The long awaited chapter nine. Things start to heat up for Blaise and the
others. There are glimmers of a plot on the horizon, so never fear. It
isn't completely pointless.
*****'
Friday. The moment of truth. Duelling was today's lesson, and boy, was I dreading it. I might be the House Champion in duelling, but I had Potter in my class, and he'd duelled with the Dark Lord once, though without any complicated curses. I was sure that Lucas, because of his rather twisted way of looking at things, would pair the two of us up as demonstrators, or as I preferred to call it; lab rats. Lucas had already promised that I wouldn't have to go through the basics with the rest of them, unless he found something missing in my education. There were a lot of things missing in my education; how to make a homemade bomb, for example, but I didn't fear that it would stop me from more advanced duelling classes.
Millicent had been badgering me endlessly since Defence class about what was going to happen, even though she had no clue it was I who came up with it. Lucas had dropped a hint, saying that he had something different planned for all of us for the Friday lesson, and Millicent had rightly assumed that since I had been there earlier than everyone else, I knew more about it. I didn't tell her anything though; I wanted it to be a surprise.
I strolled into the classroom earlier than everyone else, since Lucas had wanted to meet with me to talk a bit. I assumed that it was about the duelling classes. Lucas wasn't sitting behind his desk when I entered, so I shrugged and looked around for somewhere to sit. He'd show up sooner or later; he was probably in the classroom already. I looked at his desk thoughtfully, caught between habit and a childish sense of pranks, before deciding to have some fun before he made himself noticeable again. I, being as tall as I was, simply sat down on his desk. Not at his desk, but on top of it. Just for a laugh.
Lucas didn't laugh.
He smiled though, if only for a split-second, so I wasn't too worried. He'd been sitting at the back of the classroom, feet on the desk in front of him. I was sure he had been watching me; as soon as I saw him, his eyes were on me. It was freaky, to look up and realise you were being watched by a pair of crimson eyes that seemed to look straight through you. Lucas was freakish, all of him, from his eyes to his robes to his way of looking at you and giving you his full attention when you spoke. I had to find out how he managed to fade away into the background and hide, without effort, like he did.
"Good day, Mr Zabini." He greeted me, and I nodded back, "However comfortable my desk might be, we have a class to attend to."
"What'd you want me to do?" I stood up again.
"I want you to help me demonstrate the spells and curses, and act as an assistant." He said, "I believe you are capable enough for that, and keeping track of a whole class of fledgling duellists is not by any means easy."
"Not all of us are fledglings, as you term it; Millie got quite far in the championship," I informed him, as I followed him to the corner of the class room. He began unlocking all the lock on a locker I hadn't seen before, "And Potter is, well, Potter. He's faced Voldemort."
He didn't flinch. He didn't even bat an eyelash when I spoke Voldemort's name. Everyone did, except Potter and Granger. Granger because she was Muggleborn and sensible, and didn't believe in fearing a name. Potter because he'd never learned not to speak it. That was strange; everyone else, not counting Dumbledore, feared Voldemort, and I were quite sure that even the Headmaster wasn't comfortable speaking about it.
"And then there's Granger. No offence to Madam Pince or anything, but Granger's been in the Restricted section more time than I have," Lucas was stacking books on my arms, and I had no choice but to hold onto them, "She's the only Muggleborn witch I've ever seen who could Transfigure things faster than a Pureblood could, although with Longbottom, that's another story."
"Surely you aren't afraid of a girl, Mr Zabini?" There was a taunting edge in Lucas' voice.
"You've never seen her angry, have you sir?" I had to overlook his ignorance; he'd only been here for barely two weeks. "You won't like her when she's angry. She was in the Department of Mysteries with Potter last term. She knows what she's doing."
It felt strange, assuring a Muggleborn Gryffindor's knowledge of spells to a Defence teacher I barely knew, but I felt I had to. Granger was frightening when she was mad, and I wouldn't let the inbred racism of Slytherin stop me from warning Lucas that if she got mad, there would be no stopping her, short of knocking her unconscious. I mean, she'd even managed to be still standing after facing off with Millicent at the duelling club in second year.
"How do you know about the Department of Mysteries?" He sounded almost interested now, although he was good at hiding it.
"It's classified information, so of course only people on need-to-know basis knows. Ergo, the whole school knows about it. At least the more intelligent parts of it," I shrugged, which was a difficult thing when one is carrying several heavy books. "Everyone knows what Potter's up to every year. It was the Stone in first year, the Chamber in second, something involving Dementors in third, although I never quite found out what that was about, and then Triwizard in fourth, and Department of Mysteries in fifth. We're all waiting with baited breath on what'll happen this year."
"Is he really that interesting?" Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow as he opened the door to the classroom and stepped out.
"Why of course; next to Quidditch and Muggle baiting, watching Potter's latest adventure is the favoured pastime for large parts of the magical world." He opened yet another door and ushered me inside.
I put the books down on a nearby table, and looked around the room. It was large, with a window in the roof, casting perfect light over the floor. Mirrors lined one wall and there were no other furniture but the table in the whole room. It was a room designed for no other purpose but to train a lot of people in the art of fighting, with wands or without them. But most of all, it was familiar. I had been there before. Once, in first year, when Crabbe and Goyle had bullied me, I'd fled the Common Room. I'd wandered the corridors, nursing bruised ribs and a split lip, and had somehow ended up in this room. Crabbe and Goyle had since grown tired of bullying me, and ever since I became taller than either of them, they don't dare. When I was still only about an inch taller and thin as a toothpick, I was an easy target. I'd grown taller and taller, and even I had begun to wonder when I'd stop growing. For now, it seemed I had, but occasionally, I'd get pains in my back or my knees, signalling that I had some more growing to do.
"You seem very interested in our surroundings, Mr Zabini." Lucas remarked, as he moved around the room, checking and re-setting some basic wards.
"I've been here before, that's all." I answered. "Got lost once in first year, and spent some time in here. So what do we do now?"
"Now? Now we wait," Lucas said, straightening up again, "Or rather, you wait here and I will go and get some things before the lessons start. Then we go and collect the students."
"Right," I said, and sat down in the table.
I didn't know what was with me that day; maybe my childish sense of humour had made a return, bit sitting on tables felt like the right thing to do at the moment, just as defending Granger had felt like the right thing to do at that moment. Follow my impulses; that were what my father had advised me to do, and that was what I always had done. Damn. I shouldn't be left alone. Not when I started thinking like this. But Lucas couldn't have known; no one had told him. All I could do was to wait for his return.
******'
I have never known embarrassment like I knew it then. Sure, it's normal of students to assume that a student in the company of a teacher is in trouble, but they didn't have to stare like that, did they? I wondered if this was what teacher's felt every day when they faced their classes. It would explain a lot. Why Flitwick always seemed so cheerful, even when it was raining and when the Basilisk ruled the halls. Why McGonagall felt it necessary to give the same speech to all first years. Maybe it was just a matter of self-defence.
Potter and his friends looked especially happy to see me standing beside Lucas with what must have been a rather green shade on my face. I would have engaged in an involuntary protein spill had it not been for the fact that it would only get worse if I vomited. Millicent, who knew me like the back of her own hand, raised an eyebrow at my appearance next to Lucas, and I managed a small wink in her direction. I tried to pull myself up into what I hoped was a less slouching stance, and faced them.
"Good day, everyone," Lucas greeted them, and was answered by a lazy chorus of ´Professor´ back, "Are we all here?"
"Hannah's in the hospital wing with a cold," Bones said, raising her hand.
"A cold?" Millicent spoke up, not able to resist the chance to poke fun at me, "Have you been snogging Hufflepuffs Blaise?"
A chuckle spread through the group, although the Gryffindors looked revolted. Most of them didn't know what she was talking about, but made the connection pretty quickly. Weasley and Potter were obviously not among them. I glared at Millicent, and the others silenced gradually. Lucas didn't say anything, and instead smiled for a second, waiting for me to say something in retort.
"No, Millie, I haven't. I tend to wish the people I snog to be at least there when it happens." I said, "I haven't seen Abbott since last week."
Millicent smiled, and there were a few sniggers from the others, but then they quietened down again. We all turned our attention to Lucas, who was by now looking as if we were the oddest people he'd ever met. Well, teenagers tend to be strange. It's part of what makes them teenagers. Well, us. I believe I was born with a mental age of about twenty five to thirty anyway. Some people are perpetual five year olds, like Weasley for example. Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional, as they say.
"Come along; this lesson, you will get the surprise I promised for you yesterday." Lucas said, cutting through my thoughts.
He led us back to the room with the mirrors, not saying another word. I could hear them whisper behind me, and I was sure Millicent would have pestered me even more had I not be walking right behind Lucas. I had my suspicions about his hearing though; he seemed to be able to pick up everything that happened around him. Sometimes, I wondered if he wasn't part vampire or something; they're supposed to have exceptional hearing- range and eyesight that could outclass even eagles. Maybe that would explain his eye-colour.
The books were still piled on the table, but neater this time, (I had had a lot of time while waiting for Lucas) and even the mirrors looked neater. I had had nothing to do, and to distract myself from going crazy, I'd tidied the place up. Just a few spells I'd learned from my mother to remove the dust. Yes, I'm strange, and being left alone in a dusty room full of mirrors only made it worse. Lucas strode up to the table and turned back to the class.
"You must have wondered why I have let you do such nonsensical things as analyse poetry in your Defence lessons." He said, "As Mr Zabini pointed out to me, knowledge of poetry will not save you if you are faced with, say, a Manticore. He is, of course, right. Poetry has nothing to do with Defence. But, before he has time to scream at me again," I winced. I hadn't screamed, had I? "Let me tell you why. I want for you to have an understanding to why you are learning the things you will be learning, instead of just taking it in and accepting it."
"What are we going to do then?" Potter piped up, never the one to keep his mouth shut.
"We, Mr Potter, are going to do something Lockhart failed utterly to achieve, even with the helping hand of Severus Snape, as Mr Zabini informed me. We are going to duel." Silence. Utter silence. Any moment now, someone would start laughing, "Because, and I fear I am repeating myself, Mr Zabini reminded me you would be forced to defend yourselves."
I wished he'd stop repeating my name all the time. It made me seem stupid, which I hoped I wasn't, and it made it seem as if I was his favourite student, which I hoped to hell I wasn't. I don't like teachers playing favourites. I crossed my arms over my chest, and tried to ignore the looks I was getting from Millicent and the rest.
And so, the duelling began. We were sorted into groups; I ended up in, joy and excitement, the same group as Granger, Potter and Bones. Millicent, who had ended up with Weasley and some Hufflepuffs, sent me a long-suffering gaze. I grinned at her, but only for as long as I could forget my own company. Bones as alright, I guess, but Granger and Potter, while extraordinarily good at Defence, weren't my favourite people in the world. In fact, Potter wasn't a favourite at all; he'd dropped some comment to Weasley and looked at me, and he'd laughed. I hate people laughing at me, and it must have been a pretty vile thing to say, because Granger had glared at Potter and given Weasley a knock over the head.
"Well, Zabini, let's hop to it then," Bones said, reminding me for a second of someone older, but I couldn't remember who, "What kind of curses should be sic on each other?"
"Anything you feel like," I shrugged, "Aim to hurt; you want to win after all."
"We can't do that," Potter protested, "This is only practise! I don't want to hurt Hermione or Susan!"
A more intelligent person would have shut up right about then. Even Millicent, who generally laughs at me for everything I do, would have shut up and left me alone. But Potter didn't. I clutched my wand, and told myself not to do something stupid, like spit in his face (which was what I felt like doing) or hitting him over the head to wake him up. Did the boy honestly believe that this was a joke? That he would be able to laze his way through this just because he'd had his silly little illegal club last year. Had Millicent seen me now, she would have suggested Potter run before he got himself hurt.
"Well, Potter," I spat, "I don't want to hurt anyone either, but by gods, you're making it hard! This might be ´only practise´, as you term it, but it is ´only practise´ for a bleeding war, Potter, a war I don't want to be on the losing side of."
"Too bad you're a bloody Slytherin then."
A pinhead's drop would have echoed in the silence that ensued after Potter's remark. Millicent tried to catch my eye and was shaking her head frantically. She knows me only too well, but I wasn't going to listen to her this time. Potter wasn't going to get away with this one. And it didn't look as if Lucas was going to stop me. I tightened my grip on my wand, and glared at Potter. He glared right back, and I knew he wasn't going to back down. There was a challenge in his eyes, and I wasn't going to turn it down.
"I could stab you in the back for that, Potter, but I won't," I informed him, and even I shivered at the ice in my voice, "I suggest that since we are in a duelling class, we duel."
In the corner of my eye, I could see Lucas ushering everyone else back from us, aided by Millicent who was looking worried. I couldn't blame her; she'd seen me knock Zarias Bletchley unconscious during a particularly vicious duel, and Zarias had been a lot more knowledgeable in the art of hexes than Potter was. Granger, dragged back by Bones, was looking almost nauseous, and Weasley was almost as red as his hair. If Potter didn't get me first, Weasley would.
Potter sneered, and pulled out his wand. I could see his knuckles whitening, just as mine were. We stood across from each other, staring each other down. It was too late to put our wands away and let it slip. Ice-cold rage had taken over my brain, and I no longer had any control over my actions. The only thing my mind was focused on the long list of hexes I'd learned. I could seriously kill Potter unless he was quick enough. Last year had been one long contest on the weekends, and sometimes even on weeknights. I'd honed my natural talent of spells and hexes till near perfection. I could kill if I had to.
Ten steps back, backs turned.
Halt.
Turn, pull up wands while still turning, snap it up like a whip, focus.
"Expalliarmus!" Potter shouted.
Idiot. He should know by now that the Disarming Charm would be useless against an experienced opponent. Those illegal meetings must have given him too much confidence. I dodged the spell; I could feel it shoot past me. I grinned. If this was the worst he could do, I was in luck. But if I knew him like I thought I did, he'd pull out the big guns as soon as I was off- balance. I wasn't going to let him get that satisfaction.
"Imbera!"
A rainstorm appeared just above Potter's head and soaked him. A tiny lighting bolt singed his untidy hair and he scrambled to get out of the way. I smiled grimly. The air turned greenish with the light of our hexes, and I was close to losing some times, but just as close to winning at other times. Potter was strong, I had to hand it to him, but he didn't have the finesse that came from a long year of duelling Slytherins. It was narrow misses quite a few times, and I got my clothing singed, but he was getting tired. Of course, so was I, but I knew I could go for a lot longer than he could.
We'd been duelling for close to forty minutes by my reckoning, when I saw my opening. Potter, glasses askew and robes dishevelled, stumbled back and lowered his wand for a fraction of a second too long, and I whipped my wand forward like a snake striking.
"Pulsare Astralis!"
Bright light, almost pure white, exploded into existence right in front of Potter's eyes. The light would temporarily blind him, making him easier to immobilise. He dropped his wand, the stupid oaf, and clapped his hands over his eyes, shouting curses out loud. He wasn't too far away by now, and I took the last few steps up to him and pointed my wand at his throat. There was a hushed silence over the class. I could almost hear them thinking. I had beaten Harry Potter in duelling. I had defeated the Boy-Who-Lived. Now, I was frightening.
"Yield, Potter?"
"I have no choice, have I?" He sounded so angry, "I yield."
"Good." I grinned. I was filthy, I was tired as hell, and my head hurt as if someone was hitting it with a hammer, but I'd duelled the Boy-Who-Lived, and I'd won. "You're damn hard to beat, I'll give you that. You're powerful, but you've got to be quicker."
He stood there, blinking, but held out his hand to me. A Gryffindor's acceptance of defeat. I took his hand and shook it, before stuffing my wand in my pocket and turned away. I'd defeated the Boy-Who-Lived, and today, I'd walk as King in the Slytherin Common Room. To everyone else, I'd be either a freak or a traitor. Ah, the differences in reasoning between Houses was wonderful. Millicent, who was standing just beside our duelling site, arms crossed and smiling wryly. She handed me my burnt Defence book, and I smiled back. Lucas flashed me his split-second smile, and I could barely keep myself from grinning insanely.
I had won.
*******'
Ending Notes; headaches, sooty faces and exploding light. Man, Blaise really knows how to shake up Defence class, doesn't he? Right, explanations; Imbera is taken from imber, which means rain in Latin. Pulsare means strike, and Astralis means star, also those in Latin.
*****'
Friday. The moment of truth. Duelling was today's lesson, and boy, was I dreading it. I might be the House Champion in duelling, but I had Potter in my class, and he'd duelled with the Dark Lord once, though without any complicated curses. I was sure that Lucas, because of his rather twisted way of looking at things, would pair the two of us up as demonstrators, or as I preferred to call it; lab rats. Lucas had already promised that I wouldn't have to go through the basics with the rest of them, unless he found something missing in my education. There were a lot of things missing in my education; how to make a homemade bomb, for example, but I didn't fear that it would stop me from more advanced duelling classes.
Millicent had been badgering me endlessly since Defence class about what was going to happen, even though she had no clue it was I who came up with it. Lucas had dropped a hint, saying that he had something different planned for all of us for the Friday lesson, and Millicent had rightly assumed that since I had been there earlier than everyone else, I knew more about it. I didn't tell her anything though; I wanted it to be a surprise.
I strolled into the classroom earlier than everyone else, since Lucas had wanted to meet with me to talk a bit. I assumed that it was about the duelling classes. Lucas wasn't sitting behind his desk when I entered, so I shrugged and looked around for somewhere to sit. He'd show up sooner or later; he was probably in the classroom already. I looked at his desk thoughtfully, caught between habit and a childish sense of pranks, before deciding to have some fun before he made himself noticeable again. I, being as tall as I was, simply sat down on his desk. Not at his desk, but on top of it. Just for a laugh.
Lucas didn't laugh.
He smiled though, if only for a split-second, so I wasn't too worried. He'd been sitting at the back of the classroom, feet on the desk in front of him. I was sure he had been watching me; as soon as I saw him, his eyes were on me. It was freaky, to look up and realise you were being watched by a pair of crimson eyes that seemed to look straight through you. Lucas was freakish, all of him, from his eyes to his robes to his way of looking at you and giving you his full attention when you spoke. I had to find out how he managed to fade away into the background and hide, without effort, like he did.
"Good day, Mr Zabini." He greeted me, and I nodded back, "However comfortable my desk might be, we have a class to attend to."
"What'd you want me to do?" I stood up again.
"I want you to help me demonstrate the spells and curses, and act as an assistant." He said, "I believe you are capable enough for that, and keeping track of a whole class of fledgling duellists is not by any means easy."
"Not all of us are fledglings, as you term it; Millie got quite far in the championship," I informed him, as I followed him to the corner of the class room. He began unlocking all the lock on a locker I hadn't seen before, "And Potter is, well, Potter. He's faced Voldemort."
He didn't flinch. He didn't even bat an eyelash when I spoke Voldemort's name. Everyone did, except Potter and Granger. Granger because she was Muggleborn and sensible, and didn't believe in fearing a name. Potter because he'd never learned not to speak it. That was strange; everyone else, not counting Dumbledore, feared Voldemort, and I were quite sure that even the Headmaster wasn't comfortable speaking about it.
"And then there's Granger. No offence to Madam Pince or anything, but Granger's been in the Restricted section more time than I have," Lucas was stacking books on my arms, and I had no choice but to hold onto them, "She's the only Muggleborn witch I've ever seen who could Transfigure things faster than a Pureblood could, although with Longbottom, that's another story."
"Surely you aren't afraid of a girl, Mr Zabini?" There was a taunting edge in Lucas' voice.
"You've never seen her angry, have you sir?" I had to overlook his ignorance; he'd only been here for barely two weeks. "You won't like her when she's angry. She was in the Department of Mysteries with Potter last term. She knows what she's doing."
It felt strange, assuring a Muggleborn Gryffindor's knowledge of spells to a Defence teacher I barely knew, but I felt I had to. Granger was frightening when she was mad, and I wouldn't let the inbred racism of Slytherin stop me from warning Lucas that if she got mad, there would be no stopping her, short of knocking her unconscious. I mean, she'd even managed to be still standing after facing off with Millicent at the duelling club in second year.
"How do you know about the Department of Mysteries?" He sounded almost interested now, although he was good at hiding it.
"It's classified information, so of course only people on need-to-know basis knows. Ergo, the whole school knows about it. At least the more intelligent parts of it," I shrugged, which was a difficult thing when one is carrying several heavy books. "Everyone knows what Potter's up to every year. It was the Stone in first year, the Chamber in second, something involving Dementors in third, although I never quite found out what that was about, and then Triwizard in fourth, and Department of Mysteries in fifth. We're all waiting with baited breath on what'll happen this year."
"Is he really that interesting?" Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow as he opened the door to the classroom and stepped out.
"Why of course; next to Quidditch and Muggle baiting, watching Potter's latest adventure is the favoured pastime for large parts of the magical world." He opened yet another door and ushered me inside.
I put the books down on a nearby table, and looked around the room. It was large, with a window in the roof, casting perfect light over the floor. Mirrors lined one wall and there were no other furniture but the table in the whole room. It was a room designed for no other purpose but to train a lot of people in the art of fighting, with wands or without them. But most of all, it was familiar. I had been there before. Once, in first year, when Crabbe and Goyle had bullied me, I'd fled the Common Room. I'd wandered the corridors, nursing bruised ribs and a split lip, and had somehow ended up in this room. Crabbe and Goyle had since grown tired of bullying me, and ever since I became taller than either of them, they don't dare. When I was still only about an inch taller and thin as a toothpick, I was an easy target. I'd grown taller and taller, and even I had begun to wonder when I'd stop growing. For now, it seemed I had, but occasionally, I'd get pains in my back or my knees, signalling that I had some more growing to do.
"You seem very interested in our surroundings, Mr Zabini." Lucas remarked, as he moved around the room, checking and re-setting some basic wards.
"I've been here before, that's all." I answered. "Got lost once in first year, and spent some time in here. So what do we do now?"
"Now? Now we wait," Lucas said, straightening up again, "Or rather, you wait here and I will go and get some things before the lessons start. Then we go and collect the students."
"Right," I said, and sat down in the table.
I didn't know what was with me that day; maybe my childish sense of humour had made a return, bit sitting on tables felt like the right thing to do at the moment, just as defending Granger had felt like the right thing to do at that moment. Follow my impulses; that were what my father had advised me to do, and that was what I always had done. Damn. I shouldn't be left alone. Not when I started thinking like this. But Lucas couldn't have known; no one had told him. All I could do was to wait for his return.
******'
I have never known embarrassment like I knew it then. Sure, it's normal of students to assume that a student in the company of a teacher is in trouble, but they didn't have to stare like that, did they? I wondered if this was what teacher's felt every day when they faced their classes. It would explain a lot. Why Flitwick always seemed so cheerful, even when it was raining and when the Basilisk ruled the halls. Why McGonagall felt it necessary to give the same speech to all first years. Maybe it was just a matter of self-defence.
Potter and his friends looked especially happy to see me standing beside Lucas with what must have been a rather green shade on my face. I would have engaged in an involuntary protein spill had it not been for the fact that it would only get worse if I vomited. Millicent, who knew me like the back of her own hand, raised an eyebrow at my appearance next to Lucas, and I managed a small wink in her direction. I tried to pull myself up into what I hoped was a less slouching stance, and faced them.
"Good day, everyone," Lucas greeted them, and was answered by a lazy chorus of ´Professor´ back, "Are we all here?"
"Hannah's in the hospital wing with a cold," Bones said, raising her hand.
"A cold?" Millicent spoke up, not able to resist the chance to poke fun at me, "Have you been snogging Hufflepuffs Blaise?"
A chuckle spread through the group, although the Gryffindors looked revolted. Most of them didn't know what she was talking about, but made the connection pretty quickly. Weasley and Potter were obviously not among them. I glared at Millicent, and the others silenced gradually. Lucas didn't say anything, and instead smiled for a second, waiting for me to say something in retort.
"No, Millie, I haven't. I tend to wish the people I snog to be at least there when it happens." I said, "I haven't seen Abbott since last week."
Millicent smiled, and there were a few sniggers from the others, but then they quietened down again. We all turned our attention to Lucas, who was by now looking as if we were the oddest people he'd ever met. Well, teenagers tend to be strange. It's part of what makes them teenagers. Well, us. I believe I was born with a mental age of about twenty five to thirty anyway. Some people are perpetual five year olds, like Weasley for example. Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional, as they say.
"Come along; this lesson, you will get the surprise I promised for you yesterday." Lucas said, cutting through my thoughts.
He led us back to the room with the mirrors, not saying another word. I could hear them whisper behind me, and I was sure Millicent would have pestered me even more had I not be walking right behind Lucas. I had my suspicions about his hearing though; he seemed to be able to pick up everything that happened around him. Sometimes, I wondered if he wasn't part vampire or something; they're supposed to have exceptional hearing- range and eyesight that could outclass even eagles. Maybe that would explain his eye-colour.
The books were still piled on the table, but neater this time, (I had had a lot of time while waiting for Lucas) and even the mirrors looked neater. I had had nothing to do, and to distract myself from going crazy, I'd tidied the place up. Just a few spells I'd learned from my mother to remove the dust. Yes, I'm strange, and being left alone in a dusty room full of mirrors only made it worse. Lucas strode up to the table and turned back to the class.
"You must have wondered why I have let you do such nonsensical things as analyse poetry in your Defence lessons." He said, "As Mr Zabini pointed out to me, knowledge of poetry will not save you if you are faced with, say, a Manticore. He is, of course, right. Poetry has nothing to do with Defence. But, before he has time to scream at me again," I winced. I hadn't screamed, had I? "Let me tell you why. I want for you to have an understanding to why you are learning the things you will be learning, instead of just taking it in and accepting it."
"What are we going to do then?" Potter piped up, never the one to keep his mouth shut.
"We, Mr Potter, are going to do something Lockhart failed utterly to achieve, even with the helping hand of Severus Snape, as Mr Zabini informed me. We are going to duel." Silence. Utter silence. Any moment now, someone would start laughing, "Because, and I fear I am repeating myself, Mr Zabini reminded me you would be forced to defend yourselves."
I wished he'd stop repeating my name all the time. It made me seem stupid, which I hoped I wasn't, and it made it seem as if I was his favourite student, which I hoped to hell I wasn't. I don't like teachers playing favourites. I crossed my arms over my chest, and tried to ignore the looks I was getting from Millicent and the rest.
And so, the duelling began. We were sorted into groups; I ended up in, joy and excitement, the same group as Granger, Potter and Bones. Millicent, who had ended up with Weasley and some Hufflepuffs, sent me a long-suffering gaze. I grinned at her, but only for as long as I could forget my own company. Bones as alright, I guess, but Granger and Potter, while extraordinarily good at Defence, weren't my favourite people in the world. In fact, Potter wasn't a favourite at all; he'd dropped some comment to Weasley and looked at me, and he'd laughed. I hate people laughing at me, and it must have been a pretty vile thing to say, because Granger had glared at Potter and given Weasley a knock over the head.
"Well, Zabini, let's hop to it then," Bones said, reminding me for a second of someone older, but I couldn't remember who, "What kind of curses should be sic on each other?"
"Anything you feel like," I shrugged, "Aim to hurt; you want to win after all."
"We can't do that," Potter protested, "This is only practise! I don't want to hurt Hermione or Susan!"
A more intelligent person would have shut up right about then. Even Millicent, who generally laughs at me for everything I do, would have shut up and left me alone. But Potter didn't. I clutched my wand, and told myself not to do something stupid, like spit in his face (which was what I felt like doing) or hitting him over the head to wake him up. Did the boy honestly believe that this was a joke? That he would be able to laze his way through this just because he'd had his silly little illegal club last year. Had Millicent seen me now, she would have suggested Potter run before he got himself hurt.
"Well, Potter," I spat, "I don't want to hurt anyone either, but by gods, you're making it hard! This might be ´only practise´, as you term it, but it is ´only practise´ for a bleeding war, Potter, a war I don't want to be on the losing side of."
"Too bad you're a bloody Slytherin then."
A pinhead's drop would have echoed in the silence that ensued after Potter's remark. Millicent tried to catch my eye and was shaking her head frantically. She knows me only too well, but I wasn't going to listen to her this time. Potter wasn't going to get away with this one. And it didn't look as if Lucas was going to stop me. I tightened my grip on my wand, and glared at Potter. He glared right back, and I knew he wasn't going to back down. There was a challenge in his eyes, and I wasn't going to turn it down.
"I could stab you in the back for that, Potter, but I won't," I informed him, and even I shivered at the ice in my voice, "I suggest that since we are in a duelling class, we duel."
In the corner of my eye, I could see Lucas ushering everyone else back from us, aided by Millicent who was looking worried. I couldn't blame her; she'd seen me knock Zarias Bletchley unconscious during a particularly vicious duel, and Zarias had been a lot more knowledgeable in the art of hexes than Potter was. Granger, dragged back by Bones, was looking almost nauseous, and Weasley was almost as red as his hair. If Potter didn't get me first, Weasley would.
Potter sneered, and pulled out his wand. I could see his knuckles whitening, just as mine were. We stood across from each other, staring each other down. It was too late to put our wands away and let it slip. Ice-cold rage had taken over my brain, and I no longer had any control over my actions. The only thing my mind was focused on the long list of hexes I'd learned. I could seriously kill Potter unless he was quick enough. Last year had been one long contest on the weekends, and sometimes even on weeknights. I'd honed my natural talent of spells and hexes till near perfection. I could kill if I had to.
Ten steps back, backs turned.
Halt.
Turn, pull up wands while still turning, snap it up like a whip, focus.
"Expalliarmus!" Potter shouted.
Idiot. He should know by now that the Disarming Charm would be useless against an experienced opponent. Those illegal meetings must have given him too much confidence. I dodged the spell; I could feel it shoot past me. I grinned. If this was the worst he could do, I was in luck. But if I knew him like I thought I did, he'd pull out the big guns as soon as I was off- balance. I wasn't going to let him get that satisfaction.
"Imbera!"
A rainstorm appeared just above Potter's head and soaked him. A tiny lighting bolt singed his untidy hair and he scrambled to get out of the way. I smiled grimly. The air turned greenish with the light of our hexes, and I was close to losing some times, but just as close to winning at other times. Potter was strong, I had to hand it to him, but he didn't have the finesse that came from a long year of duelling Slytherins. It was narrow misses quite a few times, and I got my clothing singed, but he was getting tired. Of course, so was I, but I knew I could go for a lot longer than he could.
We'd been duelling for close to forty minutes by my reckoning, when I saw my opening. Potter, glasses askew and robes dishevelled, stumbled back and lowered his wand for a fraction of a second too long, and I whipped my wand forward like a snake striking.
"Pulsare Astralis!"
Bright light, almost pure white, exploded into existence right in front of Potter's eyes. The light would temporarily blind him, making him easier to immobilise. He dropped his wand, the stupid oaf, and clapped his hands over his eyes, shouting curses out loud. He wasn't too far away by now, and I took the last few steps up to him and pointed my wand at his throat. There was a hushed silence over the class. I could almost hear them thinking. I had beaten Harry Potter in duelling. I had defeated the Boy-Who-Lived. Now, I was frightening.
"Yield, Potter?"
"I have no choice, have I?" He sounded so angry, "I yield."
"Good." I grinned. I was filthy, I was tired as hell, and my head hurt as if someone was hitting it with a hammer, but I'd duelled the Boy-Who-Lived, and I'd won. "You're damn hard to beat, I'll give you that. You're powerful, but you've got to be quicker."
He stood there, blinking, but held out his hand to me. A Gryffindor's acceptance of defeat. I took his hand and shook it, before stuffing my wand in my pocket and turned away. I'd defeated the Boy-Who-Lived, and today, I'd walk as King in the Slytherin Common Room. To everyone else, I'd be either a freak or a traitor. Ah, the differences in reasoning between Houses was wonderful. Millicent, who was standing just beside our duelling site, arms crossed and smiling wryly. She handed me my burnt Defence book, and I smiled back. Lucas flashed me his split-second smile, and I could barely keep myself from grinning insanely.
I had won.
*******'
Ending Notes; headaches, sooty faces and exploding light. Man, Blaise really knows how to shake up Defence class, doesn't he? Right, explanations; Imbera is taken from imber, which means rain in Latin. Pulsare means strike, and Astralis means star, also those in Latin.