Professor Figg gazed imperiously at her fifth-year Gryffindors.

"All year we have been learning advanced hexes, defensive spells, and evasive strategies. Today we will begin duelling, which ties all of these together. On your feet!"

The students jumped up in surprise as the desks and chairs vanished.

"I imagine you must have learned something from the Duelling Club that was established some years ago. First, the bow."

They practised bowing. "Not too low," warned Professor Figg. "You don't want to look meek or subservient.

"The practical portion of the Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. is all duelling." The students looked at each other worriedly. "You will all get plenty of practice before June. In pairs, ten paces apart, facing each other. On the count of three, you each cast the most surprising hex you can think of, then immediately cast any defensive spell you wish. If it works, none of you should be hit by the hexes. One- two- three!"

"Furnunculus! Impendimenta!" shouted Harry. The room filled with coloured smoke, ka-pows and booms, and shrieking. When the smoke cleared, Seamus Finnigan's left ear had switched places with his nose, Neville Longbottom's robes were scorched at the shoulder, Parvati Patil had an ostrich neck, Lavender Brown's hair was flamingo pink, and Hermione's face was covered in boils. Harry, Ron, and Dean Thomas escaped unscathed.

Professor Figg calmly put out her chignon, which Ron's spell, repelled by Harry's Impediment Curse, had set on fire. "Hmmm... Good first try. Let's work on wrist movement. Weasley, I doubt you saw through all the smoke how close Potter's Furnunculus came to hitting you. Your Spellbinder only just reflected it at Miss Granger. You're all simply not moving fast enough! Again!"

By the end of class everyone was exhausted and everyone had had their physical features accidentally modified at least twice. Harry had practised flicking his wrist so many times that his hand had gone limp.

And this drilling went on nearly every day for the next few weeks. Harry's wand hand cramped up every time someone said the word "duel".

But they improved- everyone could see that. Neville no longer flinched when curses flew at him, or if he did, he had learned to do it unnoticeably. Hermione learned that it was one thing to read about advanced hexes, and a completely different thing to actually use them appropriately in a duel. There was protocol to be followed, and some curses were in principle completely incompatible. Duellers had to think fast and clearly to remember which spells counteracted which others, and often memorized clever sequences used in past duelling championships. All the books on duelling tournaments went out of the school library and were placed on multiple hold by aspiring duellers.

They soon found that Professor Figg had been correct in saying that duelling was the culmination of their Defence Against the Dark Arts training. Everything they had learned, and many things they hadn't, were tested in a duel. The training was gruelling and the actual duel taxing on nerves and intellect, but tremendously rewarding to win.

It also exposed the students' flaws and fortes. Lavender was cautious and conservative, Parvati the exact opposite, recklessly casting spells all over the place with little regard for furniture or spectators. Dean, it was quickly discovered, had bad aim with curses. He hit Professor Figg with a Jelly-Legs when he had been aiming for Seamus, who for his part was quite good at casting spells but had slow reflexes. Neville was also fairly good with defensive spells, but tended to be somewhat predictable, as he was loath to leave his comfort zone when it came to casting hexes.

Ron showed gradual improvement, because though he was audacious and had a keen memory for things he had seen and heard of in professional duels, he had difficulty executing what he recalled. Hermione proved to be a formidable opponent because, unlike Ron, she could easily carry out the advanced spells she had read about in books, and would unexpectedly throw out complex things to escape tight situations.

Harry also found that he excelled at duelling. He was not as well-read as Hermione, but had a peculiar knack for remembering the perfect simple spell for any eventuality, and was skilful enough to use them. Unlike Hermione, who pondered and weighed every move, and strategized perhaps too much, Harry preferred to wing it, able to improvise when faced with adversity. He had to work hard to keep the memory of his duel with Lord Voldemort out of his head, though.

Harry was usually paired with Hermione, and they both enjoyed striving to outdo each other. The duel ended when one competitor was in a position where he or she could no longer cast spells, and though at first it was usually Hermione who incapacitated Harry, the scores evened out over time.

One day in May Professor Figg leaped up and cried, "Surprise evaluation day!"

She threw open the door and the fifth-year Slytherins, released specially from their regular class, trooped in, looking uneasy. Each Gryffindor was placed with a Slytherin opponent of equal abilities. They had a mini- tournament of simultaneous duels, with the losing students standing on the sidelines to cheer on the remaining duellers.

Gradually the ranks thinned out, and soon there were more spectators than duellers. Only four pairs of fighters remained: Hermione versus Blaise Zabini, Harry versus Millicent Bulstrode, Ron versus Tracey Davis, and Parvati Patil versus Draco Malfoy.

Using a series of rapid and confusing spells, Hermione zapped Blaise Zabini with a Relashio, shooting a jet of fiery sparks and singed Blaise's hair. Malfoy defeated Parvati by wrapping her up in magical cords and making her drop her wand. Harry Jelly-Legs-ed Millicent Bulstrode and then Transfigured her into a giraffe who promptly fell over. And, though cornered by Slytherin Tracey Davis, Ron shouted "Diffindo" to split the robes of the fairly plump Tracey, who ran from the room crying.

In the next round Ron was placed against Harry, and Hermione against Malfoy.

"This will be easy for Hermione to win," Ron said to Harry as they stood back-to-back before taking ten paces.

"Of course," said Harry, already plotting for a final duel against Hermione.

But neither of them had accounted for the fact that Draco Malfoy had the same excellent professor as they did, and thus had had the exact same training. Not only that, but Malfoy had not been lying when he had said his father had taught him many ingenious and advanced hexes over the summer.

Harry quickly trounced Ron by casting a Light-Speed Charm on himself and bombarding Ron with rapid-fire jinxes from all directions, and Ron eventually exhausted his repertoire of defensive spells.

"I'll get you next time," Ron said, jumping down off the bookcase where Harry had stranded him.

"No you won't," Harry grinned.

Ron sighed as he dusted himself off. "Yeah, you're probably right."

But it was some time before there was a winner in the Hermione-Malfoy duel. Both were highly skilled and quite daring, and it took nearly a quarter of an hour for Malfoy to throw off Hermione with a Confundus Charm, followed quickly by a Conjunctivitis Curse. There was hesitant applause as Hermione stumbled away, clutching her eyes. Harry and Malfoy stared at each other across the room, Malfoy smirking, Harry trying to look confident while keeping down his butterflies.

"The last duellers," Professor Figg smiled, after Hermione and Ron had been tended to. She placed Harry and Malfoy in the centre of the room while the rest of the students, who had separated like oil and water into their own houses, watched from the sidelines.

"Ready to lose, Scarhead?" muttered Malfoy. "It's about time you were knocked down a notch."

Harry offered no opinion as to whether he felt his ego required diminishing. He was preoccupied in planning his offensive.

The duel began with a Disarming Spell by Harry, which was easily deflected by Malfoy's Shield Charm. Malfoy threw a Pillar of Flame, which Harry put out with an Extinguishing Spell and followed up with a Twitchy Ears Hex, which in transit bounced off Malfoy's Engorgement Hex. The spectators' eyes bounced back and forth rapidly.

"Tarantallegra!" shouted Harry, but Malfoy used Hex-Deflection.

"Rictusempra!" cried Malfoy, and for once Harry wasn't fast enough, and was hit. He burst out laughing. Everyone in the room began to chuckle also, as Malfoy stood smirking- but he stood still too long, and Harry gasped, "Locomotor Mortis!" Malfoy's legs snapped together and he fell on his face as Harry used a countercurse on himself and caught his breath. Harry grinned. Malfoy fumed.

Malfoy fixed his legs and leaped up in fury. "Venti adversi!"

Harry had never seen a Whirlwind Charm performed. It was quite impressive. A gust of wind picked up from nowhere, and slowly began to swirl round the room. Then a funnel cloud descended from the ceiling and tried to suck Harry up to the rafters.

Everyone clung to the walls to keep from being blown away. Tracey Davis came back in from fixing her ripped robes, only to have them blown up into her face by the gusts of Malfoy's Whirlwind Charm, and she ran out in tears again. Professor Figg and the students ignored her, intent on the action in the centre of the room. Harry had grabbed hold of the edge of a blackboard and was shouting, "Inrigo!" Water gushed from the tip of his wand and Harry aimed squarely at Malfoy's chest. Malfoy was knocked off his feet, which distracted him long enough for Harry to wrack his brain for a countercurse to the Whirlwind Charm.

"Er... ah... Fugacius?" he tried. The whirlwind sped up and sucked one of his shoes up to the rafters. "Oops... er..."

The winds whistled shrilly through the room and rattled the windows. Everyone clapped their hands over their ears, except the two indomitable duellers.

Malfoy performed a Drought Charm on himself and the water dried up.

Harry remembered the counterspell. "Malacius!"

The wind ceased instantly and the air was dead still.

"Ssssscared, Ssscarhead?" Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry froze. "What did you say?"

"What, are you having trouble hearing? I said, scared, Scarhead?" repeated Malfoy, smiling slowly.

"No you didn't," said Harry. "You were- hissing."

"Was I?" asked Malfoy, still smiling. "I think you're hearing things, Potter."

But Harry had now divined Malfoy's plan. Malfoy didn't want to win at all- he wanted to provoke Harry into winning the duel the easiest way: Serpensortia. If Harry used Serpensortia he would not only be "knocked down" a number of notches, he would be summarily expelled from Hogwarts and exiled from civilized society.

It was the most obvious and easy way to mortify Harry Potter, boy wonder, and would certainly escalate the vendetta between them to unmatchable heights- if Harry were stupid enough to speak Parseltongue in front of people again. Malfoy was clearly underestimating his opponent- a dangerous move.

The two boys faced off, both in proper duelling stances, stiff and scowling. Malfoy moved first, conjuring a little white mouse from the end of his wand. It sat on the floor, sniffing excitedly. Malfoy arched one eyebrow.

"Fine!" Harry muttered. "You want snakes? Triserpenfallosortia!"

He shouted the last word and gestured brusquely with his wand. Three snakes sprang from the end of Harry's wand. Malfoy recoiled, his eyes full of triumph mixed with fear. The spectators leaped back in horror. Professor Figg started, bewildered. But the snakes were of the coil-spring filled variety, the sort of prank gadget Muggles liked to put in cans labelled "Nuts" to surprise people on April Fools' Day.

Malfoy recovered quickly from his shock, but before Malfoy was fully calmed Harry Summoned Snowball from Professor Figg's desk, and the black cat immediately pounced on the white mouse, devouring it hungrily.

Malfoy frowned and stood still to think, which gave Harry the advantage. Like Hermione, Malfoy always thought too much about everything. He didn't know how to be spontaneous- he appeared to have no instincts, in Harry's opinion. Now he was a perfectly stationary target for Harry. "Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, and Malfoy's wand flew out of his hand and into Harry's. He triumphantly trained both on Malfoy.

The Gryffindors applauded wildly, and after a moment, so did the Slytherins, grudgingly. It had been a good fight, but standing still like that for so long, they understood, Malfoy hadn't deserved to win at the end.

Harry and the rest of the students happened to be looking away from Malfoy's face for one crucial moment, but Professor Figg was stunned to see the Slytherin's lips begin to move, and as Harry put Malfoy's wand down on a desk to shake Dean Thomas' hand, the wand flew several feet, straight into Malfoy's hand.

No one else witnessed this. Malfoy quickly pocketed his wand and sullenly joined his friends, as if he had not just executed an astonishing feat of wandless magic.

Arabella Figg was frightened. She had never heard of anyone being able to do magic without a wand, at will. Certainly there were accidents with young, untrained witches and wizards, like Potter and his old Aunt Marjorie, but doing it on command? Bella could certainly guess where Draco Malfoy had learned how to do wandless magic, too.

The bell rang and the students rushed out, excited, and she resolved to speak to Snape and Dumbledore later. It would not do to confront Malfoy face to face: his movements had been furtive and he had clearly not meant for anyone else to notice what he could do. He would only deny having been able to perform wandless magic, as he had probably been taught by his father.

Bella Figg gritted her teeth. If the Death Eaters dared to teach their adolescent children skills that Lord Voldemort was teaching them, and if Malfoy dared to actually use these skills in public, it meant that they did not expect to have to hide their connection with Voldemort much longer. Snape had been right- the attack could come any day now. She gripped her wand and wondered how much Draco Malfoy knew.

* * * * *

Severus Snape leaned on the counter of the Three Broomsticks and glared at his sour reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He took a deep drink of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey and frowned deeper. No one else in the pub took any notice of Snape, who had been dragged here against his will on this fine Friday evening, May 1st, by Perdita Clemens and Mundungus Fletcher, who were dancing nearby. Snape had been marking assignments when the two had burst into his office and hauled him off to the pub. He had brought his marking with him, hoping to be able to sneak off to a private room and finish his work, but the Firewhiskey slackened his willpower, and so his work remained incomplete on the bar by his half-empty bottle. He watched the dancers, glowering, and when the song was over Perdita hopped onto a barstool with a sigh.

"Mercy! How I love to dance! Severus darling, won't you take a whirl with me?"

"Much as I look forward to serving a term as the village laughingstock," Severus replied stiffly, "I do not think my time has come tonight. I do not dance."

"You said you wouldn't come out for a drink with Mundungus and I either, but I see you do that rather well," returned Perdita, indicating the bottle of whiskey. Snape was too bored and bleary to be annoyed with her. Perdita looked at the flasks of potions on the counter. "You're not still trying to work, are you?"

"No, the fifth-years will simply have to wait another week for their Veritaserums," Snape said, pushing aside the flasks and pulling the whiskey closer.

Perdita smiled with sudden inspiration. "Severus, I think what you need is a lady companion."

"I most certainly do not need a lady companion," Snape said. "I never have and I don't believe I ever will." Maldora Lestrange's beautiful face came to his mind. He pushed away the vision and scowled.

"You do," Perdita insisted. "And I'm going to find you one."

"No," Snape said flatly.

"Yes! You'll only have to tolerate her for the evening. Perhaps a nice girl could snap you out of this dreadful mood. Look there, there's someone I know, I'll call her over. Only, you must promise to be civil. You will be polite at least, won't you, Severus?"

"I'm not promising anything," Snape warned.

"And stop drinking!" Perdita flicked a Sobering Spell at him with her wand and waved over her friend. This was the first of the numerous girls that Perdita introduced to Snape in a vain attempt to stimulate his interest. Unfortunately Snape's caustic tongue could not be quelled, and the young ladies Perdita introduced to him reminded him too much of the twits he had to teach. His mordant though inadvertent remarks chased off many an offended candidate.

After the sixth had hurried off in a huff ("Does it hurt to think?" Snape accidentally asked), Perdita sighed in frustration. "How easily you drive away women, Severus! Why can't you keep the venom out of your voice?"

"How many more are there?" asked Snape. "I'm enjoying this rather better than I expected."

"Looking for more of my friends to cut up are you?" Perdita's eyes lit up and she beckoned to a girl sitting in a booth. Snape had cursorily noticed the girl, who, though plain, had not lacked dancing partners all evening. "Only one more, Severus darling, for I fancy she'll be the last one you'll need to meet. She's as acerbic as you are, if not more. But she's my dearest, oldest friend."

"Who is this mysterious wonder-witch?" Snape said, craning his neck. Then the girl in question came towards them and he recognized her. His heart leapt up his throat- not from love, though, but from shock and fear.

"Severus, this is my sister Emily," Perdita said, beaming as she nudged forward Emily Clemens, the dusky witch who was one of Snape's fellow Death Eaters. They stared at each other in astonishment. "Emily, this is Severus Snape, the Hogwarts Potions Master."

"Severus," repeated Emily Clemens, gracefully extending her hand. She was a short girl, pretty in an ordinary way, with longish dark hair and a sly glint in her grey eyes, and held a glass of redcurrant rum.

"Emily," Snape said miserably, taking her hand. "Charmed," said Emily.

Snape was panicking. Was she here to kill him? No, she wouldn't try such an audacious murder, she knew Perdita and Mundungus were both Aurors. Perhaps it was only a coincidence that she had come here. An idea struck him: were the two Clemens sisters conspiring against him? He immediately dismissed the notion. Perdita's ingenuousness was too sweet to be contrived. He thought suddenly of his students' truth potions. If any of the Veritaserum had been correctly prepared, he could slip it into Emily Clemens' redcurrant rum.

The two sisters were casually chatting about their parents. Snape glanced sideways at the little bottles on the counter. Longbottom's, Weasley's, Goyle's- no, these would all be wrong. Aha! Potter! Quickly Snape palmed the bottle and unstoppered it, and when Emily wasn't looking, he poured a few drops into her glass. Then he grabbed his whiskey and took a big gulp. Emily glanced at him and took a sip of her drink as well. Success!

"I think Mundungus is calling me," Perdita said, misunderstanding the look Snape shot at her, and she left looking smug.

The band was playing a slow song. Emily smiled a slow sultry smile that Snape did not like. "Shall we dance?" she asked.

"I don't know how," Snape said, relieved that he had a valid excuse.

Emily smiled wider. "I can help you there." She stepped closer and drew her wand, and whispered, "Imperio."

Instantly Snape's mind went blank. But at the back of his head, he realized, he retained some self-control, because he was able to feel stunned that Emily had dared to use an Unforgivable Curse in a crowded pub. He tilted his head down with some effort and stared at her. "Your spell did not work. I can still think."

"I simply alleviated the spell," Emily answered. "You have partial control. The Dark Lord has been experimenting, and sharing the results of his research with his most valued servants."

The band struck up a tango. "Come on, Severus," she purred, and Snape felt himself move into the appropriate position. Emily put her arms round Snape's neck and laid her head on his shoulder, and began to talk quietly into his ear as they danced a complicated tango.

"I did not expect to see you here tonight, Severus," she murmured.

"Nor I you," Snape whispered back. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, I'm dancing! I don't need to justify myself to you or anyone. I'm a reputable member of wizarding society, Severus: eldest daughter of a decent British wizard and a high-born Spanish witch, sister of the virtuous and wildly popular Auror Perdita Clemens. My honour and reputation are immaculate." She stopped and frowned, wondering why she was saying all of this to Snape, who silently thanked Potter for having brewed a flawless Veritaserum.

"I suppose you allude to my past near-conviction," he said.

"I allude nothing. Infer what you will."

Perdita had been right: Emily was just as cold and insolent as Snape himself. Was this how difficult it was to converse with Snape?

"What about you?" Emily said. "How are you acquainted with my sister?"

"I didn't know you were sisters until two minutes ago. I... met her through Dumbledore. She's always coming to the school to see him. She's a sweet girl," Snape said lamely.

"Of course she is. Everyone says that about her. 'Good thing she didn't turn out like that sister of hers,' they say. 'Emily has a bland personality, plain looks, is rude, sarcastic, tactless...' " She was scornful. "Essentially Perdita's the exotic Spanish beauty and I'm the plain English girl. But I got our mother's fiery Spanish temperament!" Her grip on his shoulder tightened painfully.

"This unforeseen meeting will be to your ultimate disadvantage, Severus, because I have a message to pass on about your deadline- the date by which you must have information for our master. Time is getting short. Our master's plan is almost complete. He is only missing your part. He needs your information, soon."

Snape's insides began to rapidly freeze over. He mentally rebuked himself for his spinelessness. Everyone dies sometime, he told himself. Your end will simply come much earlier than the norm. "How soon?" he whispered.

"His Lordship is not ungrateful for your past loyalty, Severus. You served him well and he recognizes your efforts. You will therefore have, from this date, one day for each kill you performed in his service. That's-"

"Thirteen days," Emily and Snape said at the same time.

"You kept a tally?" asked Emily, her mocking tone concealing surprise.

"No- but- surely you understand that one doesn't forget them easily." He paused. "*Do* you understand?"

"I have several kills to my name," Emily said indignantly.

"Are you proud of the fact?" Snape demanded.

Emily was silent. Another song began, with a slow tempo. After a few moments of dancing she spoke again, but in a less harsh tone. "Severus- I know with what his Lordship menaced you, if you should fail him."

"What?" Snape was so stunned he forgot to be aloof. No one was meant to know.

"He threatened to tell Derrick Lestrange that you're in love with his wife, didn't he? Don't quaver so, Severus. I'm the only one who knows." Having slipped her the Veritaserum, he knew she was telling the truth. "The others are too stupid to see anything. But think, Severus- spend one mere cell of your supposedly considerable grey matter pondering the matter! Telling Lestrange about your silly obsession has no apparent value as a penalty. It would only serve to rile up Lestrange unnecessarily and fill him with an unharnessable ire."

"Then why would- his Lordship- mention such a punishment to me?"

Once Emily had started talking, she felt she could not stop. The Veritaserum was allowing her to unburden herself of the thoughts that had rolled through her head for some time. "Because you fear Lestrange. Perhaps you don't see it, but you and he are very similar. Brilliant and simultaneously foolish, with powerful magic skills that are never used to full potential, headstrong to the point of insufferable obstinacy- the similitudes are all there. But in the end, you did not have the nerve to obey orders like Lestrange did. In the end, Severus, he was the one who went forward; you were the one who turned back. And you resent that you didn't have his nerve."

"Derrick and I were once good friends," Snape murmured.

"You fear Derrick," whispered Emily, "because he is what you would have become if you hadn't failed."

Snape felt pierced by her incontrovertible truth. He felt now that putting the truth potion in her drink had quite backfired.

At that moment Perdita and Fletch whirled by and paused. "All right there Snape?" Fletch grinned.

"Marvellous," Snape said dryly.

"You're being nice, aren't you Emily?" Perdita said to her sister.

"Positively amiable," Emily said.

"Good," said Perdita, and shrieked with delight as Fletch dipped her nearly to the floor. They danced off.

"Don't you ever regret deceiving her?" Snape asked Emily.

Emily shrugged. "Loyalties shift, Severus. You of all people should know that. I obey our master now. It's not my fault she chose the wrong side. But-" Emily hesitated. "Sometimes when I see her I wish I had warned her about Hallowe'en. It might have been nice to raise a little nephew. I wanted her and Fletch dead, but we only managed to kill the baby."

Snape recoiled and stared at her. "You would kill your own sister?"

Emily glanced round quickly. "Shh! Not so loud! But Severus, I told you, I serve his Lordship. If I was ordered to kill her I would do it. And she would lock me up without a moment's hesitation and testify against me at my trial, if she found out what I was doing."

Snape knew it was true, but he was still appalled. "Blood ties mean nothing to real Death Eaters?" He was thinking of Maldora Lestrange and Bella Figg, but Emily did not know this.

"Servitude to his Lordship is absolute and eternal." The slow song was coming to a close. "I'm meant to be the maid of honour at her wedding, did you know? If it were up to me I would skip it altogether. Do you know what colour she planned for my dress? Lemon taffeta!"

The song ended. Emily stepped away from Snape. "I hate lemon taffeta," she said flatly. "Good-bye, Severus. Finito Incantato." The Imperius Curse broken, he regained his senses. "See you in thirteen days," she hissed, and walked away.