But why would the charm only deflect Bludgers?"

And Ethan's eyes had shown that he had alighted upon the answer. "You – you wouldn't even need a shielding or warding spell!"

"Exactly," Scott had confirmed, still with that self-satisfied smile. "Epoximise!"

And with that the bat had been stuck to the back of his robes.

"What gave you the idea?" Alex had asked then.

"Ethan did in a way. I thought, 'What if I did act as people expected me to? If I did prove them right in a way? What if I brought the troll club to a magic fight?' I thought it'd be nice and poetic." And Scott's eyes had gleamed with laughter.

They finally stopped by a door on the fourth floor. It was the door to the very same room Alex had met with Pellon, and it was here that Ethan turned to face them.

"Well, I'd, er, better get in there," he said. "Um, bye."

Alex watched him go, feeling an uncomfortable pang at his abrupt exit. Being moderator, he obviously couldn't wish them luck in any way, but compared to the unexpected vote of confidence she'd received from him prior to Quidditch tryouts, his farewell had seemed nearly as cold as the air around her. Judging from the tightening around the eyes and the slight turning down of his mouth, Scott must have felt similarly, though he gave no other sign of discontent, and so they continued.

They walked to the bottom of the stairs, and soon found the door that led into the lecture hall. Flickering light emanated from under the door, doubtless from a lantern or conjured flame, which likely meant... Within, they found that their opponents had already arrived. Pellon stood as they entered, though Skeres remained seated on one of the tables that had been dragged to the sides of the room. She seemed to be having a harder time with the cold than Alex – despite the robes, cloak, coat, and nearby lantern, she still shivered, looking even colder now that she no longer had Pellon's warmth near her. Her glare alone, however, could have warmed anyone with its immense heat that seemed to wash over them like waves.

"You're late," she said unhappily.

"Had some important things to do," Scott replied carelessly.

Her glare deepened. "So much for taking this seriously, then."

He opened his mouth to retort, when a voice from above interrupted them. "Er, hello," Ethan said, looking down from the balustrade into the hall. "If the seconds could meet in the duelling space to discuss terms, that'd be grand."

Alex nodded nervously, and moved to where Pellon was headed.

"So," Alex muttered, "terms. I assume you have some?"

"We do. In the event that Scarlett wins, both you and Carter resign from the Ravenclaw Quidditch team."

"What!?" Alex shrieked.

"Furthermore," Pellon pushed on, "if one beats the other, the loser must immediately turn themselves in to Filch. That means going to his sleeping quarters below us and waking him."

"Hang on, just wait a moment –" she attempted.

"In addition, if he loses; Carter will turn over the gold that Scarlett is owed."

"Can we just talk about –?"

"Finally, before the duel commences, Carter must make an Unbreakable Vow to uphold the terms."

"An Unbreakable... Hang on..." She recalled the mention of such a vow, in the library. So, clearly Skeres had found a way to use her family's magic in the duel, though not in a way they'd expected. "What exactly is an Unbreakable Vow?" she heard herself say, feeling that she might regret getting an answer.

"You break it; you die," Pellon said simply.

She felt her mouth go slack with shock. She looked around to see Scott, who she saw was having a particularly intense staring contest with Skeres across from him. He had a calculating, shrewd look on his face which made Alex's scalp prickle. Immediately she recalled the tale he'd told when they'd first met – properly – about a contest of riddles with a deadly sphinx. He'd made a rash decision then, but surely he'd have learned since then to make more rational –

"I accept," he said softly, the whistling wind outside concealing his words.

Skeres squinted. Clearly she hadn't heard, and neither, it seemed, had Pellon. Alex turned back to look at Scott.

"Scott, you don't have to do this," she pleaded. "Just tell them no. You can walk out of here."

And though she was certain she had spoken loud enough for him to hear over the storm outside, he did not seem to hear. "I accept your terms," he said clearly, standing.

"YOU FUCKING WHAT!?" came a strangled voice from the balustrade. Ethan cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. "I – um – er – as, as moderator for this duel I rule that the terms are –"

"More than acceptable, I should hope," Pellon interrupted calmly. "Surely our impartial moderator isn't taking sides in this?"

Ethan gaped at him for a moment, before shaking his head. "No, no, no, no, no, no! Of course not! Of course... Er, carry on." He laughed nervously.

Pellon turned back to Alex. "Any terms from your side?"

Feeling as though she was bordering on a panic attack, she shook her head wordlessly. She felt Scott's hand on her shoulder and looked up at his face. He looked far calmer than she thought he should, and she was now beginning to wonder if he was actually insane.

"I know you're worried, but trust me, you won't be leaving the Quidditch team any time soon," he said so that only she could hear.

And with a sinking feeling, she watched him step forward shamelessly, his arm outstretched. Skeres almost seemed to drift – ghostlike - to meet him, her normally olive complexion pale in the cold. Her hand grasped her enemy's, looking tiny in comparison. Pellon approached, his wand raised.

"Scott Carter," Pellon began, placing his wand on the two interlocked hands. "In the event of Scarlett's victory will you swear to resign from the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, ensuring too, that Alexis Wroxton also follows your example?"

Scott's eyes darted briefly towards Alex, a flicker of something, maybe guilt, showing in them. Regardless, he quickly returned his gaze back to Skeres and uttered, "I will."

At his words, a tongue of flame was manifested, curling around the clutching hands like a bright rope.

"And do the two of you vow to wake Filch and confess to being out after curfew - leaving out the victor's involvement - should one of you come out over the other?"

"I do," Skeres said with gravity.

"I do," Scott echoed, a smirk apparent.

Alex thought she knew what he thought was so funny. The exchange resembled a particularly grim wedding, with the punishment for straying from one's vows being instantaneous death. She thought that it was interesting that Skeres had included herself in that particular oath. Perhaps she thought it was only fair, though the other conditions still weighed things far more in her favour. If Scott had wanted, he could have created terms for his victory, though he'd been adamant that none were needed – defeating Skeres would be enough.

There were now two strings of flame running across the lengths of the rivals' arms now, glowing brighter than the flickering lantern that the Slytherins had brought. Pellon spoke again.

"Carter. Should Scarlett win the duel, will you pay her all that she is owed in gold?"

Scott's eyes narrowed, and his fingers seemed to jerk, but he remained clutching the hated hand. "I will," he finally uttered.

A final tongue of flame wrapped around their arms, creating a triple-helix light that glowed with an intensity that seemed as though it should scorch the skin of those it was touching.

"I hereby bind you to your vows. May your doom be swift should they be broken."

The ropes of energy steadily grew brighter, brighter still, so that both Alex and Ethan were forced to squint at its luminosity. The other three continued to look on, however - the Bonder and the Bonded. Three pairs of eyes, piercing blue; deepest brown; and solid amber, all beheld the orange-red flames transform. They were now a glittering gold, and along them beads of multicoloured light travelled like blood through veins; bronze, silver, gold, purple, blue, red, green, and yellow.

It was magic as Alex had only heard hinted at in the Magical Theory classes taught in this very room. Something far beyond the simple charms they learned, the jinxes they'd practiced, the matches they'd transfigured. This was magic cultivated in secret, formed by a family who held knowledge unique to them. Deep, dark magic, the sort spoken of in the library books they'd studied in preparation for this day.

The light suddenly shimmered, and its intensity faded. In moments, the only sign that there had been magic there was the odd scent on the stinging cold air, and the marring that remained along Scott and Skeres' arms. The lines were faint, but they were there. Alex wondered when, and if, they would fade.

"And now," came Ethan's quivering voice from above them, "it's time for the duel to begin."