Where Steel and Water Collide
Chapter I
[Third Person]
Sunday, 12 November 1944
She sat at her usual table at the Three Broomsticks, the booth in the back-left hand corner. It was smaller than the others, and therefore cozier. She had a stack of three books piled in front of her, and her quill leapt across the page hungrily. Her best friend, Blanche Mayfield, sat across from her with a muggle magazine called The New Yorker perched upon her knees, which were drawn up in a very unladylike fashion as her back rested comfortably against the wall.
Diana Tierney sat at her usual table at the Three Broomsticks furiously scribbled away at her Charms essay, which was due the upcoming Monday. It was rare that Diana managed to fully understand a Charms lesson, let alone essay prompt, the first time she comes into contact with the material. This time she was lucky. She had always specialized in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions, finding the material to be a bit more exciting Charms and Herbology. Not that the latter two subjects were boring…
She was what some teachers preferred to call brilliant. She always had been, even during her early childhood when her instructors were snooty French tutors who couldn't stand her snarky attitude. The problem with growing up brilliant is that it's hard to come to terms with the subjects that happen to show off your faults. She didn't hate Charms and Herbology—in fact, compared to the majority of students, Diana was fairly well off in the subjects. She hated that she had to try to do well. When one has to try to do well in a subject, little room is left for outside research.
For instance, her knack for DADA has allowed her to conduct her own research projects into the origins of forbidden spells while her classmates were busy finishing the latest assignment. Her proficiency in Transfiguration led her to quietly pursue the idea of becoming an Animagus. She has read everything there is to read on the subject, but her anxiety over getting caught is overwhelming her rebellious nature. She knows for a fact that she would be able to pull it off, though.
With a victorious swoosh, the Charms essay was done and quickly pushed aside, only to be replaced by Diana's forehead on the worn wood of the old table. A sigh pushed past her lips and rebounded off of the surface and back into her face. Butterbeer didn't smell as good coming out as it tasted going down, that's for sure.
"Ah, you've finished!" Blanche's magazine slammed, quite noiselessly, down onto the table in her excitement. "Now we can actually experience our Hogsmeade trip instead of wasting away our days in this God forsaken bar."
Diana responded tiredly, face still pressed into the dark mahogany surface, "In Britain, we call them taverns or pubs. You Americans with your bars, and your speakeasies, and your moonshine."
"I'll have you know that prohibition was repealed in the 1930s."
"You still called this wonderful place a bar," Diana was now facing Blanche with a serious expression, "The Three Broomsticks serves food."
"Bars serve food!"
"The Three Broomsticks allows minors."
"Pssh, so will bars."
"Yanks."
"Brits."
Their staring contest ended when Blanche, as always, couldn't control her laughter. Diana cracked a large smile and began packing her satchel, hoping to get to the candy shop before all of the good chocolate was gone.
The two left the pub in a hurry, both looking forward to stocking up on sweets before the bitter cold hit their small corner of the world and they wouldn't want to venture out on Hogsmeade weekends anymore. When they finally reached the shop, they were relieved to find their favorite candies still in stock.
"I sincerely hope that you won't judge me for the sheer amount of chocolate I'm going to buy today," said Diana wistfully as she glanced down at her nearly-full shopping basket.
"I won't judge you as long as you don't give me that disapproving look that you're so good at when you see the 20 pounds' worth of jelly beans that I'm stuffing into this basket right now," Diana giggled at her friend's admission, picturing such a tiny girl trying to carry the store's entire collection of jelly beans.
"You know, my dear Blanche, in Britain we use kilograms."
"You know, my dear Diana, I don't give a damn."
A soft gasp emanated from the direction of the payment counter and both girls let out peals of laughter. They met at the cashier and paid quickly before strolling out the door and towards their castle-turned-school. It was early October and a biting chill was already in the air, but it was nothing to the two seasoned seventh years who wore only light jackets and scarves. Their walk was accompanied by a few other late-returning groups, but everyone mostly kept to themselves. The two got mysteriously quiet as they passed a group of seventh year Ravenclaws, before bursting into laughter the second they were (presumably) out of earshot. They carried on giggling, arm-in-arm, until they passed the threshold into the warm embrace of their second-home.
"Is Neal trying out for the team this year?" Blanche inquired as she unwrapped the scarf from around her neck. The school was a sauna compared to the outside world.
"He's planning on it." Diana was unbuttoning her jacket, cold fingers numbly working their way through the task, "It should be a lot easier than last year, now that half the team graduated. Dad is very excited about the prospect of having a son on the team."
"Well, good for Neal." A mischievous smile appeared on Blanche's face as she considered something quietly. The girls had seated themselves in the Great Hall and were ready for what was sure to be a delicious feast.
"You should let him know that Zelda has always had a thing for athletes."
Diana choked slightly on her pumpkin juice as she tried to contain her laughter. She had almost forgotten about her brother's monstrous crush on her best friend's sister. She wiped at her mouth with a cloth napkin and cleared her throat.
"For some reason, I don't believe that will do anything to quell his nerves. In fact, I believe that a revelation like that would only serve to make the poor boy even more nervous. He already has the pride and honor of our," at this point, Diana adopted a rather shrill impression of her mother, "old and noble, might I remind you pureblooded, family name."
Diana cleared her throat again and smiled somewhat teasingly, turning to look at her little brother who was telling his fifth-year friends what looked to be a rather exciting and rousing story, which was surely an exaggerated retelling of his adventure in the Black Forest the summer before.
"I doubt he could handle that kind of added stress."
Suddenly, food appeared upon the long, lovingly battered table and the first years gasped as if the same thing hadn't been happening every night for the last month. Right before Diana stood a wonderful looking glazed ham, and next to it a fluffy pile of mashed potatoes that she dug into immediately. Oh, if her ever-so prim and proper mother could see her now. What her mother doesn't understand is that Diana's House, Slytherin, consists mostly of young boys who feel particularly entitled to the obscene amounts of food that the house elves prepare every morning, noon, and evening. Essentially, Diana is just trying to survive, and sometimes survival requires one to abandon manners for a moment.
After making a mountain of food that would put even the American Mount. Denali to shame, Diana glanced down the table at the first years, easily spotting her sister Evelyn. Young, bright, ambitious, and completely brain-washed Evelyn. The cute little eleven-year-old girl who believes everything that Gloria Tierney, her mother, says and ignores everything that Diana says. The littlest of the Tierney kids, and the one that the elder Tierney children can't help but worry about.
There's no question that Evelyn can take care of herself. When Evelyn was six, the little neighbor boy pulled her pigtails and stomped on her favorite doll. In return, Evelyn launched a full-fledged attack on the boy's yard toys. The girl is a gifted strategist at a very young age. No, the elder Tierney children aren't worried for Evelyn's safety. They're worried about her greed for power, and her desire to impress her mother in every way. She's going to grow into an incredibly talented young woman, and Diana and her brothers would be proud if only she were on their side. Granted, Evelyn isn't even aware that her siblings aren't on her side, but if she did…
Diana doesn't like to think about the consequences.
Now, she isn't afraid of her younger sister, but she is afraid of the wrath of her mother, who isn't afraid to squeeze a little too hard or let go with a little too much force when she isn't getting her way with her children. Gloria Tierney is a force to be reckoned with, who, when asked, would say that she only wants what's best for her children. What she doesn't mention is that "what's best" can only be defined by her dogmatic wishes.
Shaking out of her reverie, Diana turned back to her food and dug in, and soon her eyes were closed in both satiation and gratitude. The dinner passed rather quietly. The girls were the type of friends who could spend hours together reading in a small room without exchanging a single word. They had been nearly inseparable since their first Potions class during their fourth year. Blanche was a new student who'd moved over from the Colonies, and Diana wasn't really close to anyone in her House other than Neal, and he very well wasn't attending Potions with the fourth years. Anyway, Blanche was late to class because it was her first day and Hogwarts is a practically insurmountable maze for anyone who hasn't had a few weeks to get the lay of the land. Diana happened to be sitting next to an open seat. One thing led to another, and the girls haven't even considered parting since.
A minor problem arose when Diana realized that her new friend was a half-blood. She, personally, didn't take issue with that fact, but she knew her mother would. There was a week near the beginning of their friendship when Diana became slightly stand offish, but Blanche is an American, and therefore not one to just sit around and wait for an explanation. Diana was cornered after their Transfiguration class and persuaded into "spilling the beans." In the end, they laughed it off.
Blanche was used to blood politics and wasn't afraid of Gloria Tierney.
Diana was just glad her friend understood that she, Diana, wasn't a blood purist.
Soon, the food trays, bowls, and plates magically disappeared from the table just the way they came. Students stood, slowly so as not to jostle the still-settling food in their stomachs and trickled out of the Great Hall. Diana could feel her eyes drooping rather sleepily, and she was glad that she'd already gotten all of her homework out of the way. Her hands were placed on top of Blanche's shoulders as she guided her smaller friend through the masses of students. Typically, Blanche would be able to get along just fine, but she'd pulled out her copy of The New Yorker again and was engrossed in a long feature piece on something or another.
Finally, the Slytherins made it to their portrait, and Tom Riddle's voice pierced above the quiet murmurings of the crowd as he announced the password, "Grindylow."
It took no time at all for Diana to fall asleep that night, lulled by the serene green tint of the dormitory and the gossipy whispers of the other girls.
[Diana]
Thursday, 16 November 1944
Students who aren't in the notorious "Slug Club" are always making comments about how wonderful it would be to take part in the parties that Horace Slughorn throws for his favorite students. When these comments are directed at me, I tend to roll my eyes and try to change the subject. My parents were honored to hear that I, like my brothers before me, had been invited to join the ranks of "many auspicious students from noble families," and I suppose that I thought it was pretty cool at first, but I quickly realized that the events were no more than Slughorn's attempt to collect students as means to impress his colleagues.
In fact, there is nothing quite as boring as a Slug Club meeting. Sitting in one now, all I can think about is how slowly minutes seem to change over as I desperately await a polite time to make my leave. Everyone else seems to be in various states of boredom, other than the newly minted first years who still bear the naïve excitement that comes with receiving free food and trinkets from a professor. As my eyes take inventory of the new members, I see that Slughorn's thinly veiled prejudices remain intact. While he wouldn't necessarily join the ranks of Grindelwald's forces, Slughorn isn't exactly subtle about his opinions on blood politics. Polite, but frank, is a great way to put it. For him, it's a matter of fact that non-pureblooded witches and wizards will never be capable of mastering magic as completely as purebloods can manage.
Part of my disdain for these meetings is derived from the fact that Blanche is not allowed to attend. Other than the Christmas party when plus-ones are allowed, meetings are for members only and that's that.
My eyes lazily flick towards Tom Riddle only to realize that he'd been staring, again. It took all my strength not to make a face at the king of snobbery. He acts as if there's some kind of personal vendetta, which is crazy since we've only ever exchanged polite words at these damn meetings and barely a sentence or to outside of them regarding homework or house business. Of course, Riddle never glares or sneers, nor does he go out of his way to be rude, but I get the distinct impression that his careful study of my movements is less out of admiration and more so out of calculation.
Why, when I catch his eyes across the room, do I feel like I'm being hunted?
The only reason I can fathom for his attention is the fact that we've always been competitors in terms of academics. Maybe he's confused by the fact that I'm a girl, I wouldn't put it past most of the men of Hogwarts to be so easily confounded by a woman's intelligence. As we've learned with Slughorn, politeness does not negate prejudice. If anything, it makes it more dangerous.
I break eye contact first, not willing to provoke the one student at Hogwarts who has actually managed to form a gang. He might have the professors fooled with his story about how communities need to work together to keep each other safe, and other hogwash relating to how his friends are like a network of hand-selected prefects of his own, but the rest of us know exactly what the group gets up to at their midnight meetings. Latent yearnings for joining Grindelwald, no doubt. Judging by the way they methodically bully "impure" students, it's only a hop, skip, and a leap to full-fledged hate crimes.
Finally, the clock strikes 10 in the evening, and our bi-weekly Thursday night meeting comes to a close.
As usual, Slughorn remarks that the time has "flown by," and mistakes our eagerness to leave as a vigor for getting ahead in our academics.
"I wish you all could stay, but I know you wish to return to your dorms and study away," Slughorn says with a wink and gestures towards the door. "Don't forget to take some candy on your way out."
I pride myself on my restraint, but who turns down free candy? I grab a few wrapped chocolate truffles before making my way out the door, unwrapping the first as I strode down the corridor towards the dorm. For the most part, Slughorn's meetings are an imposition but at least it's only a short walk from the Slytherin common room. The same cannot be said for members from the other houses. I pity the Ravenclaw students who essentially have to hike from the dungeon, the lowest point of the school, to their tower, which is close to, if not, the highest.
Right as I part my lips to give the password, a deep voice beats me to it. I am not sure exactly how close behind me he is, but Riddle is definitely too close for comfort. As soon as the passage is open, I break into an undignified scurry, surely to the chagrin of my peer.
"Diana," he says with an authority that I should expect from His Pompousness.
I stop and turn to face him, hopefully with a look that delicately balances on the line between impatient and apathetic. I'm interested in what he has to say, but I don't want him to know that alarm bells of curiosity are firing off in my head.
"I will be away from school for a week and I will require catching up when I return," our eyes are locked intensely, and for some reason I feel like he doesn't want me to ask him why he'll be away from school. Luckily for him, I don't really care. "Would you mind going over the concepts and letting me look over your notes? Hopefully this isn't too much to ask, but you're the only Slytherin, possibly the only student, that I trust to take faithful notes and understand the content of the courses, in addition to having all of the same classes."
Strange that Riddle couldn't just get one of his lackeys to pay more attention for one week out of the school year, but alas they all do seem rather dense. If not dense, then definitely uninterested in the rigorous academics that students on the auror track are expected to complete. Equally strange that I'm only realizing now that Riddle and I are preparing for the same career.
"Alright, Tom," I break eye contact and glance out one of the windows only to be met with the familiar dark green void of the lake at night. "I don't see why not. We can meet here in the common room when you get back, just send me a note with the time."
Without further ado, or the chance for a reply, I turn and make my way toward the girls' dorm. My feet feel like lead as I climb the stairs, and I can't wait to drop heavily into my bed and succumb to sleep. It was smart to make sure all of my homework was finished prior to the meeting since it means I can rest easy before Friday. Luckily, it's a shorter day as most of my classes are concentrated towards the beginning of the week. Friday means an hour of Transfiguration, an hour of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and then an hour and a half of our seminar on becoming an auror. At the turn of the semester, the class will become a practicum where we actually participate in the department as long-distance interns and help with cases. The seminar is taught by various senior aurors from the department who rotate the classes so that they can balance teaching with work. So far, they've all been incredible to learn from, and needless to say, the prospect of doing practical work with them is exciting.
Finally, comfortably cocooned in my bed I'm quick to fall asleep, and morning arrives far too soon.
I wake up to the soft notes of Billie Holidays crooning voice, and I know that Blanche is awake, and our roommates are long-gone. She only pulls out her enchanted record player and the good muggle music when the stuck-up socialites we room with are out of earshot. The melody caresses my exhausted brain as I slowly make my way out of bed and into the bathroom. Blanche is in one of the three shower stalls, so I take the one next to hers and turn the knob to scalding before going back to my trunk to gather clothes while the water warms. Once the clothes are folded and organized on the small stool next to the shower, I strip and step inside. Luckily, the water pressure at Hogwarts is perfect and the water itself is always the exact temperature, though it's unclear whether this is due to magic or superior plumbing.
The beauty of seventh year lies in the change in scheduling. As we prepare for adulthood, we're given more leeway in the way classes are arranged and we often have more free time to accompany longer, more challenging courses. I have two classes on Fridays, but they're longer and mostly consist of applying techniques. I'm most grateful for the fact that the first doesn't start until 11am, so those of us who struggle with mornings have more time to wake up in the morning.
The late start time also allows me to take a long, relaxing shower. Soon, Blanche and I are both singing along to the music as we get ready for our day. We dress, magically dry each other's hair, honestly one of the most useful spells we have been able to master. Then, off to grab the last scraps from breakfast in the Great Hall. Blanche has her magazine out again, reading another article that I haven't been able to catch the name of, but she seems frustrated.
"I hate this God damn war, Di." She closed her magazine with a snap and her eyes quickly found Diana's, "Alby's on the Western front, now. He rarely sends letters, but we know where he is and that he's still alive."
My heart drops at the mention of her brother, Alby, who is fighting for the Allied forces against Germany and its cohort. He's 21, the same age as my oldest brother Cedric, and he has the same propensity for loyalty and patriotism. He joined the United States Army right out of school, coordinating with the MACUSA in order to organize a division of magically inclined soldiers who would be placed strategically across the different fronts to combat magical forces on the other side. The one time I met him, Christmas of last year, he looked so exhausted by the horrors he'd seen that I simultaneously wanted to give him a hug and a quiet room with a comfy bed. I noticed that the only touch he didn't flinch away from was his mother's, and I know that the whole family is constantly thinking of him and his precarious position.
I hope to never understand the trials and dangers of war as intimately as Alby and his generation of young men and women who have dedicated their lives to the protection of others, but with the current international political climate in the wizarding world I know that violence is all but unavoidable. The muggles have their Hitler, attempting to systematically wipe out the "inferior" groups of Europe, and we have our counterpart in Grindelwald, who would have all the muggles enslaved for the betterment of wizard-kind.
"I'm so sorry, Blanche," we walked silently for a moment. "Is there no convenient way to contact him? I assume the issue is not knowing exactly where he is, otherwise, you or your parents would be able to send a patronus."
"It's impossible, Di, he's always moving around. They're so spread thin trying to protect the muggles from the wizards and magic on the other side. They're fighting two wars: the bigger, international conflict that threatens all citizens of the world and then the sub-conflict that threatens the lives of unsuspecting muggle soldiers. It's awful."
I shake my head and lose myself thinking about the ways that magic could be exploited to destroy those who aren't even aware of its existence.
"I can't even imagine, Blanche."
The nearly empty platters of food that had been laid out before us disappears, signaling the end of breakfast and the imminence of our Transfiguration lesson. We leave our seats with large shoulder bags in hand, slowly making our way to Dumbledore's classroom. The morning that had begun so well with music and relaxation adopts a cautious, gloomy tone. Soon, we, too, would have to find our place in the ever so chaotic and violent world of adults.
Once sat down in the classroom, notes and supplies organized on the table, we anxiously await the distraction of Professor Dumbledore's charisma and the magic that would ultimately keep us alive in the years to come.
[Diana]
Friday, 17 November 1944
Transfiguration was as enlightening as always. Like many of my classmates, I admire Professor Dumbledore's ability to engage a room full of rowdy children. Of course, as young witches and wizards so close to adulthood, we're expected to be better behaved than the younger groups but sitting still for hours on end would put ants in anyone's pants, to steal one of Blanche's favorite phrases.
We had been learning about human transfiguration for the last few weeks. It was a difficult subject to master, and my notes were filled with detailed diagrams and highly specific notes on wand movement. I expected that being able to change one's own or the appearance of another would come in handy as an auror. For the last twenty minutes of our class, we were practicing on our partners under the watchful eye of the professor. The fact that he allowed us to practice advanced, dangerous spell work on our classmates was a testament to how much trust Dumbledore had in his young students. Or perhaps, it was irresponsible. Regardless, I was grateful for the opportunity for practical application. I felt beads of sweat collect at my brow as I concentrated on turning Blanche's long-fingered hand into the scaly, clawed phalanges of a lizard. So far, I'd only managed to coax light-green, shiny scales out of her skin.
Ever since first encountering the subject in some unassigned reading during my fourth year, I've been toying with the idea of becoming an animagus. There are countless uses for the skill, but the process is painful, and one must jump through many hopes to become one legally. Even as I manage to turn Blanche's hand into that of a large reptile, I question my ability to master the spells necessary to change my entire form with nothing more than a thought. With a flick of my wrist, her hand returns to its usual form with no difficulty, and I smirk. I always felt smug after learning a new skill, even if it proved how much of a dork I am. I glance up at Blanche, but she's too busy studying her hand to make sure it's completely back to normal. Then, I look to Professor Dumbledore, who dips his head at me in silent approval of my success. I can't help the blush that crawls across my cheeks—I can't resist praise from a beloved teacher. Finally, my eyes trail around the room and land on Sebastian Shea.
Oh, Sebastian. My crush since our third year. A Ravenclaw, star prefect, and the singular reason why, during mealtimes, I insisted on sitting so that I could face the dining hall rather than the wall. From his wavy, well-kept, shiny golden hair to his large, bright blue eyes to the rest of his Quidditch-toned form—I liked every bit of Sebastian Shea. Having spent so many classes with him over the years, I knew he was whip smart and he never failed to make the class laugh with a clever quip. Unfortunately, I'd never gathered the strength to speak to him. Not once in our seven years attending the same school. I'd always admired the way he defended helpless first years, and the ease with which he mediated between Houses. I had observed his love for any kind of lemon-flavored treat. I knew that his closest friend was Marcus Nickleby, and I could name every girl he'd dated with ease. These are the exact reasons why I could never, ever, ever speak to him in person. What if I let it slip that I'd been coveting him from afar for four whole years? He'd deem me crazy and probably never give me the time of day.
Blanche disapproved of my semi-stalking only because she believed I should buck up and ask him to Hogsmeade. She didn't understand that my mother would probably kill me for making the first move on a guy, and she also didn't understand that Sebastian, like any other proper British pureblooded boy, would be unnerved by that much moxie from a proper British pureblooded girl. When I hit her with my logic, Blanche would always scoff and roll her eyes, as was her way. Soon, I was distracted from my observations as it was time to move onward to our Defense Against the Dark Arts class. My love for Professor Dumbledore would never change the fact that DADA was my favorite class at Hogwarts.
Professor Merrythought wasn't particularly mind-blowing in her teaching style, but the fact that she was a woman with enough formidable skill to teach defensive and offensive spells to young generations of witches and wizards was unbelievably admirable. A lot of students disliked her no-nonsense style, but I appreciated her straightforward teaching and that she didn't pick favorites. She also often went on rants against Grindelwald and his "deluded followers," and I couldn't help but approve. She was Blanche's favorite professor, and the two had spent many hours discussing the differences between the British and American educational and legal systems.
When we entered the classroom, I realized with unfettered glee that we would be dueling. I always loved a good duel. We also shared this class with Ravenclaw, and I derived a special joy from the thought of beating a haughty Ravenclaw in a duel of both wits and might. I could feel Blanche affectionately shaking her head at my excitement. I guess she had a point: was it strange that I balked at the idea of asking a boy on a date, but I would gladly knock one on his behind in a duel? I ignored the question I posed for myself and moved into the room. Stopping right before the dueling stage, I set down my things, removed my cloak, and rolled-up the sleeves of my white button-up shirt. My classmates did the same, and we waited for our professor to exit her office and join us on the classroom floor.
When she did, she carried with her a list. I assumed it was the list of pairings that she had devised for the duel. She usually did it beforehand and paired us with students who matched our abilities. This both decreased the likelihood of injuries while also allowing us to truly challenge each other. On most occasions, I would duel with Tom, considering our near-equal marks, but his absence from class was likely to throw a wrench in those plans, anyway. Maybe I really would get to knock a Ravenclaw on their arse. My interest piqued as I considered who she might pit me against that day.
"I'm aware that Mr. Riddle won't be joining us today," Professor Merrythought's gaze shifted to assess me where I stood amongst my classmates. If I had any less restraint, I'd be bouncing on the balls of my feet in anticipation. "You'll get a change of pace today, Miss Tierney." The corners of my mouth turned upward slightly in response.
"Yes. That seems to be the case, professor."
Before assigning our partners, Merrythought went over the same dueling rules that we had to abide by every time the ancient dueling stage was erected in the middle of the classroom. No intentional maiming, no unforgivables, no cheating—all things that you would expect for this kind of assignment.
"First, I'd like to see Miss Mayfield against Mr. Nickelby." My eyebrows rose at the pairing and I watched my friend ascend the carpeted stairs with grace. I recognized the playful look in her eyes, and, no offense to Marcus, I knew Blanche would eat the boy for breakfast.
The match was over in three blows. Marcus, surprisingly, hit Blanche with a Numbing Jinx right off the bat, but she didn't need her left arm to quickly respond in kind with a Jellylegs Jinx and disarm him half a second later. Her non-dominant hand hung limply at her side as she bowed to her audience. She approached Marcus and offered her hand, which he took, before hoisting him back onto his feet. Then she took the stairs quickly and popped up next to my side. I could see Merrythought hiding her smile as she took down notes behind her desk, which stood parallel to the stage. She didn't pick favorites, but it was clear that she was delighted when the young witches in her classes showcased their considerable strengths.
Marcus took the loss fairly well, and he descended the opposite stairs with his head held high after he accepted Blanche's peace offering. His friends gave him some playful shoves, but it seemed like he couldn't take his eyes off of my precocious best friend. I filed that information away for future use.
"Alright. I didn't expect that to go so quickly, Blanche," Merrythought shot my friend a jokingly disapproving look before turning back to her list. "Next, I'd like to see Miss Tierney and Mr. Shea."
I immediately froze at the idea of dueling my crush of four years, but, I think, I recovered quickly. Shaking off my minor nerves, I approached the stage and climbed the stairs. Once I was in position, I met Sebastian's mesmerizing blue eyes. They reminded me of a bright cerulean sky following a tempestuous storm. Their depths seemed to bore into my own, and I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking—did my eyes affect him as his own affected me? I doubted it. My own eyes, a simple hazel, were nothing to sneeze at. They didn't contain nearly the same tonal variety, nor did they sparkle when I laughed or brighten under the warm candlelight of the Great Hall. I blinked.
We raised our wands, bowed, and then turned to take our paces. I waited anxiously for Merrythought's count. I breathed in deeply, just once, and collected my thoughts. I didn't care that he was handsome, I didn't care that he was intimidating, and I really didn't care that a duel was our first face-to-face interaction.
On "one," I turned swiftly on my heel. I was glad to be proficient in non-verbals, as it allowed me to take him by surprise. A pressurized jet of water spurted forth from my wand as a result of my silent Aguamenti Charm.
He seemed to be struck dumb by my speed. Good. I didn't have much to thank Tom Riddle for, but speed was necessary when dueling with a boy who seemed to know everything. Before Sebastian could collect himself, I hit him with a strong Ventus Jinx. He grunted as the spiraling cone of wind hit him directly in the chest and pushed him backward a few paces. I was about to deal a final blow before disarming him when he dug in his heels and bellowed, "Alarte Ascendare!"
I was thrown off of my feet and into the air, but I was prepared for this kind of attack. I was used to creative spellcasting, and I threw my wand arm over my head, pointing the tip of my wand at my own body, in order to cast a Levitation Charm. Once I had my body under control, I remained in the air to throw Fumos, a smokescreen. With Sebastian thoroughly blinded for a moment, I lowered myself to the ground. I could see his silhouette through the smoke, as his back was to the wall of the classroom that was lined with windows. All the natural light cast a shadow that indicated his position. I used this to my advantage and took aim. His wand flew through the air and into my waiting hand, and that was all I needed to dissipate the smoke. A few of my classmates waved their hands in front of their faces, coughed, or rubbed their irritated eyes. I cringed at the idea of causing them discomfort, but I figured they would recover. Turning to the crowd, I bowed, before approaching Sebastian and returning his wand as they gave polite applause.
"Well-played, Sebastian," I shook his hand, "I always enjoy a duel that keeps me on my toes." I could feel my cheeks starting to burn and I quickly released his hand. Soon, I was taking my place beside Blanche once again. I kept my eyes forward, assessing Merrythought for some form of approval (I received only a small smile), and refused to even glance at Sebastian for the rest of class.