Chapter 6

Tom had plenty of practical experience when it came to dueling, but even he would reluctantly admit to the difference between a schoolyard fight or the dueling club, compared to life-or-death combat against older, veteraned adults.

The inexperience nagged at him, and he swore to remedy the incapacity as soon as he graduated. For now he satisfied himself with his position as best duelist in the school. By age seventeen, he knew he already had enough experience to defeat most adults, or at the least the ones who lacked practical exposure. He might not hold the uncontested crown, but given time, he would. He was already well on his way.

So Potter had absolutely no reason to hold back when dueling him.

"Come, Potter, surely you can do better than that?" he demanded, as soon as Professor Merrythought wandered out of earshot.

He'd seen the boy's written Defense Against the Dark Art's work; he performed slightly above average, but nothing that could match Tom. Of course, he knew Potter would not want to hurt him because of the Mollis Caritate—which just reaffirmed his belief that love was weak—but he found himself insulted that Potter thought he could hurt him, deluded by a potion or not.

Besides the slight to his skill, the absence of a challenge bored him. He'd been the uncontested champion since his fourth year, in which he had caused a stir by defeating Antonin Dolohov, the school's top duelist, extremely skilled and three years his senior. He hadn't had much of a contest since then, but at least Potter presented a novelty. The enclosed environment of Hogwarts offered few chances to fight new opponents.

Tom disarmed him with yet another casual flick of his wrist, the wand flying to his outstretched hand, and he followed it quickly with a nonverbal Levicorpus. The boy joined several of his classmates, who dangled inelegantly in the air.

"You can already do the spell nonverbally," Potter complained, his glasses dangling precariously off of one ear, in danger of falling off. "You don't even need to practice, so why don't you just let me practice it on you?"

"That would be undignified," Tom said with contempt. "And beneath me. The Professor said to incorporate the spell in a mock duel, so I shan't lower myself to the mercy of someone who has yet to disarm me."

He didn't truly expect Potter to manage even that, but surely the boy could last longer than a few pathetic seconds. He'd seen him fight in a few casual classroom duels, and Potter had a modicum of talent in the area.

"It's a Levicorpus, you wouldn't be lowering yourself, you'd be up in the air," Potter pointed out snarkily, cutting off when Tom dropped him to the floor in a heap. "Oomph."

"You think I'm perfect, don't you?" Tom asked softly. "The love potion ensures that much. You should know that you can't possibly win, so what do you accomplish by forfeiting so easily?"

"What do I get from winning?" Potter retorted, propping himself up on his elbows. He straightened his glasses with a habitual gesture.

Tom looked at him consideringly. Potter was a Slytherin, after all. He supposed there'd be no harm in offering a little incentive, since he wouldn't lose either way, and he could gain much from this.

"What do you want?" he asked. Potter looked surprised, but his expression quickly turned thoughtful.

"Um," the boy said, sitting up fully and looking down at his lap, his neck flushing. "How about...a kiss?"

Tom kept his expression blank. He'd expected Potter to ask for an answer to one of his questions, but he supposed that the infatuation could manifest itself in a variety of ways. He didn't bother bargaining down the price; he wouldn't lose.

"Fine," Tom agreed with a predatory smile. "But if I win, you tell me how you know Parseltongue." He had more that he wanted to ask, but he chose the most straightforward. "And you stay in your bed tonight."

"You're making me bet two things for your one," Potter said, eyes narrowing. "If I win, you have to tell me about your parents."

"If I win, you have to tell me about yours," Tom countered immediately.

That information must have at least some value, given the apparent secrecy about where Potter had come from. Was he the son of a mudblood, or born out of wedlock? His blood status could become critical in the future.

"That's three things," Potter protested.

"That's my final offer," he said, because impossible for him to lose or not, he'd never make a bet in which he risked more than he had to gain. He held out Potter's wand, and with a scowl, the boy took it.

The scowl faded considerably when he scrambled to his feet just a little too close to Tom, their faces inches away. Potter's breath caught, eyes blown wide, and he started to lean forward-

Tom quickly stepped back, out of range from Potter's petty lust. The boy blinked, but the moment seemed to have given him a surge of energy, his eyes flicking down to Tom's lips and back up to his eyes. Potter tightened his grip on his wand and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet.

"On three," Tom said, lifting his wand in the typical dueling salute. Might as well do this properly.

From the corner of his eye, he saw they'd attracted a few curious observers, doubtlessly waiting to see Potter crushed in a humiliating defeat. His classmates might know him for his kindness in class, but he'd made a point to be nothing short of ruthless when it came to wand work, which they also knew well.

Potter lifted his own wand in a matching salute, giving the impression of having done so before. Tom gave the slightest bow, respectful but keeping his face upturned to Harry. The boy suddenly hesitated, a flash of recognition darkening his eyes.

"You've been taught how to duel, I presume? First we bow to each other," Tom prompted smoothly. He supposed Potter might lack knowledge in the area after all, but he felt a niggle of doubt when the boy still didn't bow, gaping at him openly, mild horror in his expression, not at all like his usual love-struck gaping.

"Come now, Harry, the niceties must be observed," he said sharply. "You would not want to forget your manners. I said, 'Bow'."

He wished he could throw an Imperious and skip past the pleasantries, but they'd gathered even more attention by this point. Keeping the ire out of his voice proved difficult. Potter seemed to be having some sort of anxiety attack, frozen in place.

"Harry," he said again, looking Potter in the eye.

The boy blinked, taking a shallow breath and seeming to come back to the world, as if his mind had been lost in another time or memory.

"What, are you not going to ask me to bow to Death?" Potter asked sharply, the first time Tom had ever heard him angry since he'd spilled the potion. Incomprehensibly, he rubbed his forehead before murmuring incoherently.

A flash of legilimency allowed Tom to hear the echo of a voice, straight-backed and proud, like your father, but he didn't dare delve deeper with so many witnesses.

He found himself inexplicably irritated by the fact that Potter focused on something other than him. He had a distanced look in his eyes, reminiscing about some past duel, but he should be focused on Tom. He, the worthy opponent, the one here with him now, should be the center of his thoughts. And for Potter to ignore him under the spell of a love potion that should make him obsessed with him...

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," he said with cutting coolness. "It's just a friendly duel. Bow."

Potter's hand trembled on his wand, but tightening his grip with a steely expression, he stiffly lowered himself into a small, jerky bow without another word. The dazed look in his eyes disappeared, replaced with an angry determination.

He turned on his heel. Tom watched him with suspicion, unwilling to admit that the exchange had unnerved him. The look on Potter's face didn't look like the expression of someone eager to win a kiss. Shaking off the thought, he turned in the opposite direction.

"One," he counted, a dozen spells already on the tip of his tongue. For him, the challenge had never been to remember a spell, but rather to choose one of many.

"Two," said Tom, his footsteps steady. He saw Malfoy and Avery watching them with nothing less than eager sadism, betting if Potter would last more or less than seven seconds.

"Three," he said abruptly, already turning on his heel before he'd even started the word. To his surprise, Potter reacted just as quickly; if anything, he'd started turning around before him.

"Stupify," Potter shouted, beating Tom to the first spell, forcing him to counter. It was a far cry from how the boy had fought before, but still not particularly original.

Yet, there was something in his eyes... it didn't seem like he was fighting Tom anymore.

Later he would admit, if only to himself, that he might have let his anger cloud his judgment. He was the better duelist, no doubt; he knew more spells, and he had the creativity to use them to their utmost potential.

But in his irritation and frustration, he had underestimated him. He wanted more hints to explain the boy's new, volatile approach; Potter fought him like an enemy, not his schoolboy crush. He attacked head-on, no subtlety of which to speak, so Tom assumed it safe to draw it out, thinking that the other student would only grow more tired and frustrated as time went on.

Potter proved unpredictable, or perhaps all too predictable; hubris had a way of leading to destruction, although Tom had always considered his own pride as confidence rather than arrogance. He'd always scoffed at those who failed because of their own conceit.

Potter had fought many opponents stronger than himself, that much was obvious. He didn't even bother with many of the counter curses, opting to simply dodge out of the way for a great number of them, and he focused on finding openings rather than creating them. He wasn't particularly creative in the traditional sense, employing rather standard spells, but the way he used them caught Tom off guard. He was aggressive, and his attacks had power. He fired one spell after another, no hesitation, reckless and unafraid of retaliation.

In the background, Tom heard Professor Merrythought telling them to yield, but neither of them listened. They both breathed hard, the duel far more intense and lasting for far longer than any of their classmate's standoffs. They'd have caught the attention of the whole room, by now.

Potter had shown talent in dueling before, but nothing like this.

"Serpensortia," Potter hissed, casting a snake across the room. This garnered whispers and snickers from others, especially the Slytherins, who wondered what he hoped to accomplishing by tossing a snake at the Heir.

Of course, he couldn't speak to it without exposing this unique skill to the teachers and school at large, and Potter knew it.

Tom had no sooner vanished it, than he found himself under a barrage of new spells. His downfall was his own competency: he prepared to send a curse, but he hesitated for the briefest of seconds, because he'd read it from a book he'd borrowed from Black, making the legality questionable. He would have won the duel if he'd cast it, but if he did so in the middle of class, he could jeopardize his standing in Hogwarts and his future career.

It was the briefest of hesitations, and duelists far older than Tom could have easily missed it.

Potter did not.

To his utter dismay and fury, Tom realized that he'd allowed Potter to find the opening he'd been waiting for, and he knew what came, but he failed to incant his alternative spell in time.

"Imped-" he started, but Potter was already halfway through his own.

"Expelliarmus!" Potter finished, sending an incredibly powerful disarming curse, causing Tom to stumble back.

Potter caught the wand easily, but he didn't lower his own, keeping it steadily leveled at Tom's chest. The entire class gawked silently, their heavy breathing the only audible sound.

"Well," Professor Merrythought said eventually, causing several startled eyes to dart in her direction. "Well. It was a very impressive duel, boys, but you were supposed to be practicing the Levicorpus jinx. Mister Potter, would you lower your wand?"

And just like that, the boy blinked, his wand dropping a few inches, his face going slack with shock. He suddenly groaned, turning away from the duel with a hand to his forehead, clamping over his scar.

Tom was furious. Normally he would swear revenge, except that he'd forced Potter to duel him, and everyone had seen them. If Tom took any private vengeance, there would always be those who suspected him as the one responsible, a sore loser and a coward.

Loathe as he was to admit it, he recognized the disarming spell as a much more dignified loss than being dangled in the air, and his rage increased tenfold when he realized that he owed Potter a debt.

But no, Potter had tricked him; he'd deliberately misled Tom into thinking him an incompetent duelist, and he had been the one to suggest wagering on the outcome. And Tom should have won, except for the idiotic restrictions of the ministry-

"Mr. Potter?" Professor Merrythought's voice cut through his rage. She and the rest of the class ogled not at him but at Potter, whose face paled a terrible white, a clammy sweat trickling down his neck.

"Why am I angry?" Potter asked anxiously, lips taut and conflicted. He pressed on his scar until his knuckles grew white. "I love him, I shouldn't be angry-"

The professor furrowed her brow at that. "Mr. Potter, the love potion seems to be causing you distress. Why don't you go to the hospital wing?"

"I can take him, Professor," Tom cut in smoothly, but she looked undecided at his offer.

"It seems like he's fighting its effects, perhaps someone else..." she trailed off, looking between the two boys hesitantly. She sent Tom an apologetic glance; she valued him as her prize student, no surprise, but she also had a level head, and knew not to trifle with the messy art of potions.

"I believe I can fix the problem," Tom explained with quiet humility, just the right amount of hesitance in his voice. "The duel just got a bit out of hand, and it incensed...strong, conflicting emotions, which cause pain for the victim. I simply wish to apologize and relieve the conflict, but given his...condition, privacy would be appreciated, Professor."

"You mean well, Tom," Professor Merrythought said uncertainly. "But the love potion will affect his emotions, won't they? I'm not sure if you should apologize to him in this condition..."

Tom suppressed his already significant irritation, his eyes flickering briefly over to check on Potter, checking to ensure that the boy paid them no mind. The professor adored Tom, this was true, but she also liked Potter, given his quiet demeanor and talent for the class. She would feel certain that Tom only had the best of intentions, but a part of her would doubt; even the most mild-tempered and brilliant of students must have occasional spats, she would think. She wouldn't want the boy "manipulated" by the potion into forgiving Tom prematurely when she didn't know what had prompted the disagreement. Tom didn't know what prompted Potter's sudden vexation, but he could reassure the professor easily enough.

Tom lowered his head, rubbing the side of his neck, feigning embarrassment. He spoke with deliberate hesitance.

"Professor, it's just..." Tom glanced at the boy, and then looked quickly away, as if shy and embarrassed. "He was angry because I refused to kiss him, you see. It's not his fault, of course, and he's actually rather understanding for someone influenced by a love potion. But I'm sorry to say that I was a bit short with him, and then the duel...If I could only apologize, and explain to him why...Well, you see. He would understand, I'm sure, it's just a bit..."

"Oh," Professor Merrythought said, flushing a bit. "Oh. I see. Yes. Yes, that would cause some conflict, wouldn't it? He wants to...But he can't...yes, perhaps you should speak to him."

"Thank you, Professor," Tom said, pulling up his lips into a relieved smile. He moved towards Harry, placing a subtle hand on his back, urging him away.

"Of course, of course," she said, waving a hand at them dismissively. "Take as long as you need. Oh!" she paused, giving Tom a kindly look. "And Tom, don't feel pressured to do anything you wouldn't want to. Just remember that Potter will understand your refusal, and will probably even thank you for it, when the potion wears off."

As if someone could force him into anything he didn't want to do.

"Of course, Professor," Tom said, not a hint of anger in his voice as he led Potter out the classroom door.

ooo

Note: Tom defeated Dolohov in this verse, but Harry beat Antonin Dolohov (who's considered extremely skilled) and Lucius in the Department of Mysteries.

What will happen next chapter? What will happen indeed... hahahahahahaha