Harry slides into the seat beside Hermione at speed.
"You're in a good mood," she notes.
"Had a bit of a revelation. Riddle is a terrifying fighter. You and I should be able to hold him off, but if we want to defeat him, we'll need some extra oomph. We'll need to practice with Cedric, Roger and Amelia, and we should ally with Ganz. She's the best dueller."
"We might not want the best dueller in our midst in the arena."
Harry pauses. Considers this. "We should check she's trustworthy first."
"We could ally with Tom instead," Hermione says. Right, Harry keeps forgetting they're friends. "He seems open to the idea."
"Yeah, with the Blood Supremacists," Harry wrinkles his nose. And the idea of fighting Riddle backed up by a large group of purebloods sets his hair on end. They will definitely need Ganz on their side to defeat a force like that. "I haven't seen him hang out with anyone else."
"Maybe he can't?" Hermione suggests. "The Blood Supremacists are isolationist, and Bellatrix is a jealous and possessive girl. They don't accept moderates. If he's with them, he has to be all in."
"It's a little odd, don't you think, how well they get along," Harry says. "He has Bellatrix eating out of the palm of his hand."
"Yes, and the rest of them grudgingly follow her lead."
"Seems unstable, relying so heavily on one person's favour."
…
Harry and Hermione are barely through the door on Saturday evening when Snape sniffs out some trouble. Snape turns in a rustle of black cloak and stares between them before his gaze settles on Harry. He narrows his eyes down his long, hooked nose. "What did you do?"
Harry scowls. Snape always assumes he's done something, but this time he's right and he's going to be insufferable. "Why do you think I did anything?" It comes out sulkier than Harry intended, and he winces, knowing he's just as good as admitted guilt.
"Potter!"
"I duelled Bellatrix."
Harry is braced for yelling. Instead, there's deadly calm crackling in the air.
"I distinctly recall informing you that duelling the champions is the single stupidest thing you could do."
"It wasn't exactly my choice."
"Do you enjoy doing the precise opposite of what I say?"
"I tried to get out of it. She didn't take no for an answer."
"Or are you merely incapable of following the simplest of instructions?"
"She said –"
"I don't care what she said! You couldn't go one week without one of your petty feuds with a Slytherin. Use your head, Potter, put common sense above your hurt feelings."
"You're not listening to me! It wasn't about proving myself, it was the opposite. I set out to lose. Thoroughly."
Impatient silence. Snape folds his hands into his cloak. "Elaborate."
"She wouldn't let me leave without a fight. I cast a handful of basic spells and dodged as well as a lame donkey until she got so angry the trainers restrained her because that was the only way I could get her off my back. I didn't give anything away."
Any hope Harry has of Snape understanding he made the best of a bad situation is lost in that scornful look. "Any reaction or lack of reaction reveals some of your cards. And of all the champions, you had to provoke Miss Black!"
Harry grinds his teeth.
"I see I was overly optimistic in my prediction that you would last a week before scuttling your chances. Miss Black is the Ministry's star champion. Congratulations, you are now the villain for her to vanquish."
"So they'll portray me badly," Harry shrugs. It's not a good outcome, he knows, but it's hard to find it personally affronting when his values are the opposite of the Ministry's anyway.
"They'll portray you as a soft-hearted, bumbling buffoon. You can forget about sponsors. You're blacklisted. What a waste of my time."
"Sponsors can't kill me, unlike Bellatrix and Riddle."
"The gamemakers most certainly can," Snape shoots back. "Who sets the challenges, Potter? Who provides the tools you need to survive?"
Snape shakes his head. "I told you not to attend combat classes. If you had not been there, she would not have been able to challenge you."
"I needed to see how Riddle fights! And I saw how the trainers took down Bellatrix!"
Snape pauses. "Go on, then. Expound on the knowledge you gained that must be more valuable than all sponsor gifts."
Harry does, and fortunately he's angry enough that he doesn't wax lyrical about how Riddle moves and thinks.
McGonagall arrives halfway through Harry's analysis and she raises an eyebrow at the lack of occlumency training occurring, but doesn't interrupt. Neither does Snape. Harry would wonder about that, but he hasn't the time. Once he's finished his report, McGonagall puts them through their paces. She tests their oppilo shields and then their elemental conjuration – lightning this time, good grief.
Before Harry and Hermione head to bed, muscles twitching and frizzier than usual, McGonagall informs them that they require a rest day once a week and she doesn't want to see them doing anything strenuous for the next 24 hours.
A break from occlumency sounds like heaven, but everything else? Wasting time while he still has time to prepare for the arena? He'll be bored and antsy before breakfast – not very restful.
Hermione is initially swayed by McGonagall's peer reviewed references backing up her point about rest being essential to maximise learning speed, but once the professor clarifies that brains require rest too, Hermione digs her heels in.
They argue McGonagall down to half a day and agree not to attend classes on Sunday afternoons. They are still allowed to go to healing in the morning. Harry can go to the gym on the condition that he only does a light workout. Hermione is allowed in the library for recreational reading only. Harry isn't going to be the one to inform McGonagall that Hermione's recreational reading is more likely to be a fifteenth century treatise on spell crafting than a novel.
…
Harry is, perhaps, not doing the lightest of workouts. He ducks a right hook and swings, fist connecting with McLaggen's ribs with a satisfying jolt. McLaggen's breath leaves him in a whoosh, but it barely slows him down. He kicks out and Harry leaps back. McLaggen follows. Harry ducks another punch, grabs the arm on the return and hauls McLaggen off balance, into a raised knee. It would've connected with McLaggen's gut if he wasn't so damn fast.
"Good!" McLaggen says, twisting somehow to hook Harry's ankle and the balance shifts.
Harry tries to disengage, because he knows from experience that close grappling rarely works out for him. He jabs at McLaggen's eyes, takes a hit to his ears that leaves his head spinning, but manages to stay on his feet.
"Break," McLaggen calls.
Harry drops his fists and heads for the water and towels. He is distracted by the other early riser. Krum seems to be settling into a similar routine to Harry. He's shown up every morning for the last few days. They mind their own business, but when Harry has a moment, he's drawn to stare. Any ungainliness Krum appears to have on ground disappears once he's moving. He is an incredible athlete to watch, but then, he is one of the best seekers in the world. At the moment, Krum is finishing up with the weights. He normally does a set of sprints, next. Harry wonders if it is the training routine he uses for his Quidditch career.
"You're a fast learner," McLaggen says, wiping the sweat off his face.
Harry hums and refocuses. "I see what you mean about my weight distribution." He'd actually managed to pull the larger man off balance instead of just yanking his own arms out of their sockets.
"Get that move to work three times in a row and then we'll try something else," McLaggen grins.
Harry perks up. After a week of training, he's figured out they have a sense of fun in common. Anything that has McLaggen this excited must be good. "Weapons?"
"Obstacle course, I reckon," McLaggen is eying Krum, too. "I think it would do you both good to have some competition."
"Against Krum?" Harry says, leaning forward. He's only seen Krum run the course once, when Harry cracked the shits with Snape and turned up early. Krum is good. "Sounds like fun."
"I'll organise it," McLaggen claps Harry on the shoulder. "And we'll see about weapons tomorrow. You've got a feel for the rhythm of a fight, now. We'll spar again to test how much you remember, then start with quarterstaffs."
"So I'm going to be the piñata. Yay," Harry says dryly, but he can't hide his anticipation and he practically skips back to the mats.
"That's the spirit!" McLaggen says, and Harry springs at him.
McLaggen doesn't make it easy. He is slippery as an eel and the third round drags out so long Harry's muscle start to feel like rubber. But Harry accepts a glancing blow to the shoulder, spins, grabs and pulls, and sends McLaggen stumbling.
"Well done," McLaggen says. Harry sort of collapses against him. McLaggen huffs a laugh and ruffles his hair.
McLaggen approaches Krum's trainer while Harry stumbles to a chair and guzzles more water. He unwraps his hands, the last of the tension uncoiling with them. He flexes his fingers and pokes a few tender spots, testing the ache – nothing needs healing.
A short conference, then Krum's eyes turn to Harry, and Harry sees a matching interest in them. Harry heaves his sorry carcass up and joins them.
"A race. Yes. This is a good idea," Krum says.
"With or without spells?" Harry asks.
"You are not allowed to duel in this room," McLaggen reminds them.
Krum considers this. "But spells are allowed on the equipment, da? That would make more problems. That is better. Less predictable."
Harry agrees entirely, and thinks what would Fred and George do?
Harry heads to the start line and grins at Krum beside him. He bounces from foot to foot as the course decides on a configuration. Harry can hear it grinding and clunking, but he can't see it – the first obstacle is an eight-foot wall, so the rest of the course always has a few surprises.
"Ready?" McLaggen raises his wand, pauses, and fires sparks.
They sprint for the wall. Harry casts spongify at the base of Krum's side, making the ground too soft to kick off from, and he hurdles a trip-line trap that Krum sets practically on his toes.
Krum finites the trick and leaps, grasping the top of the wall and pull himself up in one motion, Harry quick on his heels.
Harry takes in the whole course in a quick glance, thinking ahead. He casts another softening spell, this one to save his ankles and time as he jumps, tucks and rolls.
The balance beams are a few paces away. Harry decides that Krum's could use an oil slick, and he doesn't hang around to enjoy the spectacle, hitting his own beam at a run, arms spread for balance. But halfway across, Harry's beam rotates beneath his feet, and he squawks in surprise. He leaps as far as he can – he makes it to the end, just – landing on his stomach, legs dangling over the pit.
Harry hears the pounding of feet. Krum is about to overtake him, and while he's down, he casts a quicksand trap. Krum steps off the beam, straight into the trap.
Harry gets to his feet while Krum frees himself, and they're both off.
The next obstacle is a test of timing. Harry jumps onto the first pillar, waits for a gap in the swinging barriers and jumps to the next pillar. As soon as he lands, he ducks under a plank that swings out. He straightens quickly; if he hesitates too long, the pillar will buck him off. Harry makes it through the next barrier ahead of Krum, and he reaches across and disillusions the pillar Krum is aiming for.
Krum swears and Harry laughs.
Krum jumps and sticks the landing, proving he's got both guts and a good memory. He'll need both for the next obstacle. There's an assortment of platforms. The red ones move left or right, the blue ones move forward or backwards, the green ones up or down. Across the room there are three small, colour coded targets – switches. Only the red one is shining, so the platforms are currently set to left, backwards and down.
It's a three-dimensional maze and one wrong step can put you in a dead end or send you back to the start. Harry analyses it on the fly, tracing the branching possibilities backwards from the last platform. The possible solutions overlap – Harry will have to be careful with traps or he'll catch himself. By the time he reaches the first platform, he's memorised his route. Which does not help him when his platform –which is a dull grey and supposed to be stationary– is levitated toward the ceiling.
"Avis oppugno!" Harry conjures a flock of finches to distract Krum.
His platform jars to a stop. Thankfully, the enchantments reassert themselves and the platform hovers in its new position instead of falling.
There's a blue platform behind him that he'll be able to reach if it's a bit closer. Harry jinxes the blue target. The platform approaches and Harry drops onto it, but his next platform, a green one, moves away – Krum has flipped the switch. Harry sends a jinx to turn it back, and then, because Harry doesn't need the blue target for a while, but Krum will, Harry casts, "Protego totalum!"
A shield shimmers into place around the blue target. Harry gets a few steps further while Krum batters away at the shield.
Harry's awareness strains to keep track of the platform movements, the changing routes, Krum's position, and the boobytraps he and Krum are setting to make platforms incorporeal or icy or sticky. Harry's cheeks hurt from grinning.
It takes a long time for them to get through the obstacle, since they're just as focused on sending each other backwards as making progress.
It's impossible to say who's winning. They swap the lead a dozen times through the platforms, then during the cliff climb, the rope swing, and the rest of the course. When one of them gets ahead, they're immediately disadvantaged because they can't see what the other is casting, and it's only a matter of time before they'll be tripped up. Neither can get far enough ahead to get out of spell range.
It's a roll of the dice who will win. Krum runs a defensive game on the last stretch, he dodges everything Harry conjures and crosses the finish line. Harry follows a second later.
Krum bows over, panting. "Bozhe moĭ."
Harry flops onto his back, sucking in air. "That– was– bloody– brilliant!"
McLaggen drops a towel on Harry's head.
"Ta," Harry says, muffled by fabric. He's tempted to leave it there until he suffocates. His arms don't feel entirely connected to his body. God, is it only 9am? He wants to go back to bed but at the same time, he wants to put it off as long as possible because he is going to be so sore tomorrow.
"Good race, Potter," Krum says.
Harry sits up, wipes sweat out of his eyes, and sees respect. "Yeah. You too. Congrats on the win."
Krum offers him a hand up. "You have good balance and awareness. You play sport. Quidditch?"
It is not really a question. Krum would know.
Harry nods. "I miss it. Shame the Ministry cleared out the broom shed."
Luckily, there are still brooms in the Room of Requirement. The punching bags are calming, but they're not relaxing. He can't spend two months wound up. It's one thing to take all their belongings, but it just seems petty to take the chess sets, gobstones, card decks and brooms too. Or, maybe not petty – the Ministry have made it abundantly clear that they want them training whenever they're not sleeping. Even chatting over meals has a purpose; making alliances. There's no time for boredom. No time for play. And nothing to play with – no bonding activities.
Hhm.
Flying alone is more relaxing. Harry decides to invite Cedric and Roger for a fly on the weekend.
"Come on," McLaggen says. "Let's debrief. Tell me five tactical mistakes you made."
…
Rest day means that, by lunchtime, Harry and Hermione have run out of things they are allowed to do. It is a perfect opportunity to hide in the Room of Requirement and crosscheck their progress with wandless magic. Wandless magic isn't covered in any classes, so they won't be breaking McGonagall's order. They're even keeping to the spirit of the rule, since finding loopholes is another of Hermione's hobbies.
A few whispers about their progress throughout the week can't compare to a thorough discussion. Harry knows Hermione has managed summoning and banishing by now, and he thinks her insights will help him – his summoning spell is working fine but he is struggling with banishing and he's not sure why. He's also aware she figured out a spell to unlock their holsters and Harry needs to learn it, just in case. For his part, he's making quicker progress with protego, and he wants to catch her up. Also, to throw things. You need to stress test a shield to get it working properly.
But before they can finish eating their lunch, Umbridge approaches with Bellatrix and a full guard of aurors. They march down the Hall and stop in front of Harry.
"Mr Potter. Come with me," Umbridge says.
"I told you so!" Trelawny says. "I predicted you'd suffer for facing your foe in the ring!"
Harry doesn't appreciate how pleased she sounds.
"Young ladies should not interrupt a conversation unless spoken to," Umbridge says and Trelawny shrinks back from her glare.
Harry stands and follows reluctantly. The aurors form up around them, forcing him closer to Bellatrix, which, considering what this must be about, seems awfully short-sighted.
Whisper shouting starts up behind him.
"Harry isn't going to get in trouble," Hermione says.
"He did. He went to the hospital wing. And he will. My powers will see all in these Games," Trelawny says.
"Your so-called prediction was days ago. Harry has been in dozens of rings since then," Roger says.
"And it is a safe bet to assume Harry would get in trouble eventually," Hermione adds.
Harry wants to object, but, well.
In any case, he's not going to take his eyes off Bellatrix. She looks ready to strangle him with her bare hands.
They're marched to an office with 'High Inquisitor' engraved on a gold plaque in florid script. Several omnioculars follow them inside, set to capture every angle and close ups. Umbridge is making this a big production, a show of– something. Force? Authority? But against their darling champion? Harry rather expected Bellatrix's actions to get brushed under the rug. His suspicion rouses further.
The room Umbridge has contaminated is luridly pink and covered in pictures of cats. It does not fit in Hogwarts.
The aurors close the doors and lurk ominously. The window is open. Harry can escape if he needs to but he doesn't think it's that kind of threat.
Umbridge sits behind a desk and shuffles a few papers, keeping them in suspense. This is all for show. Harry doesn't roll his eyes because everyone will see this. If the Ministry are going to make him look as stupid and unhinged as they can manage, he won't make it too easy for them.
Even though he really wants to tell Umbridge that the enormous desk does less to make her look intimidating than ridiculous.
"A very serious matter was brought to my attention," she says. Pause for effect.
Harry sways out the way of the stomp Bellatrix aims at his foot, missing it as if by accident. He watches the metaphorical steam rise off her out of the corner of his eye.
"Stop fidgeting, Mr Potter. This is a very serious matter."
Harry doesn't react, though Umbridge pauses again, giving him plenty of time to do so. He wishes she'd get on with it.
Umbridge looks between them. "You are here because you were very naughty. You cast several restricted spells in a duel. Such a transgression needs to be punished. Now, we at the Ministry are fair and believe in second chances. Miss Black, what do you have to say in your defence?"
"I was provoked," Bellatrix says.
Umbridge nods sympathetically. "This was an isolated event. You have been a model and decorous champion. Miss Black, I am assigning an auror to follow you about the castle to prevent further incidents."
Personal trainer, Harry mentally translates the token show of a punishment.
"Mr Potter, you are on probation," Umbridge declares.
Harry raises an eyebrow. What, so he's got a warning?
She elaborates gleefully, "You are no longer allowed to raise your wand against a fellow champion. You will duel against trainers or mentors or not at all."
Harry wrestles with a spike of annoyance. It's the principle: it's unfair for him to be penalised at all when he didn't break any of the rules. But he doesn't really care –he didn't intend to duel any champions in the first place– until he realises it could interfere with his practice with Hermione. He won't be able to run the obstacle course against Krum again, and that was fun.
Umbridge waits him out, not inviting him to defend himself, but expecting him to try, to speak out of turn, all indignant and righteous. Umbridge is taunting him as clearly as Bellatrix did. He'll beat her the same way, by refusing to give her what she wants.
"If I may?" Harry asks, and Umbridge jumps on the chance for him to stick his foot in his mouth. He relaxes his shoulders. "What am I being punished for?"
"You were involved in an illegal duel," Umbridge explains as if to a particularly daft child.
"It was legal from my side of it. I cast shielding, disarming and stunning spells. All permitted to cast against champions in practice duels," he says. Calm. Rational.
"That is beside the point, Mr Potter."
And it's his turn to level an expectant silence.
"I have interviewed the trainers. Miss Black first engaged in a civil duel with Mr Riddle. There was no problem until you got involved."
Harry is sure the trainer Bellatrix put in the hospital wing gave a glowing review, no doubt as sanguine as the woman she tried to decapitate.
"You were the first to step onto the court, Mr Potter. You are the instigator."
Harry wants to slap his past self for deciding to taunt Bellatrix instead of going with the hospital wing exit plan, though he doubts Bellatrix would receive much more censure for injuring him.
"I was provoked," Harry says, because if he's not going to get out of this, he might as well highlight their hypocrisy. "Bella issued the challenge. Incessantly. If I stepped into the court first it was because I happened to be closer."
"A baseless claim," Umbridge dismisses.
"Perhaps we should review the omniocular footage to clear it up," he says, only a touch sardonically. Really, the scorn was barely noticeable.
"Do not interrupt me," Umbridge abruptly raises her voice. She pauses for a breath. She starts again, voice sickly sweet. "I will maintain order in this castle. I will not have you provoke any other champions. My decision is final."
"Of course," Harry inclines his head. Let the Ministry try to get useful soundbites out of that.
They are dismissed shortly after, and Bellatrix's new auror doesn't do anything to stop her practically pouncing on Harry the moment they're outside.
"Aw, baby Potter can't duel anymore," Bellatrix coos. "Did you ask her to do that? Is it because you're scared?"
"What." Riddle says.
"Tom!" Bellatrix beams and skips up to him. "It's the funniest thing–"
Riddle ignores her. "Umbridge banned you from duelling champions?"
He sounds pissed.
"Oh, I'm sorry that your plan backfired on you. Must be a terrible inconvenience," Harry says archly.
"Itsy bitsy bitey Potter–"
"Bella." Riddle glares her to silence. "Leave us."
"Oh, don't be like that Tom," she pouts. "I didn't tell her to do it."
Riddle's glare doesn't let up until she flounces off.
Riddle pinches the bridge of his nose. "How about a deal – duel me if I get you cleared."
Harry considers it. He can let Riddle beat him up. He can probably resist the temptation to fight him in earnest. But he can learn from his mistakes. "Hermione will referee. Three rounds, first to disarm."
"Five rounds."
"Four."
"And if it's a draw?"
"It won't be," Harry says.
Riddle looks amused. "Fine." He knocks on Umbridge's door. Harry leans against the wall. This should be good.
"Madam Umbridge," Riddle greets, charm dialled up to eleven, and strikes up a casual conversation.
Harry watches and learns. Riddle plays characters. He starts with the Peer. He talks about their common acquaintances, making it clear that he matters to the right people. When that doesn't produce results, he turns into the Sycophant; obsequious in an obvious way that invites Umbridge to try to take advantage of his connections and power. He appeals to reason, then to emotion, then to ambition.
"Was it true you were a Slytherin?" Riddle asks. Establishing rapport by appealing to common ground?
"Yes," Umbridge says, and Harry can see it in the cutting way she smiles. "It is such a shame Slytherin only has one real champion this year."
The temperature plummets and Harry's hair stands on end. Even the omnioculars waver. Harry's hand itches to draw his wand, and he's not even the focus of that anger. He waits with bated breath, because surely this is the moment Umbridge recognises the power, the mistake, and shits herself.
Umbridge adjusts her cardigan as if it was just a normal breeze. Judging by her smug look, she's congratulating herself for her wit.
Riddle's smile grows a lot more honest, and Harry suspects his goal has just changed from 'charm' into something he finds more palatable.
Harry realises he is watching the exact moment someone outlives their usefulness. It is fascinating.
"Of course, in your esteemed wisdom, you would recognise Miss Black as the most exemplary candidate," Riddle says, the veneer of the Sycophant just enough to get away with the sarcasm.
He doesn't bother tying up the conversation. He walks away. Umbridge, thinking she's had the last word, lets Riddle go to apparently lick his wounds.
Harry falls in step with him. "So some people are immune to your charms."
"Two types of people, at opposite ends of the intelligence bell curve," Riddle says.
No need to guess to which end Umbridge fancies herself. "She thinks very highly of herself."
Riddle's lip curls. "Undeservedly. It is like talking to a houseplant."
"Is it still the Dunning-Kruger effect if it applies to self-reflection?" Harry wonders.
Harry realises he skipped one or two essential communication steps, and he's about to walk the statement back so it doesn't come so out of the blue, but Riddle makes the leap right along with him. "As opposed to narcissism?"
"Or in combination with it. Split self-reflection into two issues and it's a bit clearer – perception of self and perception of other people."
"Hmm. Her ability to perceive others does fit the Dunning-Kruger model. She's demonstrably not as good at recognising power as she thinks she is," Riddle says.
"And she's not as smart as she thinks she is. So if we're looking at the skill of self-reflection, then it's also Dunning-Kruger, but the effect manifests as an overinflated ego – narcissism."
"Ah, you are arguing that cause and effect is a matter of perspective in this instance. It has merit. But the premise may be flawed since perception of self and perception of other people are not independent. Umbridge judges another's power and intelligence in relative terms – more or less than her own. And she includes the power of her allies in her estimate of her own power. That is part of the reason it is so overinflated; she believes she has the might of the Ministry behind her."
"Okay, don't think I missed what you did there," Harry says, because Riddle started with one argument and ended on a different one, hoping Harry will agree to the second and cede the first by default. "What are you, a lawyer?"
Riddle grins, a light in his eyes. He gestures graciously for Harry to go on.
"Firstly, while you're right about perception of self and others being linked, I only separated them to make the question easier to analyse. Whether they're independent or not is irrelevant to my argument. My argument is that narcissism is a result of the Dunning-Kruger effect turned inwards. I'm perfectly happy to be wrong about that, but I'll only admit it if you pose a compelling rebuttal to that question, not an easier question that you've substituted."
Riddle bursts into laughter, but Harry is on a roll now.
"Speaking of easier questions – of course, I agree Umbridge considers the Ministry's power as part of her own – she wields her authority like a bloody hammer. I'm less convinced by your psychanalysis, mainly because how could you possibly know all that? Frankly, I'm disturbed by how well you think you understand that woman. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, but even if you're right, your explanation may still be incomplete. Think about it. Umbridge is a relatively big fish in the Ministry, and now that she's away from their shadow she's the biggest fish around."
Riddle's chuckles die off, but the grin remains. "Harry, you are a delight."
Harry can't detect any ridicule, and that makes him suspicious.
"Well, you've called me out," Riddle says. "Full disclosure. I don't have an argument for your Dunning-Kruger-narcissism theory. I will not do you the disservice of half-arsing one now. I will get back to you once I have thought it over. To be clear – you mean narcissism in the colloquial sense."
"Yeah."
Riddle nods. "Umbridge does not fit the profile for narcissistic personality disorder."
"Still an egotistical bitch, though."
"Perhaps we should use that terminology going forward, for clarity?" Riddle says innocently.
"Accuracy is important," Harry agrees.
They share a grin.
"I will not disclose the source of my insight into her thought patterns, but I will say that I have full confidence in my conclusions," Riddle continues. "As for whether Umbridge is actually a big fish – yes, for now. She has full rein over the castle. The only person who could change her course is Grindelwald. Certainly, Dumbledore could best her in a duel, and probably all the aurors stationed here, too. But all the aurors in the country? While the Ministry holds his students hostage in France? Dumbledore will not fight Umbridge, because victory over her serves no purpose, and he would lose the ensuing war. Umbridge holds more power than Dumbledore. She is probably the biggest fish in this castle. But."
Ah, there it is, Harry thinks.
"The only power Umbridge holds, the Ministry bestowed upon her. She is unremarkable intellectually, magically and charismatically. Thus, lacking any means of generating her own power, she depends entirely on Grindelwald. That is her main value to him – her loyalty. He knows she will be loyal because she cannot afford to be otherwise. She is not irreplaceable." Riddle spins to face Harry, walking backwards, he spreads his arms to span the lake behind him, Harry is startled to notice, because when did they even leave the castle? "So, while you are correct in saying Umbridge is a big fish, it encapsulates more to say she has the backing of the bigger fish. To reiterate my point: Umbridge is an egotistical bitch because she believes she has the might of the Ministry behind her."
Harry's mind is prioritising the urge to mess up Riddle's perfectly coifed hair just to see how much more dramatic Riddle will get, so he doesn't have an immediate rebuttal.
But inspiration strikes and Harry stalks forward. "Yes, her power comes from Ministry support – that is true regardless of whether Umbridge is working in her department or in Hogwarts. So your theory cannot explain the difference in her behaviour. And her behaviour must be different. She would not get away with carrying a tape measure to check skirt lengths of her colleagues. Because she's not the biggest fish at the Ministry. She can do it here because she is the highest authority."
"Also, because the Ministry dress code is not that strict."
"The dress code is stricter here than the Ministry because Umbridge sets the rules," Harry says. Riddle doesn't back down and Harry ends up closer than he'd planned, so he notices that Riddle is watching his mouth form the arguments. Harry takes a mental note of that– he has a feeling he'll want to examine it more closely when he's not so absorbed in this thoroughly pointless debate. Right now, Harry's mind is on the game. Riddle went for humour instead of a serious response. A feint? Harry needs Riddle to show more cards. He doubles down. "Your theory is digging into the root cause, but losing important details. There is something about being the one left in charge here. The position has gone to her head."
"You are heavily relying on an assumption of differing behaviour, though you have no way to know how she acted inside the Ministry. I'll allow it. But your theory is far from the only possible explanation. In fact…"
They continue walking. The point is snatched from Harry's fingertips and he is thrilled. At some point the sun dips below the horizon and they head inside for dinner.
"Is it even correct to say Umbridge has power? Since it is entirely conditional on her following the Ministry's tune, I could argue she is a proxy, a tool for executing Grindelwald's will," Riddle argues.
"From lawyer to philosopher. You've got layers and layers of prig, Riddle. Fine, Umbridge thinks she's untouchable, but surely her position isn't actually fragile. As long as she has the Minister's favour–"
"Precisely. Favour is a fickle thing."
They are not interrupted. Harry waves his friends off. Riddle freezes Bellatrix in her tracks with a look. Umbridge glares at them from the head table but she's too far away to hear or interfere. Harry gesticulates with his fork. Riddle times his more outrageous statements for the moments Harry is drinking pumpkin juice.
By the time they climb through the portrait hole, Riddle has postulated that Umbridge is functionally indistinguishable from a flobberworm. It is well within Harry's abilities to refute that, but he can't muster the will, so Riddle wins by default. Harry thinks that's a dirty trick.
After all that talk, they have a thorough grasp on the whys and hows, but the only information they actually needed, they'd agreed on in the first five seconds. Harry finds that pretty funny, honestly. He lips twitch and he says grandly, "So, in summary, Umbridge is a dead end."
"Oh, that. I'll just get someone else to rescind the duelling ban. Barty Crouch, probably." Riddle lounges in the armchair like it's a throne.
"Your mentor or the gamemaker?"
"Both. My mentor is more than capable of using his father, in addition to his own contacts."
"You're going to a lot of effort."
Riddle's teeth glint in the firelight. "I simply must see how you duel, now. If this is how well you fare with words…"
"Those expectations are setting you up to be disappointed," Harry says.
"I very much doubt it," Riddle murmurs. "If disappointment is your aim, you've yet to manage it."
A warm glow spreads from the centre of Harry's chest. He keeps a wary eye on it, because that is not helpful.
But Harry is curious, because Riddle must know. "You realise I'm going to duel you just as badly as I did against Bellatrix."
Riddle laughs. His confidence sends chills down Harry's spine.
"I can see how much you want it, Harry. When we face off, you won't be able to help yourself."
"I wouldn't count on it, Riddle." But, with niggling wariness, Harry notes that he doesn't know how to end a duel against Riddle. He wouldn't be as easily goaded as Bellatrix. He can see Riddle persisting until he gets what he wants.
"Train hard, Harry. When we meet in the arena it will be glorious."
Harry jolts. Right. Lest he forget this is all part of a murder tournament. He'll be fighting for his life. No safety nets. He'll have to give it his all. There'll be no room for mistakes or doubt. Just talking to Riddle is one of the greatest challenges he's faced. To honestly fight him…
No, Harry can't seek it out for the thrill. He'll prepare for it, like he'll prepare for other worst-case scenarios.
He needs distance, now. He looks at the clock. It's not too late for an excuse.
"Speaking of training," Harry says. "I've gotta go or Snape will eviscerate me."
Riddle inclines his head, looking amused. "Before you do, humour me? Where did you learn to debate?"
"My mum. Merlin, you should've met her. She could convince dad the sky was green and the grass was blue." Lily had a distinct argument style and Harry's seen hints of it from Snape, and just, no. He is not thinking about that.
Harry climbs through the portrait hole and then he's at a loss. His mentors won't be waiting. He's supposed to spend the afternoon resting and recovering. But he's feeling far too restless to sit still. It goes against several people's advice and Harry knows he's going to cop and earful, but he figures that relaxation is a state of mind, and punching things is relaxing. He feels entirely justified in returning to the gym.