Chapter 9: Ten Duel Commandments
When she was little, Hermione learned that the best way to cheer yourself up when you were down was to think of three things you liked. On Saturday morning, she sat down to breakfast with a lot of things to be thankful for.
First of all, they were serving pancakes, which was Hermione's favourite breakfast food. Second of all, she'd finished all of her homework last night. Which meant that, third and finally, she was getting started on her backlog of fun and pointless YA romance novels. Bonus points for the fact that her hair had decided to behave today.
So, as she sat there, half of her brain focused on eating, the other half engrossed in her book, Tonks plonked down beside her.
"Well, well, well. I see you actually made it to breakfast," said Hermione.
"Oy, I get up early sometimes," said Tonks, piling the pancakes onto her plate and taking a huge bite before adding a stack of bacon. "Do you mind filling me in on the details of last night's dinner?"
Hermione took a sip of orange juice, her gaze not leaving the page. "We decided that the first tournament date will be on November 7th. Once the dragons arrive on the 5th, you'll be on third watch with me."
"Oh, lucky us, for being the juniors," said Tonks, pouring orange juice. "Well, at least we're doing it together."
Hermione stabbed her fork into her pancakes. "When are you actually going to start attending the dinners? I mean, I know they're awful, but you can't get out of them forever."
Tonks shrugged. "I'm very busy with my class work. Everyone knows that Defence Against the Dark Arts is a complicated subject to teach…I mean, not that I'm the real teacher." She glanced up at the walls of Hogwarts, as if pleading with them not to realize her mistake. "Mad Eye can back me up there."
Hermione was fascinated by Tonks' ability to talk her way out of anything. Tonks could insult someone, and they would take it as a compliment.
"Now that that's out of the way," said Tonks. "Let's talk about something more interesting." She nudged Hermione's shoulder. "Who are you asking to the Yule Ball? Please tell me it's Neville."
"Tonks, it's only October," Hermione said, laughing. "They haven't even announced the ball yet."
"Exactly, that's why you've got to lock that cutie down right now, before someone else snags him. Why are you shaking your head? You know he's a catch."
Hermione made a show of picking up her book and putting it in front of her face. Secretly, she appreciated the fact that Tonks wasn't mentioning the other person she liked, even though she was pretty sure Tonks knew.
Hermione heard, rather than saw, a tall figure take a seat in front of her. As his chair scraped the floor, the whole table went quiet around them.
"Oh, hello." Tonks blinked, the piece of bacon she'd been about to cram in her mouth suspended in her hand.
Hermione lowered her book, her eyes widening. Directly in front of her sat Boris Krum, his dark hair and muscled body glistening wet, like he'd just stepped out of the shower. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing back the damp waves. His hazel eyes instantly found Hermione's, and he smiled, his cheek dimpling.
"Umm, hey buddy," said Tonks. "Where is your shirt? It's like 15 degrees."
He shovelled food onto his plate. Seven pancakes, 12 pieces of bacon. "Up in the North," he said, in his thick Bulgarian accent. "This is summer weather."
Tonks nodded in a slow, exaggerated manner, her gaze trailing down his bare chest before she forced herself to focus on her food.
The table fell back into silence, broken only by the fragments of hushed whispers. Hermione tried to eat, but the presence of this living, breathing romance novel book cover was making it hard to concentrate. Even if she pressed the book close to her face, she could still see his arm bulging with veins.
As the minutes passed, Hermione noticed that the chairs around them, which had been empty before, slowly filled up with girls. Most of them weren't from Ravenclaw.
"So," said Ginny Weasley, who had prime real estate at his left elbow. "How'd you get all those muscles?"
"From playing Quidditch, obviously," said her brother Ron, who hovered behind her. "Don't be daft, Ginny."
Boris guzzled some orange juice before answering, all the girls enraptured by his Adam's apple moving up and down.
"First," he said. "You go into a cave, in the dead of winter. You eat nothing but garlic and mugwort for 100 days. When you come out, you are a man."
Tonks was smirking, and Hermione was trying to figure out where she'd read that before. He picked up a piece of sausage with his fingers, and enunciating each syllable, he said. "This is cold."
"Oh! We just learned about heating charms!" cried a Ravenclaw 2nd year, readying her wand.
"No need," he muttered. He stared at the sausage, and it sizzled in his hand. Several students whispered about wandless magic. Hermione, who had learned a thing or two from Harry, looked around to see if anyone else had their wand out and was muttering incantations. She noticed Boris shifting, and then her hand that rested on the table was caught up in Boris's own. His rough fingers felt quite warm to the touch. In his other hand, he held out the steaming sausage out to her.
"Umm…" What did he expect her to do? Was offering people food a part of his culture, or…?
"You are beautiful," he said, his dark gaze intent, his voice deep.
Hermione could feel herself turning bright red, and it didn't help that all the girls were staring at her in speechless indignation and outright jealousy. She jerked up to her feet, breaking contact as the sausage fell to the table. "Ahh," said Hermione, standing. "I…umm…I have to go."
As she beat her retreat from the room, Tonks followed, snickering, "I changed my mind," Tonks whispered. "Go to the Yule Ball with him… Scratch that, next time you see him, you ought to snog him senseless. He offered you his sausage, Hermione."
"He's of age," Hermione spat back, arms crossed protectively. "You take him!"
Harry was in his dorm room, attempting to complete his Transfiguration homework, but a little fly kept bothering him.
"Hey, Harry, quit ignoring me, you bastard! I'm talking to you."
With a sigh, Harry closed his book and looked up at the offending insect. "What is it, Roger?"
Roger thrust an accusing finger at him. "You stole my secret invisibility spell, didn't you? Tell me how you did it."
"I can neither confirm nor deny that I participated in any such activity." Harry opened his book again, bored of this conversation already. Roger grabbed the book from his hands and flung it across the room.
Harry felt a surge of annoyance. He didn't like people in his personal space in the first place, but Roger had made a habit of crossing that line. "Excuse me, but we are Ravenclaws, and we do not treat books that way!"
Harry had never liked Roger. He acted like he was oh-so-smart, bragging to everyone who would listen about how he sooo great at duelling. Even though he was just a one trick pony who relied on that stupid invisibility spell to win all his battles. On top of that, he was irrational, over-emotional, and generally an insufferable prat. Once, while Harry and Michael were studying for a test, Roger strong armed them into playing Hearts with him, just so he could invite Cho Chang over to play, too. He'd spent the next hour telling awful jokes and making weird noises, and then proceeded to switch the card game in the middle of a hand because he assumed she was bored. And Harry wanted to leave but he couldn't.
"I know you did it!" cried Roger. "Percy said he saw you turn invisible during the last match you had together. And when I tried to talk to Cho Chang about it, she refused to speak to me. Why wouldn't she talk to me if not for you forcing the secret out of her?"
Harry sighed. Roger was an idiot, and he had a code for how he dealt with idiots.
"First of all, I can think of at least three different reasons why Cho Chang isn't talking to you, and none of them have anything to do with a spell which I allegedly stole from you." For example, did you mouth breathe all over her? "Secondly, Cho Chang would never tell me any secrets, as she is an upstanding, respectable Ravenclaw who is too busy to be involved in my plots. Thirdly, why the heck are you bothering me instead of attending your Potions class?"
Roger's eyes widened, and his accusing finger shook. "Y-you were Cho Chang! You used Polyjuice to pretend to be her, and then you…and then you…" Tears glistened in his eyes. "You pretended to need help and then I told you the secret!"
"Wrong." Harry's voice was flat. "I was with the other Ravenclaws, celebrating the selection of Angelina Johnson as our school champion. Pictures from the party should provide sufficient evidence, which you should be able to find from literally anyone else besides me." Just go away. Shoo fly.
But the Ravenclaw was practically beside himself, breathing heavily. "I don't know how, Harry, but it was you! I always knew you were jealous of my winning streak against the other players, and so you had to take it out against me! Take away the one thing I had over you!" It was like listening to a baby whine. Wah wah.
"Just think, things could have been so different! We could have been friends, Harry!" Roger wiped his sweaty forehead, his face blushing red. "We could have been the dream team!"
In a knee jerk reaction, Harry's brain went, Euugggghhhh!
A few months ago, Roger started clinging to Harry like an unwanted growth. He'd grab the seat next to Harry at meal times and during classes, elbowing him and trying to chat him up. He made use of such scintillating lines as, "How was your weekend, Harry? and "Oi, check out that 4th year, is she hot or what?"
Harry had tried to be patient, hoping that ignoring Roger would convince him to go away. The problem was, Harry was under constant threat of attack, since they lived in the same dorm.
"So you'd better fess up, or I'll…"
"Or what?" asked Harry, going cold with anger. This had gone on long enough. He. Was. Done. "You know, it's funny how you seem to believe I would have any reason to be jealous of you. I win my games through skill, something you don't possess even a fraction of. If I did steal from you, it would be merely to see if you were stupid and gullible enough to let me."
Harry raised a shield as Roger fired a glowing red hex. Roger slammed his fist against Harry's bedpost. "Fight me, bastard."
"Why?" asked Harry. "You already admitted I'm the better duellist."
"I said, fight me, damn it! This is a formal challenge! You will answer for what you did, even if I have to beat it out of you!"
Harry coolly evaluated the livid boy in front of him.
"Fine," said Harry. "When and where?
"Tomorrow," said Roger. "Three o'clock, duelling room, after class. Bring your weapon of choice."
Harry smirked. "Are you sure you want to do this? I am the Boy-Who-Lived, after all. I turn the world upside down."
He threw up a shield just as Roger fired off a second hex. Harry could feel the spittle as Roger cried out in rage. "Next time you won't be so lucky, Potter!"
Roger stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Harry entered the room at 2:55 pm. He'd debated on whether he should show up late to make Roger wait, but Harry decided against it, since he didn't actually believe he was the king of this castle. Harry could admit to himself that he had maybe gone too far in taunting him, but at least the results had been interesting. He had to admit, the guy had some stones to challenge Harry to his own personal version of duelling. He was interested in seeing the weapon that Roger wanted to fight with.
Harry gazed with pride at the duelling room, at Professor Quirrell's legacy. Quirrell had taught them how to fight, and in spite of his successors' incompetence, their training had continued. They'd even made it into a sport of sorts, a modification of Quirrell's armies. They would have matches throughout the year, and those with the highest score would compete on the Ides of May. But as always, the pride he felt in his mentor's influence was muddled with sadness. Professor Quirrell was gone from the world, forever. Though it wasn't his fault, Harry couldn't help blaming himself.
A few minutes later, at 3:00 on the dot, Neville entered the room.
"Hi, Harry," he said, an apologetic expression on his face. "Roger wanted me to tell you that he's not coming to the fight."
"Seriously?" said Harry.
"Yeah, sorry," said Neville. "He said he didn't feel like it would be a fair challenge."
Harry sighed. "Well, it's official, he's just lost every shred of my respect." He noticed the gun shaped object in Neville's hand. "What's that for? Did you have a duel planned too?"
"Actually, I was just going to practice a bit on the dummies," he said, nodding towards the human shaped burlap sacks at the back of the room.
"Oh, well, don't mind me then," said Harry, slinging his weapon over his shoulder, preparing to leave. It wasn't good form to remain in the room while someone else practiced with their charmed weapon. After all, it would spoil the fun if they wanted to use it against you in a duel.
"Wait, Harry," said Neville. "Did you want to fight me instead? I know it's not the same, but since we're both here."
"A magical weapon duel?" asked Harry. "I mean…if you don't mind testing out a new weapon on me."
"It's more fun that way," said Neville, smiling.
Harry returned the smile. He couldn't help but remember that the last time, he had accidentally destroyed Neville's weapon.
"So," said Harry, readying himself into position. "After this, will you still assist me with a science experiment? I'll just need ten minutes."
"Sure," said Neville.
Harry nodded. "Alright, then. On the count of three, two…"
When Neville's gun fired off early, Harry was ready.
Stupid Potter, giving him a countdown. This fight was in the bag.
In magic article duels, you were allowed to bring two things with you into the fight. Your wand, of course, and also a charmed item. It could be used either for defence or offense.
There were restrictions on items that weren't allowed. No time turners, no pouch full of items, no living creatures, and no actual muggle weapons. Harry had always skirted that line, though, so Roger thought he would respond in kind.
Roger had a gun, but it was no ordinary gun. It was a freeze ray. He had worked on it for months in Charms class, though many had told him it was pointless. Petrificus Totalis could do the same thing, and all you needed was a wand. The problem was, that spell required a lot of focus, and it would use up your magic if you kept casting it. With Harry, you needed to keep casting it.
However, his beautiful freeze ray could rapid-fire the spell like a machine gun. It was also virtually unblockable, so Harry couldn't shield himself against it. Roger just needed one good hit. The effects wouldn't last more than 3 minutes, so Roger decided he would just keep freezing Harry until he was good and ready to let him go. Have you chilled off yet? No? Here, let me help you.
At the start of the countdown, Roger fired his freeze ray. He held down the trigger, preparing a shield with his wand. He thought he was prepared for Harry's onslaught. He didn't expect to feel himself falling towards the ceiling.
As Roger fell, confused and panicked, he realized that high and vaulted ceiling was a long way down. He wracked his brain for a grappling spell, but he couldn't remember before he crashed into the rafter.
"What the hell?" he cried at Harry, who had remained firmly planted upside down on the ground.
"I did warn you," Harry called out, a smirk in his voice.
Enraged, Roger sighted and pulled the trigger, just as his world flipped again, which left him grasping for purchase against the rafter.
Suddenly, his handhold was hit by a Glisseo spell, and Roger slipped off and fell.
"Gripto…No wait! Durum Tenaci!" he cried, but the spell failed, and he hit hard the ground hard, busting his nose. He didn't even have time to pick himself up before he was falling again.
This time, he got the spell right, and his feet stuck to the ceiling.
He heaved up the gun, firing into Harry's general position. Harry dived, dodging the spell, then ran along the floor towards shelter. Roger pulled the gun to follow him, and then flailed and fell over as the gravity reversed, dragging him down to the wall behind him.
Roger's hand burned with a stinging hex, and he cried out in pain, almost dropping his wand. Damn Potter! Roger regained his footing, put up a shield spell and started firing again. He only had to hit him once. Come on, just once!
Yet, the bastard kept dodging. And whenever Roger got close, gravity shifts would make his shots go wide. At least his weapon fire had pushed Harry away from the shelter of the rafters on the opposite wall.
Then, Roger saw it. His way to win.
He ran towards Harry Potter, grabbing one of the dummy dolls as a makeshift shield and casting a magical barrier. A sense of disorientation made him stumble —stupid gravity gun— but he soldiered on against it. Roger kept firing his gun, forcing Harry into a barren corner of the stone walls. Roger ran hard, focused on keeping his shield up until the last second.
Roger knew something that Harry didn't. He had been practicing for weeks, and he was pretty damn good at rapid-fire spell casting. As he approached Harry, Roger released his shields. His words almost jumbled on top of each other as he cried, "Conteram Illud! Glisseo! Expeliarmus!"
Harry's shield broke and he spun to face Roger, but the Glisseo caused him to stumble. "Expelliarmus!" Harry managed to cry in time.
Their wands flew from their hands, just as Roger's finger pulled the trigger.
This is it! My shot!
Gravity reversed, and Roger fell, his shot going wild. He lunged to grab Harry—who should have fallen with him, as he had nothing to hold on to—but instead his hands found empty air. Roger flailed, watching Harry grow farther and farther away from him before he hit the ground.
Roger felt his gun being forcibly ejected from his hand. A tingling sensation crossed his skin as the Polyjuice spell broke. When Harry sauntered over, Roger was seething.
"You bastard! You brought two weapons into the game!"
"Did I?" said Harry. "I cheated at my own game?"
"You flew!" cried Roger. "Or hovered, or something! That's the only way you could have stayed up there. And you can't create a spell like that—it's impossible, even for you!"
"Hum," said Harry. "Well, I'll let you think on that, and maybe you'll come up with a more reasonable solution later on." Harry knelt down beside Roger, grinning smugly. "You claim that I don't fight fair, but even this time, I didn't bother to fight you seriously. If I had, then this fight would have been over in 10 seconds. The reality is, you just suck."
"Go to hell!" spat Roger.
At dinner that evening, the news had already spread like wildfire. Harry Potter had proven once and for all that he was cheating at duelling, which confirmed what others had always suspected. Harry had explained his side of the story already, and even offered to test himself under Veritaserum, but for some reason, he still looked like the bad guy. It was probably due to Roger Davis shedding tears over it in the common room, but also because Harry wouldn't reveal how he'd won.
Harry sat there, eating his food quietly while the battle raged around him.
"Oh, come on, you know he didn't actually manipulate gravity, right?" said Michael Corner. "He probably just cast the Vertigo hex and then used his charmed item to move Roger around the room."
"Or Harry's item was charmed to fire the hex," said Padma Patil. "And he used a spell to move Roger."
"Give us a hint, Harry," prodded Michael. "Are we at least on the right track?"
Harry took a sip of his soup, and then said, "I will only say this. Even I am not reckless enough to attempt to defy gravity within Hogwarts—there are certain things I don't mess with, and one of them is the fabric of time."
Everyone looked puzzled for a moment, until a 6th year girl groaned. "What does it matter how he did it? It's obvious he brought in two charmed items." She gave Harry a scathing look. "Or else, how did he hang onto that wall?"
"I think there's a spell that can do that," said Anthony Goldstein. "Plasticus…something."
"But Roger cast Glisseo, and Harry didn't have a wand!" insisted another Ravenclaw girl. "So unless Harry was bound to the wall with gecko fingers—"
"Invisible strings!" declared Anthony. "If he attached them to the ceiling, they could keep him from falling!"
"Merlin's beard, are you trying to tell me—"
And so the meal continued. Half the Ravenclaw table waxed poetic in defending him, while the other half (the women) were giving Harry looks that, while he had no romantic interest, still stung, a little.
Harry knew he was in trouble when he stepped out into the hallway after dinner and saw Cedric and Neville, the co-captains of the duelling club, waiting there for him. Wordlessly, he followed them to an empty classroom.
Arms folded, they stared at him for a full minute without saying anything. The wild desire to start humming came over him, but Harry suppressed it.
"So, was it the Vertigo hex?" said Cedric, finally. "With an Accio gun?"
"Yes," said Harry. "The hex causes disorientation, and I used my charmed item to drag him across the room. I did not cheat, though. If Roger had been smart enough, he would have noticed nothing else in the room was falling except for him. Then he could have concocted a counter spell to mine, and he would have been fine."
Harry spent an hour preparing his clothes, hair, and other items so they would cling to him and not give away he was running against gravity. He could have done that to everything in the room, but he figured he'd give Roger a chance.
"The hex is not the issue here, though we have received a lot of complaints about your duelling style," continued Cedric. "Roger is right—you shouldn't have been able to dodge his ray gun. He saw you flying, Harry."
Harry debated whether he should try to convince them that it was just an adrenaline generated hallucination, as it was a rare side effect of the hex. However, he didn't like lying to his friends outright, so he was trying to think of a way to deflect their suspicion without telling them something false.
Unfortunately, his moment of silence told them everything.
"So," said Neville. "Was it worth it?"
"Winning the duel?" asked Harry. "I can't imagine there was any other logical outcome."
"No," said Neville. "Breaking the rules to win the game."
"Well…" said Harry slowly. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that. I understand the reason for the restriction, but what's the point of having a superpower if I can never use it? Roger is free to do the same, if he should somehow find a way to augment his abilities."
"Harry," said Neville, his gaze concerned. "The only wizard who could fly was You-Know-Who. If you go around doing that, you're going to terrify people."
Harry grimaced. It amazed and saddened him how backwards wizards could be about progress. When he had figured out that casting broomstick enchantments on his bones would allow him to fly, he'd been so excited he'd run to show Neville and Cedric. They'd been so freaked out that they'd immediately took him to see McGonagall, who'd sternly warned Harry that he must not do that on school grounds, ever.
For some reason, no one could see past the false analogy. Just because the Dark Lord could fly, didn't mean all flying wizards were dark lords.
"Listen, it's not like I flew around like a bat, or anything. I moved maybe a foot to grasp something on the wall. I've seen drunk wizards jump higher than that."
Yet, even as he plead his case, he knew it was his fault for getting caught up in the game. He should have just knocked the wand out of Roger's hand on one of the numerous occasions that Roger had been distracted, but that would have been boring, like a three move checkmate in chess. Harry had been intrigued by Roger's use of the Polyjuice potion, and had been curious to see what he would come up with if given the chance. Either that, or watch how he crashed and burned.
"You have to make this right, Harry," said Cedric.
Harry nodded. "I'm aware of that. I've already prepared a list of all the mistakes he made in the fight, and I'm thinking I'll sit down with him and offer to help him correct them. As a peace offering."
"Not like that." Neville sighed. "This isn't your first offense, so there must be consequences. Cedric and I have come to a decision. You're going to tell Roger that you're sorry for cheating, and then you'll be banned from the duelling grounds for the rest of the school year."
"What!" exclaimed Harry, leaping to his feet. "That's ridiculous, I didn't cheat—"
"Technically, you did," said Cedric. "Since your bones count as an enchanted object in the game."
"That is so…damn it," said Harry. His Inner Critic was already screaming at him. "Listen, there's another way to fix this, just give me a minute-"
Neville shook his head. "If we don't handle this, it's going to go straight to McGonagall, and then she'll be the one to choose the punishment."
Harry felt like he'd chased a butterfly, and accidentally fallen off a cliff. In the resulting carnage, he had to make a decision. Duelling was the only way for Harry to stave off the inevitable boredom he experienced at Hogwarts, but more importantly, it was the only place he felt alive. The one exception to that was the Hogwarts quests, which he would never get access to if McGonagall heard about this. He had so sacrifice one or the other. It was terrible, and completely unfair, but it was obvious what he had to do.
Harry grit his teeth and said, "Fine. I accept these terms. For the record, I'm extremely unhappy about it."
Durmstrang, September 25th, 1995
Draco didn't know what to expect for his first challenge. Solving a puzzle, such as finding a key that fit into a hidden lock on the fifteenth floor of a mall in Tokyo...that sounded about right. Usually, when a wizard was called to complete a quest, he had to deal with bizarre, cryptic riddles that could require him to travel the world seeking answers. Legend had it that it took years to solve even one of the Empress's challenges.
However, the note he received gave him a quest that was rather straightforward: Immediately after your 10:30 class, detain Professor Claudia outside her classroom for no fewer than ten minutes.
It was a strange quest, and for any other professor it would be easy, but this was Señora Claudia. She was always in motion, a kind of orbit, between her classroom and her adjacent office. She was an active researcher, so she might leave for weeks at a time to investigate for one of her projects. However, when she was at Durmstrang, she avoided public spaces like the plague. She spent hours pent up in her classroom, frequently ate alone in her office, and he'd even heard she slept in there. In her teaching, she showed herself to be witty and charismatic (not to mention gorgeous), so it puzzled everyone as to why she locked herself away.
Draco had considered a few options to draw her out. He could fake an injury, but she wasn't a doctor or particularly compassionate, and she'd have no qualms about Flooing him to the nurse's office by himself. He could cause a massive scene that escalated into a duel…except he'd seen Professor Claudia look the other way to student fights before. Also, if he was to follow the rule of three for plotting, then he needed his plan to be simple. Adding additional players made it complicated.
For this to work, he needed to make it personally relevant to her. So, the question was, what did Señora Claudia care about that would make her leave her sanctuary?
It took some thinking, and a lot of late nights reading her books, but Draco thought he'd come up with a plan that stood a chance of working.
One morning, after his history class ended, Draco walked up to Señora Claudia's desk. She was already bent over her research, shutting herself off from the outside world.
"Excuse me, Professor?" he asked. "I need to speak with you."
She blinked, her soft blue eyes gazing up at him. "Yes, Draco? Questions about an assignment?"
"No, actually." He shuffled his feet. "Something strange happened last night, and I thought you might know how to help me."
Draco could see his professor tense up, as if growing roots to her desk. "You know, if this is a personal issue…I'm not the best person to talk to."
Oh, Merlin. He shook his head. "No. I saw my father's ghost last night."
This was the tricky part. He knew she was a powerful Legimens, and would detect an outright lie. He needed to build his fake memory out of the truth.
She blinked a few times. "Draco, that's…your father has been dead for years. The only ghosts who survive that long are at Hogwarts."
"I can't explain it either," said Draco, rubbing his forehead, playing up his nerves. "But it's true. He said things in a garbled language that I couldn't make out. I know you're good at finding hidden information, so I—"
Professor Claudia probed his mind, searching his memories for signs of the truth. He let her see his father, standing before the mantle, reaching out to him. He felt her probe the garbled words, and then...she shifted them, rearranging the pieces as if trying to fix the memory.
Draco had studied Occlumency every day for years, practicing with tutors until he bested them every time, and then all at once. Yet, it took every ounce of his mental energy to hold his barrier intact with her. The garbled words were becoming whole, almost clear enough to make out. She was changing them, until it felt like it wasn't even a memory anymore. It was simply reality, imprinted on his mind.
Finally, she relaxed her efforts and studied him in silence. Draco's brain felt numb from the Occlumency, the beginnings of a headache throbbing in his temples. He had the sense she hadn't pushed him as far as she could have, but any more and his brain might have cracked. Her facial expression was blank, and there was no way to tell if she'd seen the truth behind the lie.
"You saw this last night?" she asked, standing up. "At your house?"
Draco made a calculated decision. "Over the summer, actually."
Which was the truth. Just not this year.
"Why did you lie?"
He shrugged. "Can you blame me? I thought you wouldn't help me otherwise, since I haven't been able to contact him since. But I really do need your help, Señora Claudia. I couldn't make out most of what my father said, but I think…I think he was warning me about Bellatrix Black."
His professor's eyes went wide, and she stood very still. "What did you say?"
Draco had read all of Senora Claudia's books, and it was clear she was obsessed with conspiracies, particularly those involving the Black family. Their lineage was rife with intrigue and unsolved mysteries. Sirius Black, the friend of James Potter who had betrayed him to the Dark Lord…or did he really? Andromeda Black, disowned by her family and burned off the family tree, but whose daughter was an Auror that fights dark wizards. Narcissa Black, unexpectedly reunited with her son after ten years hidden in Australia…but why the long absence? Why were her memories hidden for so long, and what were the physicians treating her for at St. Mungos?
But the strangest of all was Bellatrix Black, the right hand of the Dark Lord, who died in her cell in Azkaban, only to be seen riding away on a broomstick. In spite of their best efforts, none of the Aurors could find her, and to this day there were rumours that she still followed the will of Voldemort, who instructed her beyond the grave.
Señora Claudia rounded her desk, approaching Draco and grasping his shoulders. "Have you spoken of this to anyone yet?"
"No."
"Good. Now, there might be a way to get the information we need. I'll have to inspect the area first, see if there's any sign of your father's spirit. If he's there, I'll find him."
With a wince of pain, Draco kept up his Occlumency barrier, but he knew already that they would find nothing. His father's spirit had dissipated years ago.
Draco followed his teacher out the door, but he could have sworn he saw her whispering a spell to the desk before they left.
