AN: This has been the hardest chapter to write, and to be honest I've been completely swamped with work. That being said, I'm not willing to give up on this story and the time that has passed has given me time to think about where it's going. I hope you enjoy this chapter and please review, it's been a mortal age.
Chapter Twenty-Two
An intermission of one hour was announced; ostensibly to allow the remaining competitors to rest and recuperate. In reality, it was an opportunity for the press to swarm around them, pecking at Harry's thin patience as he pushed his way through the crowd. He gave few answers, hoping the look of grim determination brought about by nerves was mistaken for stoic bravery. Many of the others did the same, though a pretty blonde witch in lavender robes stopped to chat as though the paparazzi were friendly neighbours. Harry noted with curiosity that Verona shot an acidic glare towards the woman before storming away. He wondered vaguely why Verona had such negative feelings towards journalists, or those that entertained them. Simmons, the talented muggleborn girl, seemed quite overwhelmed by the attention. She blushed heavily, pushing her way through with an expression that was far from 'stoic' and well into 'alarmed'.
It took Harry only a matter of minutes to escape the throng of reporters and reach the entrance to the stand. He was immediately greeted by his friends. Hermione practically jumped into his arms, chattering excitedly about how excellent he had been and how proud she was. If it weren't for the squirming anticipation of the next match that had settled in his stomach, he was sure he'd be well warmed by her affectionate display. As it was, he merely squeezed her tightly and told her he loved her. Blaise jostled him playfully once Hermione finally released him, putting an arm around his shoulder and guiding them away from the crowds and up the stairs, towards the top boxes where Harry knew Bellatrix and the elder Malfoy's were watching. All three of them ignored the flash of cameras as they talked and embraced, Harry calming in the presence of his close friends. He talked briefly to Ron, who offered his awe struck congratulations, and Neville who told Harry with a good-natured grin that he'd just won a ten galleon bet thanks to him and promised to buy Harry a drink. Soon, they reached the top box and only Hermione and Blaise remained beside him, Hermione opening the door with a flick of her wand.
Inside Harry was impressed to see a medium sized room decorated with thick carpets and rows of plush leather chairs which faced a window that spanned an entire wall. At the back, a long table pressed against the walls offered canapés on silver platters; house elves milled about nearby, serving refreshments. A particularly worried looking house-elf hovered around the sitting form of Bellatrix, who had clearly pushed aside said platters and planted herself directly onto the serving table, better to reach the salmon puffs and hiss anyone else who approached them away.
As Harry, Blaise and Hermione reached her, the formidable witch offered Harry a wicked grin which he returned. Bellatrix's ruthless joy was infectious; exactly the sort of infection he was looking for.
"Hello Harry-kins," she said, almost purring. "Salmon puff?"
Harry shook his head, still smiling.
"Good choice," responded Bella, who at just that moment had drawn her dagger and stabbed it between the fingers of a fellow Death Eater about to grab one, missing his flesh by millimetres. She glared until the younger death eater backed away.
Hermione, who watched the scene with a sort of amused exasperation, let out a light sigh and turned to Harry.
"I didn't even know you could do two class five spells at once, Harry," she said, seeming more bright-eyed and enthusiastic than he had seen her in some time. She was dressed well too, wearing a bright green dress with her hair pulled back into a high bun. It brightened him to see her recent dark mood thawing.
"I didn't even know it was possible," Blaise commented, impressed.
"Then you clearly haven't been paying enough attention in my class, Zabini," Bellatrix commented playfully, having just picked up the entire platter and surreptitiously dumped them into a handbag that Harry suspected she had stolen.
Blaise frowned. "I don't believe you've ever done that in class," he argued before hastily adding, "Headmistress."
Bellatrix rolled her eyes, as the three of them perched on the backs of the last row of chairs. "Honestly, boy. Do you think busy-old-me has time to spend all my waking life teaching? At least half of the time I use a geminae duplicate to run the school whilst I'm in the field."
Hermione looked taken aback, eyes wide. "Mother – I didn't even know that. That's an incredible feat of magic. How did I not know that?"
Hermione was right to be impressed. The complex spell created a doppleganger of the caster; it would behave as the original, and although their psyche were connected, the doppleganger could behave independently. When the spell ended, the memories of the clone would fuse with the memories of the caster. It was incredible not only because of it's complexity, and the magical strength needed to create two magical beings without damaging ones core, but also because it required an outstanding strength of mind. Recalling two entirely separate yet real events for a single time period, often simultaneously, could break a lesser being. Of course, there was nothing about Bellatrix one could describe as "lesser".
"Not many people do," Bellatrix shrugged, a smug smile unhidden on her face.
"I knew," said Harry, grinning as he took a goblet from a passing elf and drank deeply from it. He wanted it to be fire-whisky, but of course he couldn't drink before the final stage. It would have been nice to calm his nerves.
Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, a disbelieving expression on her face. "Oh you did, did you? How?"
Harry shrugged, but relented at Bellatrix's sharp, expectant gaze. She didn't like being out of the loop, and it seemed to irk her that he'd noticed of his own accord.
"When you performed fiendfyre or imperio you would sometimes arch your wand down further than necessary, indicating you were having to purposefully under-power the spell to control it – and then sometimes you would not despite not appearing fatigued. It was not a big leap to notice that the times you did not happened to coincide with the times there were active battles happening in the Eastern front," he answered, casually. The geminae spell only gave the dopple-ganger the amount of magical power that the caster was willing to give it. Hermione was looking at him with open astonishment.
Bellatrix eyed him for a long moment, before throwing him a crooked smile. "Lords below Potter, you're astute. If you're so bloody observant, I wonder how you've managed to avoid observing half the school rules all these years."
Harry grinned.
Remus Lupin had watched the match from high above, in some of the worst seats in the stadium. His clothes were shabby, but not so shabby as to be noticeable. He was, of course, wearing a heavy glamour. To anyone else, he appeared a portly man in his late forties with dark hair and a thick moustache. Beside him and similarly glamoured, a gangly teenager with sandy blonde hair was staring intently at one of the portable screens as the second match ended and the cameras turned to watch the remaining competitors greet their loved ones. Remus merely watched his friend with concerned eyes, as the fake appearance lit with real, heavy emotion. Glancing back at his own screen, Remus saw the camera had flicked towards Harry, currently embracing Sirius' son unabashedly.
"Gods, he looks just like James," Sirius said in a low voice, thick with affection.
Remus offered a rare, true smile. "He does. And Blaise looks just like you at that age."
Sirius raised an eyebrow, the face may have been wrong but the bemused smile was all Black. "Like me? I'm as pale as a winter morning. Thank Merlin he got his Mother's complexion," he said, referring to Andorra's famously flawless, dark skin.
Remus smiled softly, "True enough. But he has your cheek bones, and your eyes. You couldn't mistake him for anyone else's son by the eyes."
Sirius peered back at the screen, a wordless incantation zooming the image in slightly. He said nothing, merely watched, but now his eyes had a wateriness to them and the man looked away, blinking rapidly. They lapsed into silence for several minutes, watching as the boys disappeared up the stairs and into a private box.
Remus felt a sinking feeling as he watched them enter the box, disappointed despite expecting it. A heart beat later, he began to speak, his words feeling heavy in his mouth.
"Padfoot," he began quietly. "You have to be more careful. We can't trust them. Not right now."
Sirius turned to him, a bright spark of anger lighting in his enchanted eyes. "Blaise is my son," he said simply. "Harry is James' son."
To Remus, the words felt almost accusatory, but he pressed on anyway knowing it was necessary. "They've spent their whole lives away from us. More than that, they've spent their whole lives with them." Remus gestured to the stadium at large, as though everyone present was complicit in it's new shape. Of course they both knew who he really meant, and Remus saw Sirius' eyes flick towards the large, private box once more. They were well aware of the occupants; Death Eaters and dark wizards, many of which had been directly involved in the war, killing their comrades and friends. Watching his two closest friends' children walk in, their eyes alight with laughter, was like a kick to the chest. He could imagine how Sirius must feel.
"I spent my childhood with people like that," Sirius pointed out, though his voice had a hollow ring to it. "I'm a Black," he said simply.
Remus grew frustrated. He sympathised with his friend; understood that this was his child they were talking about, and his godson. However, the stakes were too high to let such things cloud their judgement. The fate of the wizarding world depended on a resistance that was slowly being snuffed out.
"It was a different time," Remus' voice was barely above a whisper, but he felt as though he were shouting. "The world was different. You were surrounded by people who didn't carry your Mother's prejudices. It's not like that for them – they don't know any better. They can't know any better. Just look at the company they keep."
Sirius went very pale, and swallowed heavily. "I won't give up on them, Moony. Either of them. I can't and I won't."
Remus nodded, expression grim. "No one is asking you to do that, Sirius. No one. But you have to be careful what you reveal to them. We don't yet know how deep their loyalties to the regime run. Harry ran straight to the Dark Lord after he escaped – directly to him! Lord knows how he even managed that, and I daren't think what that means for their relationship."
Sirius nodded, and a quiet lulled as both men considered their position. Brieana Fowle had moved back into the centre of the stadium, announcing to the arena at large that they would be showing the profiles of the ten competitors before the order was announced and the next match begun. They hardly paid attention as large, holographic figures filled the stadium and the announcer began to speak. They were too distracted, too watchful of the time. As though feeling their urgency, the wizard they were waiting for finally appeared. He wasn't glamoured as they were, but he wore his cloak around his head to disguise his features, avoiding the scrutiny of the crowd.
"Fabian," Remus intoned quietly. "Good of you to come."
Harry had gotten comfortable in the top box, his friends providing a distraction from the gnawing nerves in his chest. His spirit seemed to quieten here, sandwiched between his best friend and 'sister' with the locket pressed warmly against his chest. They had taken seats on the front row, and Bellatrix had parked herself next to Hermione. She had kicked up her feet and was now holding a box of popcorn in her lap. Harry was bemused by this, knowing as he did that the tradition came from muggle cinemas and had never really taken off in the magical world. He avoided commenting on this, of course. Others milled around the box. Lucius and Narcissa were socialising towards the centre, engaged in a light conversation with some politicians that Harry was only vaguely aware of. Verona was stood towards the back, talking to no one, her mood blacker than Harry had ever seen. Professor Crouch was engaged in an upbeat conversation with an unfamiliar witch, and when he saw Harry glance his way, he flashed a bright smile that Harry warmly returned.
More notable than those present were those who were absent. The Dark Lord was no where in sight, though Harry was sure he had been here earlier. A sharp feeling crossed his mind at this, but he didn't allow himself to ponder it further. Draco's absence was a deep pang, but he hoped his friend was happy where he was and planned to write to him tonight. Daphne Greengrass had been absent, though Harry admitted it hadn't occurred to him, until she entered primly with her parents and younger sister. She didn't approach them, though she did smile warmly at Blaise and nod towards Harry, ever the little Lady before her parents.
Harry was snapped back from his thoughts as a voice filled the stadium, and they began to announce the profiles of the competitors.
"Our first competitor is one Aldous Fallow," the magical voice boomed around the stadium. A large, translucent, three dimensional image of Fallow appeared in the centre of the stadium. It appeared that the magical photography performed on each of them when they had passed the first stage had been for this purpose, as Fallow looked far more neat and put together than he had today. The sour expression on his face was still very much present, however. "Aldous is thirty-four years old, half-blood, and this is his first time entering the competition. He was a rank two in the previous round, but showed some talent there and took out two higher-ranking opponents before being downed himself. He works in conjunction with Gringotts bank as an investigator. His odds of getting through have been set at five to one, but this commentator thinks he just might be one to watch!"
"This commentator is an idiot," came the voice of Bellatrix, doing a startlingly accurate impersonation of the witch. As Bella spoke, she threw popcorn at the glass, drawing rolled eyes from fellow Death Eaters.
"Our next competitor is Valeria Nott." It was the pretty witch in the lavendar robes Harry had noticed chatting with the press. A gleeful laugh escaped the nearby Bellatrix. "Valeria is twenty-eight years old, pure-blood and this is her third time entering the competition, although the most recent time was several years ago. She is a specialist healer and renowned in her field. She was a rank four in round two and showed much talent before being downed by a rank five. Her odds are set at three to two."
Harry gave Bellatrix a quizzical look as she chuckled darkly, but the witch was already turning away, towards the rear of the room. "Say Verona, isn't that your pretty wittle Hufflepuff?"
Harry glanced towards Verona awkwardly, and saw the woman was seething, her hand twitching as though to go for her wand. Bellatrix turned back towards them.
"They had a nasty break up," Bellatrix announced in a stage whisper. "Little Selwyn is very touchy about it."
"She's-?" Harry began, without thinking.
"A broomstick dodger?" Bellatrix asked, wickedly. "Of course. Did you think you were the only bent wand around here?"
Harry turned away, hoping his entire body wasn't as flushed as it felt.
"Our third competitor is one Hilliard Hobday. Hilliard is thirty-one years old, half-blood and this is his first time entering the competition .Hilliard was a rank one coming into the second round and was downed in the first five minutes. He works as a solicitor and his odds are set at ten to one."
"Our fourth competitor is Jade Kowalaski. She is twenty-four years old, pureblood and this is her first time entering the competition. Although British born, she attended Ilvermony. A rank three in round two. Her odds are set at three to one."
Bellatrix had begun booing, throwing yet more popcorn. After a questioning look from her daughter, she announced that she didn't like Americans, and a few wizards nearby shifted awkwardly.
"Our fifth competitor is Harry Potter," Blaise gave him a friendly shoulder bump, as an image of him filled the stadium. "Harry is sixteen, half-blood and the youngest competitor to qualify for the British Championships!" A murmur went through the crowd and Harry tried not to look embarrassed. He was getting used to attention, but it was still very new. "He was a rank two coming into the second stage, but performed astoundingly well. He's a Hogwarts student, ranked first in his year. The odds on him are set at two to one."
Harry blinked in surprise. Those were much higher odds than he had been expecting, and Hermione grinned at him. "You were rather impressive, you know."
"I've got a hundred galleons on you, Potter," said Bellatrix with a feigned solemnity. "And this year isn't even fixed. You better hope you get through."
"Our sixth competitor is Fabian Prewett, pure blood. He's our oldest competitor in this stage at forty-two and this is his first time entering the competition. He works in the Ministry of Magic in acquisitions, and performed excellently in both the first and second stage, where he was a rank five. His odds are set at five to four."
Bellatrix offered no comment on this, but Harry noticed her sharp eyes brighten and focus just for a moment, as though with memory. Harry believed the man was Ron's uncle if his bright red hair was anything to go by; both the Weasley's and the Prewetts were known for their flame red hair.
"Seventh is Halley Roundtree, half blood. She's thirty, welsh and owns a menagerie in Wales. This is her second time in the competition and her odds are set at four to one."
Even Harry was bored by that one, and he might have to duel her.
"Eighth is one Verona Selwyn, pure blood. She is 28 years old and a seasoned veteran of the IDC. She is a Death Eater-" a roared sound of approval erupted from the stadium. "And well known for being exceptionally talented with dark curses and spell-craft. She was deservedly a rank five in the second stage. Her odds are set at ten to nine."
The odds were exceptional; her chance of passing into the internationals essentially a sure thing according to the bookies.
"Our ninth competitor is Ahmed Shafiq, pure blood. He is thirty two years old, and this is his second time in the competition. He was a rank four in the previous round and is also a Death Eater-" More roaring approval. "His odds are set at five to four," she concluded, unwilling to compete with the cheering of the crowd.
"Our last competitor is Jennifer Simmons," once more the stadium filled with an image of the pretty witch. "Jennifer is twenty-six, and the only person in the top ten to be muggleborn." A slight titter of noise went through the crowd. "She was ranked three in round two, and was downed relatively early by a rank five. She works as a barmaid at the Leaky Cauldron. The odds on this witch are set at ten to one."
Even the commentator had sounded relatively monotonous through this one, and a few in Harry's box had even scoffed. He wasn't so sure though, there was something of a spark about Simmons. He found himself hoping she wouldn't lose too badly, before trying to cast the unnecessary camaraderie from his mind. He might have to duel her himself.
"With that, Ladies and Gentlemen, can I ask all remaining competitors to return to the arena!"
With a hug from Hermione, a strong pat on the back from Blaise and a cheerful threat from Bella, he was on his way.
As Harry made his way to the arena floor, passing friends, acquaintances and fans along the way, the first pairs were announced. There would be three rounds, with each round seeing each competitor duelling a different opponent. They would be fought successively, as opposed to simultaneously and he fought down a flush of nerves as he realised the entire stadium would be focused on him and his opponent. He just hoped that, even were he to lose (which was likely at some point given the calibre of some of the others) that he'd do it with dignity, and not be beaten like a red-headed step child.
As the central screen flashed, announcing the order, he had eyes only for his own match. He would be fighting second, and his opponent would be Ahmed Shafiq. His stomach twisted a little; he liked Shafiq well enough from what little he knew of him, and it was certainly better than facing Verona but the man was still a Death Eater. He steeled himself as he stepped into the arena, moving to the waiting area at the side to watch the first match. By the board, it would be Halley Roundtree versus Verona. He sighed, having hoped it'd be a long match to settle his nerves. It was over in less than twenty seconds.
"Harry Potter and Ahmed Shafiq, please move to your assigned positions!"
Harry moved to the centre of the arena, as a large green dome formed around him and Ahmed. In some ways, this was little different to the qualifiers, where they had been encased in a similar dome and made to fight a single other person. In other ways, it was completely dissimilar. For one thing, in the qualifiers he had been one of many, with his bouts drawing just a small amount of the crowds attention. For another, the space was much, much larger which could quite significantly change his strategy; this didn't have to be a short-range battle and there was more opportunity to move and dodge. He considered this as he stood at his assigned space, some twenty feet from his opponent and waited for the buzzer to announce the start. He took deep, calming breaths and held his chin high. Strangely, his mind went straight to Tom Riddle and all the advice the boy had given him. Showmanship, he had said, was important to anyone who wanted to be respected. Consciously then, he took a long, slow look around the stadium and offered a confident grin that he saw projected onto the large screens around them and doubtlessly onto every portable in the stadium. The roar of the crowd was as if it came through water, the effects of the shield, but there. Ahmed merely stood calmly; his expression neither concerned nor arrogant, but merely expressionless. Harry liked Ahmed, and he respected the skill he had seen from the wizard. He wouldn't be able to play games now; it would be a contest of skill.
The buzzer sounded and Harry immediately began to move. Stillness, Tom had said, was the enemy of even the most powerful dueller. Harry was athletic; his body trained by years of duelling and quidditch and general jackassery, and so the first spell rocketed past him without need of a shield charm. As Harry expected, Ahmed quickly caught onto this and aimed a spell at the space he expected Harry to move into. He therefore had to move randomly, backwards and forwards, side to side.
"There's something to be said for wearing your opponent out," A memory of Tom's voice trickled through his brain. He kept moving. He cast his first spell when Ahmed would least suspect it; mid-turn with his back to the man, he cast behind him. It wouldn't be accurate, so it needn't be sophisticated; it was a strong blasting curse. Half a second later he turned to see Ahmed dodging, moving for the first time from his initial spot. As the wizard seemed distracted, Harry fired another spell, a pertrificus totalus chosen largely for it's pale colour in the hopes that it would go unnoticed. It almost was, it seemed, but Shafiq raised a shield at the last moment and deflected the spell. Harry wasted no time in firing another curse; this one was one of Hermione's creations. Her brilliance was amplified by his raw skill. It's intention was to affect the inner ear, throwing off balance dramatically. Shafiq narrowly avoided the spell, being forced to move for the first time. Harry cast again, wasting no time and moving as he did as Shafiq recovered and returned a simple stunner with impressive speed. This time he cast a fiendfyre. It was a complex curse; it required power. More than power, however, it required strength of will. What's more, what he did next required a will like steel. He cast another spell simultaneously, erupting it from the path of the fiendfyre in the opposite direction. The difficulty of such a feat was roughly equivalent to writing and speaking at the same time, saying utterly different topics. This was a simple stunning spell. The effect was instantaneous; as Shafiq erected a powerful water shield, he'd taken a step back, directly into the path of the stunner. Harry had dissipated the fiendfyre before the wizard had even hit the ground, ensuring it didn't touch him. Shafiq was unharmed and unconscious, and Harry had won the first bout.
Harry returned to the waiting area to the side, and was enthusiastically congratulated by Verona whilst the others eyed him warily. Shafiq was revived and cleared by a healer just moments later, and the man graciously shook Harry's hand. Harry liked Shafiq quite a bit. The third match began moments later, and Harry watched with interest as Simmons skilfully got the better of Fallow. It was not as quick as Verona's first match, but quick enough to be impressive. Harry realised the fourth match had already been announced, and raised an eyebrow to see Valeria and Verona were already making their way to the duelling area.
What followed was nothing short of spectacular. It was obvious that Valeria was outgunned in raw magical power, and seemingly in knowledge of the Dark Arts, but Valeria was wily. She anticipated traps, moved with several layers of invisible shields and combined invisibility spells with illusion-based magic. Only rarely did Valeria get close to landing a hit on Verona, but after several minutes past Harry understood that Valeria didn't seem to be trying to win. She merely seemed to be proving that she could escape the worst of Verona's considerable wrath. Verona grew more and more aggressive in her casting, the look of irritation on her face palpable. Harry wondered how it was that the two of them had once been lovers, when it seemed so much tension bubbled beneath the surface. He made a remark to Shafiq, who only laughed.
"If the two of them ever put aside their petty squabbling and got back together, they'd have the world at their feet," the man said, dryly.
Harry couldn't help but agree, as the match entered it's tenth minute. The contestants were close enough to hear what the women were shouting as they cast, though he doubted the audience could. Verona was shouting at Valeria, who had just skilfully escaped a blasting curse using a well place bombarda of her own, throwing rocks and debris from the centre of the field.
"You always were a coward!" Verona jeered, as Valeria ducked away.
Valeria, who looked like the day to Verona's night merely gave her a bright smile. "That's always what you said when you thought I'd done something clever, as I recall. Are you not feeling too confident?"
Verona narrowed her eyes, beginning to cast in quick succession.
"Well you always have been inventive in your methods of running away, Val!" barked Verona.
"And you've always been so persistent in your attempts to catch me, Ronnie. Never have learned to give up the chase!"
Verona's face set into a hard mask, and moments later, it was all over. Harry didn't even see quite what happened as bright cracks appeared in the ground, jetting towards Valeria. In seconds, the witch was on her knees and Verona was stalking towards her as the woman appeared unable to move. When they were within a foot of one another, Verona bent down and whispered something in Valeria's ear and she paled drastically. Moments later, Verona put her wand to the witch's head and promptly knocked her out, ending the match. Cheers erupted.
As Verona swaggered back to the waiting area, Harry opened his mouth to ask. She shut him up with a sharp look, before murmuring "You'll understand when you're older."
The matches that followed weren't as interesting, and Harry did little but watch the top board waiting for his name to appear. It wasn't until the eighth match, as he was watching Kowalawski lay into Hobday that he say his name flash up again. His second match would be against Jennifer Simmons. He wasn't sure how to feel about that; he was almost routing for the girl, but he wasn't about to let her win in order to see that happen. He cast the sympathy from his mind and focused on his goal. He had to win, and it shouldn't be difficult. Simmons was good, but he already knew he was better.
As the eighth match ended, he looked up at the crowd. His eyes were drawn to the top box, mainly to see if Bellatrix was still in rapt attention, popcorn in hand. Instead, his eyes locked on Voldemort. The man was stood at the front of the box, his expression both impassive and penetrating. It was all Harry could do not to freeze. Instead, he merely nodded and continued to his place. It was imperative that this match be impressive, given it may be the only one the Dark Lord was around to witness. Why it had become so important to him to impress Voldemort, he didn't know. Perhaps it was pride; that had always been his most fierce shield. He had surrendered his pride too many times already to the powerful wizard. He wouldn't do so today.
He nodded to Simmons, who nodded back curtly. The match began.
Simmons was quick, as he'd seen in her previous matches. Her style reminded him of Valeria, except her avoidance was less teasing and more determined. She iced the floor around his feet and then threw a blasting curse his way, something impossible to shield from. He merely heated the floor with an intense charm and ducked, before firing back at her with a strong wind hex. They were just testing the waters now, but Harry was all too conscious of the time. He wanted to impress Voldemort after all.
He considered his position. He'd planned to use the most impressive of his repertoire in the final match, so as not to show his hand too early. However, he couldn't know that the Dark Lord would be there for the last match, and what if he was stuck with one of the weaker ones, like Hobday. It would be nothing impressive to take that man down, no matter his wandwork. Or worse, he could get Verona, who of all the competitors could probably put him down and then his last match would be a losing one. He decided to show off. Simmons was worthy enough, and he knew he could beat her.
He focused, throwing spell after spell, mixing curses with charms and jinxes with hexes. His blood was pumping in his ears and he realised how much he was enjoying himself. Simmons was barely keeping up, but she was managing to stay afloat which was all he really wanted. In that moment he wasn't playing to win, he was playing to the audience. He heard them gasp and cheer and hold their breaths at quick intervals and knew that if nothing else, they'd remember this match. It was all leading to this moment, to his grand finale. He'd been working on the spell for weeks now. Something entirely of his own invention, that only he and one other would be able to pull off without anyone knowing why. He'd thought of it a couple of weeks ago, and it was only yesterday that he had finally got it down.
When he and Tom had been practising, Tom had warned him about the power of magical language. The spells they use at Hogwarts had a Latin base, as was the standard for magical Europe. Of course not all spells were based in Latin. Many old languages could be used for casting; the main ones used in the modern magical world being Persian, Hebrew, ancient Chinese and Ge'ez. There were others, coming from smaller tribes across the world, but these tended to die out over the time. The problem with there being more than one magical language is that shields and counter-spells were developed for spells of the same language. A protego would be adequate at protecting oneself from most Latin based spells, but less effective against a Persian spell. Seventh Years at Hogwarts received some training in the basics of non-Latin casting, and most apprenticeships offered such training as a given. However, it occurred to Harry that he knew an ancient language that only himself and one other shared. Parseltongue was ancient, and no one would be able to block it perfectly. When he had asked Tom about this, the boy had immediately become cold and dismissive, sidestepping the question. Harry took this to mean he was right.
Adding to this, there was a spell that could temporarily disable the magical core of a witch or wizard. It was a simple enough spell, and very effective if one could cast it. It temporarily strangled the bodies ability to form magic for several minutes. It was harmless by itself, but could end a duel quickly, rendering one's opponent defenseless. However, it was rarely used. The spell was ridiculously easy to block, with most first years being able to manage it wandlessly. One of his Professors had theorised it was a part of magical kinds evolution to be able to do so. Yet, could it block the spell in Parseltongue?
He glanced up for a half second at the top box, and found both Voldemort and Bellatrix still watching them with interest. He offered them a wicked grin, and directed his wand at Simmons. At a volume only he could hear, he whispered the spell and watched with delight as the pale yellow light hit her chest.
He watched as her expression turned from dismissal, to confusion and then finally went blank.
Jennifer Simmons dropped to the floor. Dead.
