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Disclaimer: Azkaban, Professor Dumbledore and all references
to Hogwarts are very probably the property of those *delightful* people
at Warner Brothers by way of the inimitable J K Rowling. I am not
making a penny from using them as the backdrop to a story written
for my own amusement and that (hopefully!) of others. So there.
email me
at Sarah.Watkins@onyx.net
Shadow of a Doubt
Chapter
Six: The Duel
Author's
Explanation: See the Prologue, Innocence Under Fire.
~ ~ ~
Anders
stood for a few moments, his face as white as a sheet, then, with
a semi-triumphant look at Dumbledore and McGonagall, wheeled around
and stalked off towards his own rooms, without a backward glance.
"Albus..."
began Professor McGonagall, making as if to go after the young man,
but the Headmaster shook his head and caught her arm. "Albus,
we must put a stop to this," she insisted. "This is not
a squabble between two students - these are two fully grown, both
very capable wizards."
"They
are as stubborn as each other, Minerva," he said, a tone of sadness
in his voice. "If we try to stop them doing this thing, they
will simply continue to rile one another. I will place a charm of
protection on them both before they start. They will not be injured,
but somebody's pride may well take a nasty dent."
The Headmaster
turned to look at the sea of faces that gazed at him from the Great
Hall. "Back inside and enjoy yourselves," he beamed. "Dessert
time, I think!"
Reluctantly,
the students returned to their seats, but soon brightened up when
they spread the gossip to their comrades who had not managed to get
to the door. Soon, all four tables were taking sides and deciding
who was going to win. Only the Slytherin table seemed to be having
difficulty deciding. After all - hadn't Professor Grimalkin been a
Slytherin in his day?
"Well,
I think they're both idiots," said Hermione, huffily after being
asked for the umpteenth time who she thought would win. "Professor
Grimalkin was silly to challenge Snape to a Duel, and Snape was even
sillier to accept the challenge."
"If
he'd refused it, he'd have lost face in the sight of the whole school,"
explained Ron patiently. In his view, Hermione was a girl, and therefore
had no idea about such concepts as 'honour' and 'pride'.
"Well,
I think it's stupid," she said, insistently, eating her slice
of chocolate gateau and refusing to comment any further on the situation.
Draco
Malfoy and his cronies crossed the Hall to stand in front of Harry.
"Your pet Professor is going to make a fool of himself tomorrow,
Granger," said Malfoy, smirking. "With a bit of luck, Snape
might just add a bit more interest to that stupid face of his."
"He's
NOT my 'pet Professor', Malfoy, and you're blocking my view of the
portraits."
"Snape
will wipe the floor with his pony tail. Don't know why he has to have
that stupid, girly hair, makes him look weak and feeble. Like a girl."
Ron bristled at this: his eldest brother Bill was the proud owner
of a pony tail. Ron thought it was cool.
Hermione
stared straight through Malfoy, who was starting to get angry.
"I
bet if I was to challenge YOU to a duel, Granger, you'd find some
soppy excuse to get out of it."
Silence.
Malfoy
gave up. He couldn't be bothered to rub people up the wrong way if
they didn't bite. He motioned to Crabbe and Goyle with a flick of
his hand, and the three Slytherins left. Harry and Ron looked at Hermione,
impressed.
"That
was brilliant, Hermione. Brilliant!" Ron said, admiringly, giving
her shoulder a squeeze. She smiled back. "Something I read in
a book today. If something is bothering you, just ignore it - it'll
probably go away." She bent down and picked up the book under
her chair. "Apparently, there's a whole group of wizards who
can become completely invisible simply by making people ignore them.
Fascinating."
Harry
squinted at the book. "Unexplained Magical Phenomena: A Beginner's
Guide to the Magically Mysterious." Hermione held the book out
to him, and Harry flipped through a few pages. "Myths and Legends?
Wow, Hermione's reading fiction?"
"Not
fiction," she said absently. "It explains why real wizarding
powers are mistaken for legends. Like the disappearing wizards. It's
a very interesting book." She opened the book at the page where
she had put her book mark. "There," she said.
Harry
followed her finger down the page and stopped. "The Umbra. That
the one?" She nodded, biting her lip. "The Umbra are a rare
breed of vampire that have been known to strike in the Muggle World
as well as the wizarding world. The Umbra are set apart from their
other vampire brethren in several important ways. Firstly, they are
genetically different in that they are able, on the whole, to blend
almost seamlessly into society. Secondly, they are characterised by
an uncanny ability to hold people's attention when they speak, almost
as though they have cast a Fascination Charm over their audience.
This is not (usually) the case: the Umbra have a great sense of presence,
and it is a strong willed person indeed who can resist the full charisma
of an Umbra."
Harry
put the book down and narrowed his eyes. "What's this about,
Hermione?"
She shook
her head, still biting her lip, tears appearing in her eyes. "Read
there," she said, pointing out a passage.
"One
way to recognise an Umbra is that it casts no shadow." Harry
looked up, furrowing his brow. Hermione nodded.
"I
was trying to tell you," she said, almost wretchedly. "Today,
in Hogsmeade? In the Three Broomsticks? When the candles were lit...I
was warm, and cosy. Happy. I was watching the four shadows on the
wall."
"Four?"
said Ron. "But there were FIVE of us..." He broke off and
stared at Harry. "What does Professor Grimalkin not have that
everyone else has...especially at noon?"
The three
of them said it together.
"A
shadow."
*
* *
They
were right, of course. Anders Grimalkin DID have no shadow, but he
was not a vampire. At least, not that anybody had been able to prove.
He had no insatiable blood lust, no aversion to crucifixes, and was
therefore totally flummoxed as to why he had no shadow. He had had
one before he came to Hogwarts, he knew that, so at first had put
it down simply to the school, which as everyone knew had a life of
its own, playing a cruel joke on him.
But after
three weeks had passed and his shadow had still not returned, Anders
began to panic. Fortunately for him, everyone in his year was too
preoccupied with first year jitters to have noticed. It had been Hagrid,
in fact, who had been the first one to notice it 'officially'.
As he
sat in his bedroom, downing glass after glass of water in order to
take away the nausea that was creeping through him, Anders thought
back to that day. When Hagrid had pulled him to one side and, in that
unbelievably blunt manner had asked him outright where his shadow
was.
He'd
been alarmed by the young boy's reaction. Anders had burst into tears
and told Hagrid that until his arrival at Hogwarts, he and his shadow
had been just fine, thank you so very much, and that he was thinking
about running away from the school in the hope his shadow would return.
Hagrid
had been watching this pale, slight boy since he had arrived, nervous
and frightened, and had been most surprised to see him sorted into
Slytherin. The bullies had lynched onto him almost immediately, of
course, and Hagrid's worry was that the discovery of Anders' missing
'self' would give them more ammunition to fire at him.
Thus
it had been that Hagrid had encouraged Anders to use his natural talent
to help him. Anders had, under Hagrid's watchful and critical eye,
created an illusory shadow that followed him faithfully everywhere
he went. If he became tired, or lost his concentration, the shadow
would disappear, but for the most part, Anders was successful in maintaining
the illusion.
Snape
knew though, Anders thought to himself bitterly. Oh, yes. Snape had
known and had waited, biding his time until that day when Anders had
been a fifth year, taking a Duelling class.
It flashed
through his mind like it had been only yesterday.
"One
of the best defences against any other wizard," Snape had said,
with an evil glint in his eye, "is to strip them of their defences.
Mr Grimalkin, step forward please."
He had
done so, slightly nervous. Snape regularly picked on him during Duelling
classes, but this tone of voice seemed particularly malevolent.
"This
spell," the Slytherin House Master had hissed, his eyes gleaming,
"strips your 'enemy' of any falsehood. Therefore, if a man of
five feet had woven an illusion that he was, in fact, an ogre, this
spell will reveal the truth." Before Anders could let Snape's
words sink in, the teacher had raised his wand and roared "SPOLIO
FACTICIUS!"
The Strip
Artifice spell had, of course, caused Anders' illusory shadow to dissipate
and vanish, leaving the rest of the class very shaken. Snape had been
covering Defence Against the Dark Arts classes for a few weeks and,
as was his nature, had encouraged the class to read about the different
types of vampire.
Ridiculed
and immediately outcast even further, Anders had been unable to explain
why he had no shadow, and this served only to make his journey to
pariah complete. He left school as he had started it. No friends,
no respect, and only talents for Illusion and Quidditch to give him
any advantage in life.
Now,
the man had the chance to pay Snape back for all the misery he had
caused with that one lousy spell. ~Tomorrow, Anders,~ he promised
himself grimly. ~Tomorrow you'll have the upper hand.~
*
* *
The morning
dawned rainy and grey, and the mood seemed to be reflected on the
faces of several of the students. The feast had not regained its vigour
and enthusiasm following the stand-off between the two Professors
- that had been FAR more exciting.
Hermione,
with some disapproval, noted that some of the students were already
sporting badges declaring their support for Professor Snape. "This
isn't some sort of entertainment laid on for their benefit,"
she complained to Ron, who hurriedly tried to conceal his 'Grimalkin'
badge from her sight.
Professor
Grimalkin was not to be seen at the breakfast table that morning:
this in itself came as no great surprise, he had clearly had one too
many goblets of wine at the Feast, and was no doubt sleeping it off.
Harry and Ron had been disappointed, however. They had laced his breakfast
bowl with essence of garlic and had been hoping to see what sort of
reaction it provoked.
They
had naturally been horrified when Professor Vector, noting the empty
seat next to Professor Flitwick had sat there instead.
Ripping
their mutually aghast faces from the sight, and trying to ignore the
sound of Professor Vector spitting cornflakes out across the table,
Harry and Ron suddenly became extremely interested in their own breakfasts.
Hermione
sighed. They were getting worse, she swore they were. They had already
told her their plans to go to the library and find out all they could
about vampire defence techniques.
"You
want to watch out, Hermione," Ron had said, genuine concern in
his voice. "He seems to quite like you. What if he decides you're
the one he wants to bite?"
"Oh, RON! Nobody's saying he's a vampire, it's just one possible
explanation! And besides - why should a vampire who's teaching want
to bite anyone? Professor Lupin managed to keep his werewolf problem
under control, why shouldn't Professor Grimalkin be the same?"
Ron hadn't
been convinced.
The whole
Great Hall looked up as Professor Snape entered the room, a look of
bored disinterest on his face. As he passed the Slytherin table, they
all cheered him, but he ignored it, heading instead for his seat at
the top table, next to where Professor Flitwick was busily cleaning
cornflakes out of his lap. Ron and Harry swallowed nervously as Snape
exchanged a few words with Professor Vector, then took the bowl, sniffing
it intently.
*
* *
"Allium
oleraceum," said Snape, handing the bowl back to Professor Vector.
"Don't worry. Just a schoolboy prank. Obviously somebody's idea
of a stupid joke." His eyes met those of Harry and Ron and a
faint glimmer of a smirk crossed his mouth. "I don't believe
anybody was trying to poison Professor Grimalkin. Or you either, Professor
Vector."
He ate
his own breakfast in silence, not once looking up. "He's nervous,
he is," said Dean Thomas, who was proudly wearing a 'Grimalkin'
badge. "You can tell."
"Why
should Professor Snape be nervous?" said Harry, shrugging. "It's
not as if he isn't a good wizard - we know that he is." He couldn't
believe he was actually defending his least favourite teacher, but
he was feeling a little sorry for the Potions Master. Snape couldn't
have refused the challenge - not with half the school watching him.
Yes, he felt sorry for Snape, but he was worried for Professor Grimalkin.
*
* *
Anders
stared blearily at his reflection in the mirror. He did not look good,
not good at all. A night with no sleep whatsoever, and being violently
sick from a combination of alcohol and a sense of impending doom had
left him shaky and miserable. Had he REALLY challenged Snape to a
Duel?
He was
clearly losing his marbles, what few he had left.
After
washing his face, Anders felt a little bit better. He had not lost
the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, but was feeling more
able to at least stand up without instantly falling down again.
A Duel.
He knew that he, as the instigator of this ridiculous state of affairs
could not back out of it without becoming a laughing stock, and he
knew Severus Snape well enough to know that he would not miss an opportunity
to show him, Anders up in public.
He couldn't
possibly win against Snape. The man was older, more experienced, and
certainly more level-headed than he was. He was doomed to look like
a fool.
Skipping breakfast totally, he headed straight for his classroom.
He had the seventh years this morning, and they always made him feel
a little better. Most of them were eighteen, only five years younger
than him, and they treated him as more of an equal than anyone else.
One of the problems Anders had experienced as a teacher, was that
half of the time, he was caught between peer groups. He could relate
easily to both the students and the adults, and it was sometimes awkward.
He settled
in at his desk. The seventh years would surely be less bothered by
the impending Duel with Snape than, say, the excitable second years.
He was secretly grateful that he didn't have to teach them this morning:
he wasn't entirely convinced his poor head would take it.
*
* *
By 12.30,
of course, he was so fed up of people asking him excitedly what spells
he was going to cast, that he didn't care any more. He just wanted
to get it over with. Let Snape make a mockery of him, accept that
he was a fool...and get on with the rest of the term.
He ran
a shaking hand over his jaw as he headed into the Great Hall to grab
something to eat. A sea of enthusiastic and sneering faces turned
towards him and he felt suddenly very sick as he made his way somewhat
shakily up to the main table. He noticed that most of the platters
were now empty - he had been late into lunch, and apart from Professor
Sprout who was just finishing up her meal, there were no other teachers
present.
"Sir?"
It was
Ron Weasley. Anders smiled. "Hello, Ron."
"Just
wanted to say, sir, good luck this afternoon. Oh, and I saw you were
late in to lunch, sir, so I - we, that is, Harry and I - we saved
you some sandwiches..." He handed Professor Grimalkin a plate,
an innocent expression on his face.
"Thank
you Ron, that's really kind," said Anders, smiling again. Maybe
things weren't so bad after all. He picked up one of the sandwiches
absently and bit into it.
"What
the..." He swallowed the mouthful of sandwich with a grimace.
"How much garlic..." He lifted the bread. "A GARLIC
sandwich, Ron?"
But Ron
had disappeared again.
*
* *
Time
hurried on as if it were desperate to get there, and it was a very
reluctant and sick-looking young Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher
who walked out of the Hogwarts front doors at ten to one.
Knowing
full well just how much interest would be generated, the other teachers
made no pretence at all of keeping order in the classes, and simply
allowed the students to pour out to gather around what Dumbledore
had set up as the duelling arena.
Anders
saw, with a sinking heart, that Professor Snape had arrived already.
He stood, cool as a cucumber, talking with Professor Dumbledore, who,
noting the young Professor's appearance, waved him over.
"You
know my rules concerning Duelling, gentlemen," said Dumbledore,
sternly. "I will be casting a Protection Charm over both of you
before I allow either one of you to put one foot inside that arena.
Do you understand?"
"Yes,
Headmaster," they both said, eyeing one another up critically.
"I
know I am forbidden to intervene in this Duel," continued the
Headmaster, "however, I would like to suggest the form which
it should take, if I may be so bold?"
Anders
furrowed his brow, but Snape looked relatively nonplussed. "Professor
Grimalkin," said the Headmaster. "I know you are currently
teaching much about the elements in your classes. As you can see,
we have rather a splendid turnout of students to this little debacle..."
~Yeah,
like the entire SCHOOL...~
"...and
I thought, well, why not make the most out of this situation, and
include a little teaching? Tell me, Professor Snape. Are you familiar
with the Muggle game, "Rock, Scissors, Paper?"
Anders
blinked. He knew that game, but failed to see how it applied here.
"Let
us say that I am not, Headmaster," said Snape, in a pleasant
tone. "Would you care to explain this to me?"
"Simply,
Severus, I would count to three, and you and Professor Grimalkin would
hold out your hand to indicate rock," Dumbledore made a fist,
"scissors," he held out two fingers, "or paper."
Dumbledore put his hand flat. "Now then. Say you held out paper,
and Professor Grimalkin held out rock, you would win the round, because
the paper can wrap around the rock. You see?" The Headmaster
beamed.
"I
see," said Snape, staring coldly at Anders. "And scissors
beat paper and rock beats scissors?"
"Quite
right!" beamed Dumbledore. " Excellent, Severus, very perceptive.
Well, let's apply the rules of elementary magic here. Say that you
cast a fire spell at the same time Professor Grimalkin casts an air
spell. You would win, because the air would feed the flame and make
it stronger. This way, you get a good chance to test one another's
mettle and perception without getting hurt."
Anders
blinked again. He had not expected this. He rather feared that Dumbledore
was trying to wrap him up in cotton wool. The Headmaster looked from
one to the other. "I say that you play this little game for half
an hour - and the one with the most 'wins' at the end of that time
is declared the winner, we all clap, and then we can go back in to
class. How does that sound?"
"Fine,"
snapped Snape. "Now can we get this ridiculousness under way?"
"Anders?"
"Yes,
Headmaster...sounds...fine to me." Anders was bewildered, but
somewhat relieved.
The Headmaster
nodded, and, waving his wand, turned first to Snape and then Anders,
muttering, "Munimentus!" The Charm of Protection settled
over them both, and they walked to separate sides of the arena.
"Now
then, gentlemen. Let's put this to the test!"
Anders
flicked his wand into his hand in his normal gesture, and Snape did
likewise. They stared at each other across the short distance that
separated them. The Headmaster shouted out loudly, "One, Two,
THREE!"
"Inflammo!"
said Anders, sending a jet of flame towards Snape, who had murmured
the exact same spell. The two fire spells collided in the centre of
the arena and disappeared.
"A
draw," declared Dumbledore. The students stared at one another.
What sort of duel was this, anyway? A few lost interest immediately
and went back inside, but the hardier ones could see the sweat on
Professor Grimalkin's brow and realised just how much was at stake.
"One,
Two, THREE!"
"Aquatus!"
Anders'
water spell met with Snape's second fire spell. The two elemental
spells danced around one another momentarily, then the water extinguished
the fire, and Snape received the equivalent of a bucket of water in
the face. Anders smiled.
Snape
did not.
"One
to Professor Grimalkin!"
A few
students cheered.
Anders
grinned inwardly. This was going to be easy.
*
* *
He didn't
think so twenty five minutes later when he had been subjected to a
number of water, air, earth and fire attacks, muted down by the Protection
Charm, but still nasty all the same. On top of which, the constant
spell casting was making him tired and it was all he could to do to
stay upright. Snape didn't look much better, looking singed around
the edges from Anders' fire spells.
With
only five minutes of the duel left, Dumbledore declared that the score
was still a tie. He was privately rather surprised at the similarity
between the logical thinking of the two men. They had mostly had draws,
both thinking along the same strategic lines as the other.
"One,
two, THREE!" he called.
This
time, Snape was the clear winner. Anders didn't even seem to have
the energy left to cast a spell, and the fire spell streaked straight
across and gave him a nasty jolt.
Smiling
slightly, Snape listened with pleasure as Dumbledore added another
point to his running total.
Anders
was drooping now, and Dumbledore was inclined to call it a day - but
Events were about to take a rather dramatic turn. Anders had, he noticed,
suddenly stood bolt upright, a vague sort of expression on his face.
Dumbledore could make out the words of a spell and a streak of magic
shot from Anders' wand towards Snape. Nothing seemed to happen, and
Snape didn't even seem to notice.
"Professor
Grimalkin? What was that?"
"Headmaster?"
"The
spell you just cast."
"My
wand was overcharged, Headmaster. I had to dispell. It was from that
last air spell. There was residual air in the top of the wand."
It was
a feasible enough answer, and Snape did not seem to have been harmed,
so the Headmaster simply nodded. He did not notice that Anders had
regained his posture, nor did he notice that a faintly evil expression
had come over the young man's face.
"One
last time, gentlemen," called Dumbledore. "And make it a
good one!"
"One..."
// He
wants an elemental display? //
"Two..."
// I'll
GIVE him an elemental display. The spell you're going to cast is...
//
"THREE!"
"ASPHYIXIO!"
Dumbledore
started in horror. That was a Dark Magic spell - a spell of attack,
a spell that would cause the victim's windpipe to slowly close up,
causing slow, drawn out suffocation. Technically an elemental spell
because of its kinship with air...but...
"Severus!"
Snape's
water spell had splashed harmlessly to the ground - and the Potions
Master now lay on the floor, gasping for breath. Dumbledore looked
from the figure on the floor, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish
to the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who stood, swaying slightly,
at the other side of the arena. He ran first to Snape, casting a quick
"Efflum" spell, counteracting the Asphyxio curse, waited
until Snape's breathing regulated, then turned to march towards Anders.
"What
do you think you are doing?" Dumbledore thundered. "Are
you a total idiot, or..."
He broke
off, staring into Anders' face. This stranger with the wicked expression
was not his great nephew. This lunatic, who was raising his wand and
about to cast another spell on Snape was clearly deranged.
"Expelliarmus!"
roared Snape from behind him. Anders' wand flew from his hand and
Snape caught it deftly. He strode up to the duo and snarled, "What
is going on here, Headmaster?" Anders swayed unsteadily from
side to side, seemingly in some sort of trance.
The students
around the arena were captured totally by this turn of events.
Dumbledore
opened his mouth to reply, when something happened that caught both
his and Snape's attention. The crystal pendant that Anders wore around
his neck, suddenly burst with a bright flash of light - and apparently
heat, because the young Professor began screaming in pain and tried
to pull the charm from his throat. This was an exercise in futility:
it was magically sealed.
"Anders!"
Dumbledore started forward as the young man sank to his knees, whimpering
in pain and agony. Snape restrained him.
"Let
it run its course, Albus," he said, softly. "You cannot
stop it."
Finally,
Anders ceased his whimpering and pitched forward, headfirst, into
the grass, unconscious from the ordeal he'd just undergone, from exhaustion,
and, through his own stupidity, dehydration.
The pendant
around his neck was now a strange hue of smoky quartz.
Anders
Grimalkin had lost the first of his three lives.
(c) S Watkins, 2001
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