Chapter 24 – Tournaments
The days after the Quidditch match were not good ones for the Slytherin Quidditch team, and more specifically for a certain ponce. Owning bragging rights for the annual Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match was always welcome, and Harry made certain to let Malfoy know who won the match as often as possible. That he never said or insinuated anything overtly did nothing to assuage the blond's anger—the sly smirks and knowing glances alone ensured that he wore a permanent scowl. In this, of course, Harry was joined by Ron, the Weasley twins, Lee Jordan, the three Gryffindor chasers, and just about every other male—or female!—in Gryffindor with any interest whatsoever in Quidditch.
Hermione and Fleur were not impressed as such with his theatrics, but Harry was undeterred and unconcerned. Yes, his behavior was smug and could not be deemed as sportsmanlike—nor was it a particularly likeable character trait—but Harry knew that Malfoy and the Slytherin team would have been so much worse if it had been they who had won the match. And Malfoy deserved it—oh did he deserve it!
The end of the Quidditch match refocused Harry attentions back to the leadership of the defense club, and more specifically, how to cater to the different competence levels of its members. One could not teach seventh-years in the same manner in which fourth-years and younger were taught, after all. Even more, it was often very difficult to determine exactly at what level each of the club members was, and he was wary of not insulting anyone by assuming they were less competent than they actually were.
He was grumbling about this fact the night after the Quidditch match when Fleur made a suggestion, more to stop his whining, he thought, than for any real concern over the problem. Hermione and Fleur had both told him repeatedly that he was over-thinking the issue and that things were progressing well.
"Why don't you have a tournament?"
Surprised, Harry gazed at Fleur, wondering to what, exactly, she was referring.
Fleur rolled her eyes and turned her full attention on her betrothed. "Harry, you keep complaining about the various levels of everyone in the club and how you don't really have a chance to observe everyone while they are all practicing at the same time. If you hold a tournament, not only will you be able to watch everyone in action—and in a simulated combat situation—but the results should tell you something about how everyone is doing."
"That's a good idea!" Hermione enthused. "There are some drawbacks, but it would certainly help."
"It might," Harry conceded. "But how would we handle it? The logistics are a little difficult to pull off."
"It's not like it's a professional tournament," Ron chimed in.
"Ron's right, Harry," said Hermione. "You could do a rough ranking based on what we've seen in the club meetings so far, and then create a tournament tree, and go from there. I think everyone would be excited about it too!"
"We'd have to separate out the younger years," Harry mused. "It wouldn't be fair for… Astoria Greengrass, for example, to have to duel Lee Jordan."
"I'll ask you to leave my sister out of this, Potter," Daphne chimed in with a severe glare, which was compromised immediately by the wink she directed at him.
Harry just waved her off.
"Then hold two separate tournaments, one for the younger years, and one for the older," said Fleur. "You could separate them at fourth year—first through fourth and fifth through seventh."
It did seem like a good idea, and to the amusement of everyone at the table, Harry dove right into it. With the assistance of Hermione's ever-present store of parchment and quills, he immediately set to work drawing up a list of rough rankings of everyone in the club, followed by a rough tournament tree. The difficulty, of course, was coming up with a fair and equitable method of scheduling the matches.
Fortunately, however, and through a strange quirk of fate, they ended up with almost exactly the right number of participants to run a tournament. There were eight fourth-years and under, which made for a perfectly proportional tree, and 34 fifth-years and up, which gave them two extra. Of course, as Harry was planning on refereeing and not participating, he did not count himself, and Fleur also offered to remove herself so she could assist him in judging the skill levels of the participants. This left them with the perfect number.
The rankings were, unsurprisingly, dominated to a large extent with the seventh-years, who were all ranked in the top ten, while the fifth-years largely rounded out the lower tiers. Of course there was some variance, and in certain instances lower years ranked above their higher-year classmates, but that was the general trend. Of course his friends pitched in to assist, though Harry had the final word in the rankings, which generated no little amount of comment from the group of friends.
"Harry, why did you rank me lower than Fred?" George, Harry assumed, protested at one point.
"He's got it right, Gred," Fred responded. "Everyone knows I'm the talented one. You're the inventive one." Fred tapped his finger against his lips for a moment in thought, before saying, "Of course, I'm pretty inventive too, so I guess that makes me the dominant twin."
"So says you," said George with a roll of his eyes. "I'm well-known as being gifted, incredibly handsome, not to mention devastatingly dapper."
"I think someone's got a bit of a swelled head," Hermione said in a stage whisper,
Fleur giggled by her side, while George grumped at having his heroic image ruined. The rest of the group laughed at the interplay.
"What I don't understand, Harry," Hermione spoke up, "is why you've got Cormac and Alice Tolipan ranked so low." Alice was a sixth-year from Ravenclaw house, and a friend of Cho and Marietta.
Harry snorted with some scorn. "Cormac is a braggart who has a higher opinion of himself than anyone has a right to. As for Alice, sometimes I wonder if she even knows which end of her wand is which."
This, of course, earned him a smack from Hermione. "That's not very nice!"
"But he does have a point," said Fleur. "Cormac is all words and no action and while Alice is very nice girl, she seems to have a little difficulty picking up the spells at times."
"What I'm not sure about is why you ranked me lower than Hermione," Ron said.
Harry turned and regarded his friend. Ron was to a certain extent joking, he thought. But at some level, he was also still somewhat insecure.
"These are just rough rankings, Ron," Harry replied. "I think you and Hermione are actually very close, but I ranked her higher because she knows lots of hexes."
"But what about my skill at strategy?" Ron said, his voice almost approaching a whine.
"Ron, an ability to play chess doesn't really have a lot to do with real world strategy," said Fred.
Ron appeared perplexed. "What do you mean?"
"Honestly, Ron," his brother replied again, "each of the pieces in chess has rigidly defined moves, and you can't make it do anything else. Real people and real battle situations are not like that."
"Your skill in chess will not be all that useful in a duel," added George. "You have to rely on your instincts, spell knowledge, ability to cast, among other things, not on knowing which way a piece might move on a chessboard."
Looking thoughtful, Ron nodded. Harry knew that Ron was aware of this, he was also sometimes a little too impressed with his prowess at the board game. A little humility for anyone was a good thing, he decided.
That Wednesday, the club gathered together in the Room of Requirement as usual, but more than a few looks were directed at the large dueling platform which Harry had placed in the center of the room. There were no comments, however—the participants merely sat in their chairs as usual, and waited for the club to start.
It was a quirk of the room, perhaps—or maybe just how it had been designed—but the room was a little… overeager to give its occupants what they wanted. As a result, Harry had to specifically narrow the request to include only himself, and to further limit the room's changes to oral requests for the course of the evening. Otherwise, the platform might disappear, to be replaced with who knew what, and likely at a most inopportune time.
When Professor Flitwick arrived, Harry was reminded exactly how excitable the little professor truly was. Upon hearing of their plan to have a tournament that week, he immediately launched into some stories about his time as a professional dueler, and began dispensing advice, not only with respect to how to gain the upper hand on an opponent, but also how to referee a match properly.
"You must give clear instructions from the beginning, Mr. Potter," he had enthusiastically advised. "The rules must be clearly understood if you want to stay in control of the combatants. And be decisive in your decisions as a judge of the match—it is the only way the duelers will respect you. Otherwise, they will argue your decisions until you are ready to hex them to get them to stop."
Now, as the half-goblin professor stepped into the room and smiled at them, Harry could only be amused. His respect for the professor's knowledge and skill, however, was unquestioned. Professor Flitwick was a font of information, and very passionate about his instruction, in more ways than one.
At the appointed time, Harry stood and surveyed the group, noting the looks of curiosity etched on the faces of the assembled—minus those of his immediate group, of course, who knew what was happening that night—not to mention the slight sneer and unfriendly frown which Roger Davies had customarily sent in his direction the past few weeks. Ignoring the suddenly cold Ravenclaw, Harry addressed the club.
"Welcome to everyone. Tonight we have a special activity planned." Harry turned and pointed at the platform. "Tonight, we will have a dueling tournament."
"Trying to remind everyone of your 'prowess' in the Tri-Wizard last year, are you?"
Roger spoke disdainfully.
Harry ignored him. "This will give us a chance to see everyone in action and tailor our future meetings for everyone's benefit. Hermione?"
At Harry's gesture, Hermione stood and waved her wand. On the far wall a large poster board appeared with a pair of tournament trees marked on its surface.
"We've divided the group into two different tournaments," she explained, using her best lecturing voice, "one for the fourth-years and under, and one with fifth through seventh years. We've roughly estimated everyone's ranking and created the tree accordingly."
Harry once again took over the explanation. "As for tournament rules, we will continue on with the same rules we had in second year." There was more than one grimace from the older students at the reminder of the hapless Professor Lockhart, and his ill-fated dueling club. Harry explained further, "The two combatants will continue until one is unable to continue, either by being magically confined, or knocked unconscious. However, only disabling hexes are allowed—no disfiguring or otherwise injuring curses allowed. Remember, this is a test only."
"Why didn't you tell us about this last week?" Ernie Macmillan demanded.
"Because we only had the idea over the weekend," Fleur responded for Harry.
"Besides," Harry added, "the lack of preparation makes it a better test of everyone's ability. This way, you have to wing it."
Several thoughtful faces appeared in the group at Harry's words, and he smiled with satisfaction. It appeared that everyone, if not precisely looking forward to their duels, was at least coming around to the idea that they would be useful to measure their ability.
Indicating that the club members should find their names on the board, Harry gave them several moments to look over the tournament board. The room was filled with exclamations of where everyone was seeded, or those who voiced concern about who they were facing in the first round. Speculation also ran rampant, many students speaking of their opinion of how a certain match would end up, or how quickly a person would be defeated, among other things.
The speculation, however, was interrupted when a loud voice rang out over the room.
"Why isn't your name on the board, Potter?"
A quick glance at Roger revealed a glare, not to mention a certain self-righteous arrogance—a combination with which Harry was rightly becoming annoyed. Roger appeared more like Malfoy than ever at that moment. But Harry, who was decidedly not intimidated by Malfoy, would not be intimidated by Davies either, regardless of whatever his recent problem was.
"Because I lead the club," Harry replied, never taking his eyes from the Head Boy. "I'll be watching and taking notes on how everyone does. I can use that to help plan future club meetings."
"And I'll be helping him," added Fleur from his side. He noted her intent stare at the Ravenclaw, and wondered abruptly what was going with Roger. Though Roger had never been precisely friendly—being from a different house and year, Harry had never really had much to do with the other boy at all—Harry had never really had a problem with Roger before. His antipathy had only begun in the past week or two. But what was his problem? Nothing had happened between them of which Harry was aware, and the only person in Harry's group who really knew him was Fleur. Had something had happened between them?
Still, that was a matter for another time. Harry trusted Fleur and he knew her—she would never betray him by carrying on with Roger. And there was no reason for Roger to be angry at Harry if Fleur had dallied with him. There must be something else happening of which Harry was not aware.
"I think you just don't want to compete because you know you'll look bad," said the Ravenclaw contemptuously. "You'd show everyone here that you're not what your legend says you are."
"What's your problem, Roger?" asked Harry. "To the best of my knowledge we've never had any kind of disagreement or trouble with one another. Why are you suddenly so hostile? Could it be because Fleur is with me now?"
Roger's eyes flashed dangerously, but he merely snorted scornfully. "I just think you ought to put your reputation where your mouth is. Show your adoring fans just what you're made of. If you're not going to be involved yourself, then this tournament is a farce and I won't have anything to do with it."
A burst of murmurs sounded throughout the chamber as the Head Boy faced off against the leader of the defense club, but Harry ignored it. Professor Flitwick appeared to want to say something at that moment, but when Harry looked at him, he closed his mouth and watched the proceedings closely. Harry was the leader of the club and it was important for him to handle this challenge in his own way. Apparently the professor understood that. The look the Charms Professor directed at Davies, however, hinted at the fact that there was undoubtedly a very pointed conversation in Davies' very near future.
Harry turned his head to gaze at his betrothed, who was herself regarding Davies as though he was a very small and annoying insect. She turned to Harry and reading his question answered, "I can take Roger's place in the tournament."
"What good would that do?" scoffed the Head Boy, but not without a smoldering look at the Veela. His frank stare solved a few puzzles in Harry's mind—the boy was obviously either unhappy that he had been supplanted in Fleur's life, or was unhappy that he had not been given further consideration, and he now held it against Harry. "I'm confident in your competence, Fleur. I want Mr. Boy-Who-Lived here to live up to his own reputation."
"I'll tell you what, Roger," said Harry, "since you'd prefer not to participate in the tournament, I'll let you out of it—Fleur can slide into your place instead. She was my choice for first seed anyway."
A number of disbelieving murmurs caught Harry's attention, along with several audible, "but she wasn't very good in the tournament," type statements which made Harry's blood boil. He was not about to let this sort of talk continue.
"Fleur is one of the most talented and competent witches I have ever had the good fortune to know," he snapped, glaring at those who were questioning his betrothed. "She did very well in the first task, using her abilities to their best advantage. For those of you who do not understand Veela, she was at a severe disadvantage in the second task as it was under water. Veela have a natural affinity to fire, which was obviously suppressed in the lake. And in the third task she was attacked by another champion who was under the Imperius. I challenge any of you to do better."
"It's all right, Harry," Fleur soothed him. "I am not offended."
Harry gazed in her beautiful blue eyes and flashed her a crooked grin. "You don't have to be—I'll be offended in your place." It did not take a genius to note the pleasure in Fleur's eyes at Harry's staunch defense of her.
He turned his attention back to the club. "In any case, you'll be able to see her in action tonight. I'd lay better than even odds that she'll win the tournament."
The members of the summer training group all nodded—they had seen Fleur in action and knew of what she was capable. The rest of the group did not appear to be entirely convinced, but no one said anything further, assuming that Harry would not speak so confidently if he was not certain of what he was saying.
"While this is all very touching, it doesn't address my concern."
Turning back to Roger, Harry regarded him for several moments, identifying the scowl on Roger's face which appeared to be directed at Fleur's hand, which was now resting upon Harry's arm, very familiarly. Very slowly and deliberately, Harry removed the Veela witches hand from his arm and took it in his own, interlacing his fingers with hers, while favoring her with an affectionate smile. Harry had never been a tactile person—the only touches he had received from his relatives growing up had been a cuff when he had been too slow, or Dudley and his gang beating him up. A touch from a beautiful girl, however, was so much different.
Roger, apparently, got the point, as his scowl deepened and he glared at Fleur in an almost accusatory way. There was definitely a conversation with Fleur in the offing, given what he was seeing of Roger's displeasure.
"Fleur can take your place in the tournament, leaving you free to take me on," said Harry. "We'll run through the tournaments as they now stand. Then, if you're up to it, you and I can duel at the end. You'll have the chance to make me 'put my reputation where my mouth is.'"
Roger's smile grew almost feral. "You're on, little man."
Nothing further was said. Harry nodded tightly at Roger and turned to the rest of the group. "Now, let's get this started. We'll have the smaller tournament for the younger group first, then we'll switch to the older years."
"But Harry," said Parvati Patil, "we haven't had a chance to practice or anything."
"What have you been doing attending the club?" Harry asked. "The whole point of having you here is to prepare you for encounters in the real world. If a Death Eater attacks you, I doubt he'll stand aside while you come up with a plan of attack. This is similar. You must improvise."
"I'd prefer not to embarrass myself," Ernie Macmillan grumbled.
"Don't think of it that way," Harry admonished. "Yes this is a tournament. Yes there will be a winner, and half of you will lose your only match. But we're not here to try to embarrass anyone. Look on this as a learning experience instead."
"Sage advice, Mr. Potter," interjected Professor Flitwick. He had approached as Harry was dealing with Davies and the other club members, and was now watching the interaction very carefully. "All of you should remember what Mr. Potter says. I believe he is uniquely qualified to give this instruction, if half of the rumors of his adventures since arriving at Hogwarts are true."
Here he stopped and winked at a red-faced Harry. "And I can tell you that they are not embellished all that much indeed. I for one think that this idea of a tournament is splendid and will be a good test which will show you where you are and how you need to apply yourself to improve. Remember to try your best, but do not be discouraged if you do not win. I myself had to practice for hours every day to gain my skill. It will be no different for any of you."
With that, all protestations ceased and the attention turned toward the dueling platform. The main event was about to begin.
As there were only eight members of the DA who were fourth year and younger, there would only be seven total matches to determine a champion. Therefore, the first tournament was over very quickly. As the younger members were only in second year (Astoria Greengrass being the lone third-year in the club), they were quickly dispatched by the much more knowledgeable fourth-years, as Harry had expected.
And with fewer participants—and a much greater confidence in how they stacked up—things went more or less as Harry had expected them to. The only true surprise, if it could be called that, was when Colin Creevey defeated Romilda Vane, who Harry had had reversed in their rankings when he drew up the tree. Other than that, he was unsurprised when Ginny defeated Colin in one semi-final, while Luna defeated Greta White in the other, and then Ginny defeated Luna to become the champion of the lower years. Ginny was very handy with her wand, after all, and even her brothers were wary of her infamous Bat-Bogey Hex, not to mention her fiery temper and tendency to hex first and ask questions later.
After the young redhead had wrapped up her match by putting Luna in a body bind, the group cheered, which she accepted as gracefully as she was able, though her red face did almost match her hair. Harry could not miss the looks she was directing at him, and though he was not about to consider her as anything other than a little sister—even if he was not already tied to Fleur—he was more than willing to let her know how skillfully she had performed.
Joining her on the platform, Harry handed her a simple trophy he had had Dobby purchase for him earlier in the week. Hermione had already magically added her name to a plaque on the front of the trophy.
"Our winner!" he shouted, raising Ginny's hand in the manner he had seen done on the television, and especially in the home videos of Dudley's boxing matches. The members of the defense club cheered in response. "Good job, Ginny!"
Raising her hand and waving at the rest of the club, Ginny accepted their congratulations, and she and Harry stepped down from the platform. The second tournament was about to start.
With the older years, Harry was not nearly as confident with his rankings as he had been with the younger students. Not only were there four times as many students to rank, but the mix of years—more than half were fifth-years—made it difficult at times to judge between different club members. As soon as the board had been revealed, he was unsurprised to hear some grumbling due to the placement of some of the members. Cormac had been vocal about the fact that he should be ranked above most of the other sixth-years, though he was in fact seeded below several fifth-years, including Hermione and Ron, though Alice Tolipan—who Harry had noted was not especially skilled with her wand—appeared to accept her ranking with little comment.
Once they started, Harry concentrated on refereeing the matches and looking for the tendencies and skills they had talked about when they had begun planning. Immediately in the first match, Fleur had given a sign of what Harry had confidently proclaimed, by dispatching Lavender Brown very quickly. Of course Lavender, who had always seemed to be much more interested in makeup and boys than her wand, was not the most dangerous of opponents. Regardless, she accepted her defeat with some grace and thanked Fleur for showing her a few things, which Fleur graciously reciprocated with some advice and an admonishment to work hard to improve herself.
In the very next match, Harry's words about Cormac were proven to be prophetic, as he was bounced from the tournament by Michael Corner, who Harry felt was definitely one of the best of the fifth-years. Of course the arrogant prick was less than gracious in his defeat, claiming to all who would listen—no one in other words—that he had gone lightly on Michael, and that he would not even be touched if they were to have a rematch.
Hermione and Ron both survived their first matches, Hermione by taking out Zacharias Smith, while Ron defeated Padma Patil. For the rest of the matches, those Harry expected to win did, though Marietta's victory over Terry Boot was a near thing, and Daphne's defeat of Susan was also by the narrowest of margins. In all, the seventh-years all advanced to the second round, as did most of the sixth-years, with the exception of the aforementioned Cormac McLaggen—who took to pouting on the sidelines with an injured expression of petulance on his face—and Alice, who took her defeat much more philosophically.
It was the second round, however, which generated the greatest surprise of the evening. All of the remaining seventh-years advanced as expected, except for Lee Jordan who was taken down in stunning fashion by Hermione.
As her stunner knocked the affable seventh-year from the platform, a shocked silence descended over the room, and then the club erupted into cheers. Embarrassed, Hermione accepted the acclaim and left the platform to be pulled into a jubilant hug by Fleur. Lee, who rose to his feet groggily after being enervated, acknowledged, somewhat ruefully, that he had taken it easy on Hermione, who he saw as a bit of a younger sister. He would not hear anything of any suggestion that Hermione had won the match due to anything other than her own skill, congratulating her warmly, and promising her that he would not go so easy on her the next time.
There was almost another upset in the last match of the second round, though it would not have been as shocking as Hermione's triumph. Blaise Zabini, who Harry had pegged as having a lot of raw power but not a lot of finesse, was almost able to use his power to defeat Katie Bell. It was only through the girl's excellent tactics and her ability to draw the Slytherin into a trap which had enabled her to prevail. Thus, at the end of the second round, there were six seventh-years still standing, as well as Katie representing the sixth-years, and Hermione as the lone fifth-year still alive.
Hermione stood at the side of the dueling platform, playing with her wand nervously as she waited for her next chance to duel. Fleur had just defeated Alicia Spinet to move on to the semi-final round, while the next would feature Nigel against Angelina, in what was already being billed as the battle of the Johnsons.
Overall, Hermione was happy with the progress she had made. She had promised herself that she would improve her skills so that she would be able to help Harry, knowing that his propensity to discover trouble would mean that he needed good and competent friends at his back. She was progressing, she thought, though she would not have believed at the start of the tournament that she would be able to best an opponent two years her senior, in age, experience, and training. It felt good, though, to succeed and feel as though she was getting better. She wanted to impress Harry and be able to stand with him, and she felt she was making good progress toward that goal.
As Nigel and Angelina took their places on the platform, she found herself studying Harry as he initiated the match. He truly was coming into his own, she decided, and his competence and manners were only equaled by his humility. He had stood up to Roger in a dignified manner, never throwing Roger's accusations back into the git's face. Instead he had calmly faced his accuser, offering a solution to Roger's concern, and above all, refusing to rise to the bait.
In truth, Hermione suspected that Harry, even as a fifth-year, was likely superior in defense to anyone here, seventh-year or no. Yet Harry was not about to try to aggrandize himself or draw attention to himself. His understated confidence and humility was one of the most appealing traits he could possess—that trait was one of those which made up his character, and one which drew her possibly more than anything else. Well, that and his good looks, his compassion, his willingness to throw himself into danger for others—not that that particular trait did not give her fits at times—his ability to make her feel good about herself at any time…
Who was she kidding? She was in love with her best friend and had been for a long time. She had known it since the summer, but it was becoming more and more obvious that she would never find anyone so compatible with her as Harry was.
That, of course, was her dilemma. Harry was taken, and regardless of Fleur's invitation to allow her to have a relationship with Harry too, she was not certain if she could. She had been brought up to believe in the concept of monogamy, and this idea of sharing Harry was alien to her. She had thought about it in the intervening months—at times she did not think she had thought of much else!—but the inability to come to a decision was something which was generally not a part of her personality. And yet, she was still at a quandary.
Glancing over at Fleur, Hermione noted that the French witch was concentrating on the match, knowing that the winner would be her next challenge. Fleur did not seem to be bothered by the thought of sharing Harry with Hermione, and perhaps for her it was not so much of a difficult concept. She had been brought up to know that it was at the very least possible for her, after all. There were times, however, when she caught the French witch looking at them with an almost wistful expression. Hermione thought that she would not have chosen her course if Hermione had not been so close to Harry. If anything, it made Hermione admire her even more for her unselfishness and her determination to do anything to ensure Harry's happiness.
But the fact of the matter was that Hermione still did not know if she could do it—sharing her husband seemed likely to make her… jealous, at the very least, she supposed. It made sense did it not?
"Hermione," a hissing whisper at her side jolted her back to awareness of her surroundings.
She looked around and saw Ron regarding her closely. "Looks like someone's not paying much attention," he jibed, motioning to the contest on the platform.
"I'm facing George next," Hermione responded lamely, as though that explained everything.
"Perhaps," was Ron's dubious answer. "I just thought I'd give you a little advice."
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "Advice?"
"Yeah. George is my brother, you know. I've been at the business end of his wand more times than I'd care to admit."
"And?" Hermione pressed him.
"He's devious, but you already knew that. He'll try to lull you to sleep and then catch you with your pants down, and he's good at it. Just remember that George has a tendency to rely on his shielding more than dodging. You may be able to get a spell through if you cast quickly and overwhelm his shield."
Nodding, Hermione thanked Ron for his advice, noting that the previous match had ended with Nigel Johnson emerging as the victor. Once the applause had died out and Angelina had been revived from a stunner, Harry announced the next match and smiled at Hermione.
"Give it to him, Hermione."
"Oh my," George wailed theatrically, "little Harrikins is giving Hermy some pointers. Whatever shall I do?"
"Don't call me Hermy," Hermione growled at the twin, which earned her nothing more than an insolent grin.
"All right, all right," Harry intervened with a shake of his head. "I don't know how you and your brother can go through life without ever being serious."
"It's all in the mindset," was George's gleeful reply. "Perhaps if you concentrated a little, you could manage it yourself."
Shaking his head, Harry stepped to the center of the ring. "Now, I want a clean fight," he drawled, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "No cheap shots, dangerous hexes, and whatever you do, be serious!" he roared, before his wand lit up with a light spell, indicating the beginning of the match.
Hermione immediately went on the offensive, snapping off a stunner and a disarming spell, which George merely grinned at. He allowed them to be absorbed into the shield he quickly cast, while he countered with a body-bind curse, which Hermione dodged. She was not about to be caught with the spell with which she had defeated Malfoy!
Spinning, Hermione countered with a leg-locking hex, followed up by a jelly-legs hex, then ducked out of the way of George's incoming stunning spell. She looked up to see that George had moved to the side, and taken aim at her with a loud disarming spell. Hermione dodged again, almost falling prey to a non-verbal stunning spell which he had slipped in without her noticing.
Hastily conjuring a shield, Hermione allowed George's next two stunners to impact it, noting the fact that the more powerful boy had caused her shield to waver, before she shot off a couple more spells to occupy him, before she stepped up and shouted, "Avis!" A noisy blast, followed by a stream of yellow birds shot out of her wand, and then tore across the room directly at George with Hermione's shouted, "Oppugno!"
George, however, merely grinned at her and dodged the incoming birds, conjured a metal shield and threw it up into the air where it impacted with most of the birds, causing them to explode and disappear. The remaining few birds were neutralized with a quickly yelled, "Finite Incantatem!"
Hermione had not been idle, however, directing several stunners and binding spells while he was occupied, hoping to punch one through his shield. Just as his shield crashed down, however, George dove to the side, evading her last stunner, and coming up firing. Hermione had no time to rue the fact that her spells missed, however, as George immediately came up on a knee and directed three spells at her. She realized too late that the first was intended to get her to move—nothing more than a simple stunner—while the other two were binders, neatly bracketing his stunner. Understanding came too late, as Hermione dove to her left, right into the incoming spell, which quickly wrapped her up in the conjured ropes. She crashed down to the side of the platform, losing her grip on her wand.
Disappointment filled Hermione as she heard Harry declare George the winner of the duel. She lifted her head to see Harry and George approaching her, Harry with a look of sympathy, while George was one of smug satisfaction, mixed with respect.
A quick finite had Hermione back up on her feet, and she stood and retrieved her wand, knowing she had done her best, but still unhappy she had come up short.
George, however, stepped up to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Good match, little sister!"
Wondering what he was talking about, Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, which he merely responded to with an insolent grin. "Oh come on, Hermione—you're almost like a member of the family. You were brilliant! A couple more years of training and you'll be a nightmare to face on the dueling platform."
"He's right," Harry praised, bringing a bit of a blush to Hermione's cheeks. "You did really well up there, Hermione. I'm proud of you."
The club was cheering for the victor, and George turned and executed an extravagant courtly bow, which generated no small amount of laughter. Hermione followed him off the platform, and was surprised to be the recipient of so many well-wishers congratulating her for a well-fought duel.
Philosophically, Hermione turned her thoughts inward, as the next match got under way. She would not win this tournament—not that she had expected to—but she had still made a good showing, and had even managed to win against a student two years older than she was. It was a good showing, she decided. She would not fail. She would always be there for Harry, she decided, with the skills and abilities to help in whatever situation he managed to get himself into. And maybe if she could ever come to a decision, there may be more in her future with Harry as well.
In the final duel of the day, Fleur stood up on the platform, looking across at her opponent, one Fred Weasley. In true Weasley twin form, the redhead was smirking across at her with an expression of cocky confidence upon his features.
All in all, it had been a good day for Fleur, her presence in the final match a testament to that fact. Her semi-final against the Slytherin Nigel Johnson had not been an easy one, but in the end she had managed to prevail with a flurry of spells, finally catching him with a Levicorpus jinx before summoning his wand to her to end the match. Nigel had been gracious in defeat, congratulating her, though not warmly, and accepting the fact that he had been beaten squarely.
The other semi-final, however, had been more of an exhibition in silliness than a true duel, the combatants being the two Weasley twins, after all. Jelly-legs hexes, some Weasley invented paint spell, along with tickling hexes and the two boys trying to banish each others clothes had been the order of the day. For all that, they had fought with an almost mindless ferocity, demonstrating extreme competence in their battle, regardless of its rather unorthodox nature. Even George's grumbling at being bested by his closest sibling had been good-natured and funny. They would never change.
Standing across from Fleur, however, Fred appeared to be completely focused on the upcoming match, with none of his typical joking nature had been unleashed. It was clear the twin wanted to win.
For herself, Fleur was anticipating the upcoming battle with relish. Win or lose, she thought, she had vindicated the faith in her which Harry had expressed at the beginning of the evening. The warmth in his eyes as he had looked at her told her much about the state of their relationship. It was growing into something Fleur had hoped for ever since being bound to this betrothal.
Roger, though, was a different story. He stood to one side even now, smirking in a haughty and disdainful manner at the rest of the club—primarily at Harry, unless she missed her guess. Fleur still had not told Harry of her confrontation with the Head Boy and the way he had tried to get her to cheat on him, partially because she had not found the right moment, and partially because Roger had backed off and left her alone. She supposed it had led her to feel a false sense of security, and had made the necessity of talking to Harry to become less urgent. Now, however, it was clear that she would have to have that discussion with Harry sooner rather than later, as he clearly suspected that something was up. It would have been better had she said something before this had all come to a head…
For now it was time to clear her mind. She desperately wanted to completely vindicate Harry for his words supporting her. Victory would do that.
Harry stood with his wand held up, just off to the side of the platform, and he glanced at each of the combatants in turn. "Are you both ready?" he queried.
Fleur gave him a tight nod and stood in a traditional dueling stance, knees slightly bent, wand extended in front of her, angled toward the floor. When Fred echoed her motion, the tip of Harry's wand lit up, signaling the start of the action.
Pivoting neatly to the side, and thereby evading Fred's opening sally of a pair of stunners, Fleur erected a shield in front of her, while slicing her wand down, with a jerk, and a non-verbal Glacius! A sudden icy wind sprang up and howled at Fred, but he merely grinned tightly, and sidestepped it, responding by conjuring a bunch of small rocks and banishing them in her direction.
Fleur darted to one side, avoiding the rocks as they sped towards her in a wide swath, diving to the platform to avoid the outside edge of the spray. Unfortunately, her momentum carried her outside the protective influence of her shield. Fred, noticing this, immediately went on the attack, barking out, "Incarcerous! Stupefy! Stupefy!"
Recognizing the attack as the one George had used against Hermione, Fleur rolled to the side of the binding spell, coming up on one knee while shouting out, "Protego!" The stunner headed her way impacted the shield and disappeared, while Fleur once again moved back toward the center of the dueling platform.
Counting on the fact that she now had dual shields protecting the entire left side of her platform, Fleur positioned herself where she thought they overlapped, ignoring Fred's spellfire for a moment. She used her affinity with fire to raise a wall of flame halfway between them. Then, obscured by the flames, she dove to the right side, rolled, and came up firing, snapping off a quick barrage of stunners and binders, spread out over the width of the platform.
A dull thud from the other side of her wall of flame signaled the end of the match, and Fleur pumped a fist into the air, while allowing her wall of flame to die down. On the other side of the platform, the Weasley twin was struggling against the ropes which held him bound.
A large roar erupted from the club, and Fleur gratefully accepted the congratulations, including and particularly enthusiastic hug from her betrothed. Disengaging from her, Harry grabbed her hand and held it up in the air, to which the club members cheered even louder.
Once the noise began to die down, the generally ebullient mood was heightened even further by Fred's plaintive, "Hey, can someone get me out of here?"
"I think I like him where he is!" joked Ron, sending the room into even further fits of laughter.
Fred, however, merely pouted at being made sport of, though Fleur sensed his response was good-natured. That likely did not preclude revenge in the way of a prank on his younger sibling, she thought. Taking pity on the redhead, Fleur waved her wand in his direction, dispelling the ropes, and allowing the final Weasley to rise to his feet.
Wasting no time at all, Fred rushed up to Fleur and grabbed her up in a great bear hug, lifting her up and twirling her around enthusiastically. "Nice one, Fleur!" he exclaimed when he finally let her down. "You really threw me for a loop with that wall of fire!"
The energetic discussion continued on for several more moments, as Fleur basked in the pleasure of her victory. Clearly, the idea of a tournament had been a complete success, and Fleur did not doubt that it would be repeated again in the future.
Finally, however, Harry held up his hands for quiet, and addressed the milling club members who were gathered around.
"Thank you, everyone, and great work, Fleur!" he shouted, once again inciting the roar of the assembled students. He produced the second trophy, which Hermione discreetly handed to him, and presented it to Fleur, who held it high in the air to the enthusiastic cheers of the club.
"It sounds like the idea was a success!" Harry said when the applause died down. "Let's talk about it for a few moments. First, I'd like to thank everyone for giving it their best effort. I know that it was difficult for some of you, especially since some of the fifth-years had to start out by going up against the seventh-years."
Fleur noticed a few rueful expressions at that statement, primarily from fifth-years such as Parvati and Lavender, who had been ranked quite low. No one seemed to be upset by the way it had turned out, though—in fact, she thought she recognized a determination to do better on most faces.
"I think we'll start doing more practice duels in the club," Harry continued, "and everyone can practice against others of their own skill level. And the next time we hold a tournament, maybe we'll have three brackets, or just divide everyone up differently."
"That would be a relief," grumbled Lavender. "Going up against Fleur for my first match was not a lot of fun."
Harry acknowledged Lavender's comment with a smile, and a bit of praise. "Maybe not, but you did well, Lavender.
"Anyway, I wanted to talk about what we saw in the matches before we break up. Can anyone tell me what you learned from tonight's duels?"
"They were all very quick," said Terry Boot.
Harry nodded. "Very good. Yes, duels have a tendency to be over very quickly. Throw away any images you have in your mind about epic duelists locked in battle for hours—in practice, a duel is short and decisive. And don't hold back, or you'll give your opponent an opening to finish you off."
"Mr. Potter is right," Professor Flitwick said from the side of the room. "Even in a professional dueling arena, where both combatants are supremely talented and evenly matched, a duel typically lasts less than three minutes."
To the Charms Professor's side, the Headmaster stood, watching the proceedings with some interest, not to mention an unmistakable approval. When he had arrived Fleur did not know, but she suspected that he had seen the final match, which made her feel unaccountably bashful.
"What about styles?" Harry asked, pulling the attention of the group back to him.
"I noticed that a lot of people lost when their shields failed them," said Ron.
"Exactly!" said Harry, thanking Ron for his insight. "As a respected Auror once told me, the best defense against any spell is to be somewhere else when the spell arrives. I think we'll begin to focus on dodging and techniques for moving around in the field of battle. A shield charm can be used very effectively, but it should not be relied on. Remember, a shield will not stop an Unforgivable."
"I also noticed that a lot of people relied more on spells than transfiguration or other tactics," said Susan.
"Very good, Susan," said Harry. "Most of the seventh-years used a mix of conjuration, transfiguration, and other tactics in their duels, but the younger students tended to stick to spells."
"That is partially due to their more advanced work in school, Mr. Potter," said the Headmaster. "That does not necessarily mean that the younger students cannot apply such measures to their tactics. They will, of course, have a much smaller repertoire from which to draw, however, until they become more experienced in their studies."
"Thank you, Headmaster. This is another area we will start to work on. Most of you were surprised that Hermione was able to defeat Lee—sorry for picking on you, Lee," Harry added to the seventh-year.
"It's a good object lesson," said the affable Gryffindor. "Go right ahead."
Grinning, Harry continued, "Hermione was one of the few fifth-years who used an array of battle tactics. It doesn't hurt at all either, that she knows so many spells."
Hermione blushed at the praise yet again, but Harry continued speaking. "That is part of the reason why she did so well. We'll work on that in the coming weeks. Just remember that part of dueling—and fighting in a battle—is being aware of your surroundings, but also creativity and mobility will also assist you."
"A certain amount of raw power doesn't hurt either," Daphne chimed in.
"True," Harry agreed, "but raw power can be overcome by finesse and strategy. Don't assume that simply because you have more available power than another that you will automatically have an edge in a fight."
"Also consider that there is no way to measure a person's magical ability," Dumbledore once again interjected. "We know in a general sense how powerful we all are, but it is also known that a person's power level can fluctuate based on emotion, how rested the person is, and a number of other factors."
Cho Chang hesitantly raised her hand, speaking when Harry motioned to her. "But wasn't Fleur's wall of fire unfair? She used her Veela talent with fire, I assume."
"Certainly not!" Fred objected. "You have to use every advantage in a fight—she disoriented me with that wall, and I never considered the fact that she could fire spells through it."
"That is correct," said Professor Flitwick. "While I would not expect her to make use of some of her… other abilities, anyone here could do what she did. She can do it faster and more efficiently. That is an advantage that she should make use of."
Appreciating the support, Fleur nodded her head. "My affinity to fire is part of my Veela heritage, but it is not dissimilar to what all of you can do. But in a duel, I'd never make use of my allure. If I was fighting against Death Eaters? I'd use any advantage I had."
A general murmur of agreement rippled through the ranks of the club, putting to rest any further comment on the fairness of Fleur's tactics. Harry spent the next few moments going over some of the things he saw from the duels, and dishing out a generous measure of praise for the way they had all fought. He specifically dwelt on the fact that both tournaments had been won by girls, and that the boys should not hold back or automatically assume that they would win if facing a member of the fairer sex.
Fleur was only half paying attention to Harry's words. Instead, she was focused on the side of the room where Roger stood leaning up against the wall, projecting a discontented and angry air.
The meeting was about to break up when his voice rang over the room. "So, are we going to get on with this, Potter? Or are you afraid to duel me?"
The instant before Harry turned to face his antagonist, Fleur thought she detected a dangerous glint in his eye. Harry's ire was clearly aroused.
Updated 06/25/2013