Chapter 18: Affairs of Honor
"I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him."
-Mark Twain-
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January
Harry once more entered the small office Flitwick had set for the purpose of overseeing the duel. This time he was accompanied by Blaise Zabini. As before, Draco Malfoy was already waiting. This time his father was not in the room, though he was accompanied by both Goyle and Crabbe.
"This meeting is to settle the terms of your duel," Flitwick said, giving a disapproving look at Malfoy. "Mister Malfoy has requested that he present the first order of business."
Blaise nodded, and in short order Crabbe officially became one of Malfoy's Seconds.
"And now, Mr. Potter, choice of contest?" Flitwick asked.
Allie, as the Challenged party, was allowed her choice of several methods of deciding a duel. That they could duel with magic using one of several different sets of rules that dictated everything from what clothes (read armor) could be worn, to distance, to what spells could and could not be used, hadn't come as much of a surprise to Harry. That Allie could choose, instead of magic, everything from unarmed combat, to a choice of weapons, to a battle of wills, had. In fact, there were a further three options—for a total of seven—that she technically had the right to, but Judgment by Magic had only been used in the last five centuries to settle Blood Feuds, and the Labyrinth and Gauntlet had been more or less restricted to use in legal trials, and even then they were very rare. A judgment could be overturned, after all; magic could not. However, the last two remained technically allowable as both Allie and Malfoy were heirs to the Head of Family of two different pureblood families.
Allie had definitely had a preference for which of the seven she would like, but how to get Malfoy to agree to those terms had been the topic of several meetings.
"First, I move that the Labyrinth and Gauntlet be excluded from the list of acceptable forms," Harry said.
It was a sensible move that Zabini had suggested as an opening position and Harry had agreed with. Nor was it a position that Malfoy was likely to object to for both Labyrinth and Gauntlet assumed a certain capacity for magic that the first years didn't have. By having Harry present it, it looked like both were doing the negotiating instead of Blaise who would drive the more contentious part. All three had agreed that it was unlikely that Malfoy was going to allow Crabbe and Goyle to make those decisions for him.
Malfoy agreed and that part of it was done.
What followed next was something they hadn't agreed on. Zabini and Allie had determined that the only way to get the duel they wanted was to control the process, which was fine as far as it went and Harry agreed with it. Allie wanted a contest of will as the nature of their duel, and Harry would have preferred to just go ahead and call it and be done with it rather than risk Malfoy doing something unexpected.
As challenged, Allie got to propose the method of settling their differences. But Malfoy could profess, upon his honor, that he was incapable of a method, he could name a counter-method. Blaise' fear was that Malfoy would use this to reject Will. If he did, he could then accuse Allie of proposing a type of duel that she knew he was unsuitable for. If he did that then not only would it become harder for both sides to back away from a duel, but Flitwick, as the Master of the Field, would rule on the accusation.
If he found in favor of Allie, Allie could propose a second method. If he found in favor of Malfoy then Malfoy could make a counter-proposal. If he did, he was almost certain to choose Magic. Allie, as challenged party, could demure and then offer another proposal, but if she choose Will and Malfoy again tried to bow out of it and Flitwick let him, then their only choices were blades and one-shot pistols, the latter had been written in as a carry over from the Irish Code Duello back in the late seventeen-hundreds and as far as Blaise knew, had never actually been used.
Allie's biggest fear was that Malfoy would reject that as well. To date her grandmother was impatient with her over how quickly she was resolving the duel, but inclined to let her settle matters. If Malfoy were to stall them she'd likely lose what little patience she had and declare a blood-feud.
"Our choice unarmed combat," Blaise said, staking out their opening position. It was a choice that had surprised Harry even more than finding out that pistols were an option, apparently added only a century before. The best guess he could come up with was that some pureblood misunderstood what the Marquis of Queensbury Rules were. Certainly Allie and Zabini didn't have a better explanation.
"And roll around on the floor like a couple of filthy muggles?" Malfoy demanded.
"Mister Malfoy, I encourage you to guard your language, sir!" Flitwick protested, using the somewhat archaic speech that Harry noticed he used at these meetings.
"Nonetheless, it is our choice," Harry said, falling into his assigned role of defending their choice. "Ms. Blackthorn is perfectly willing with…how did you put it—'rolling around on the floor?' We are quite comfortable with the associated provisions."
"Well I'm not comfortable with it," Malfoy sneered. "I invoke my right to set it aside as being beneath me and name Magic as the proper implement, as befitting Wizards."
"But Ms. Blackthorn is not a wizard," Blaise said mildly when Flitwick did not immediately object.
"I doubt that either you know enough magic to seriously harm one another," Harry delivered the scripted lines with a practiced shake of his head. "Besides, I can imagine few deaths more ignominious than to be killed by accident by someone incapable of killing on purpose. And Ms. Blackthorn will not thank us if she becomes a laughing stock for being known as defeating Malfoy with a miss-cast spell."
Flitwick quickly took a measured sip of tea, and Harry found that he had to do the same lest he burst out laughing as Malfoy sputtered next to him.
"No, Mr. Malfoy," Blaise cut in. "Mr. Potter is correct, we must refuse, therefore we name Will…unless you would prefer pistols at high noon?" he asked acerbically.
Malfoy scowled and looked at Flitwick. Technically the sarcastic question was a fault in protocol. When the tiny Charms Master didn't say anything the scowl turned first to a frown, then a vaguely puzzled look. "Done," he said after a moment more. He rose without waiting for Harry, Blaise or Flitwick to say anything further and stalked from the room.
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"What are you thinking, Albus?"
Albus twitched his bushy mustache. "Interesting."
"Interesting?" Flitwick repeated. "Interesting? It was as carefully a scripted negotiation as any I've ever heard of. They practically baited him into agreeing to Will as the method of their duel. If you and Severus are correct about her degree of control then it stands to reason that her strength of Will must be impressive."
Albus looked up sharply. "Repeat that, Filius?"
"What? That her strength of Will must be impressive?"
"No, before that," Albus said.
"If you and Severus are correct about her degree of control—"
"Stop!" Albus rose and paced to his window. "Degree of control…" he murmured. "There is only one person, I think, who knows just how great her control is. Strength enough to command a friend not to die?"
"Albus," Flitwick said. "Madam Pomfrey looked Ms. Patil over quite thoroughly, I assure you, and I did the same checking for evidence of whoever had assaulted her. Ms. Blackthorn's and Mr. Fowler's methods were, to quote Poppy, 'brutal muggle methods, but effective enough under the circumstances'. There were no traces of any compulsion magic, much less anything darker.
"This isn't like the last time. Nobody was ordered to cut their own throats, and Ms. Patil certainly wasn't compelled to hurt herself and then throw herself into the River Hogwarts. Those types of magics leave signs, Albus. After the fact, mayhap, but the signs are always there."
"These things never start large," Albus said mildly.
"But they always leave signs," Flitwick said stubbornly. "Signs that are completely lacking.
"I don't know why you are obsessed with this girl the way you are. With what she could become, yes. Knowing even half of what I do about the Thornes only a fool wouldn't be…extremely worried.
"But we have a responsibility to who are students are now, not who they might become. If you had known the kind of monster Riddle was going to grow into, or Black, or any one of a dozen other names, would you have arranged some accident in potions? Or perhaps slipped some poison into their pumpkin juice? Something that would take several years to work and would be utterly unable to trace or stop?"
Albus favored Flitwick with a brief smile. "As it happens, Hogwarts agrees with you. No, Filius, there will be no more…obsessing about Ms. Thorne. If the best happens she becomes a recluse, the Thornes only very rarely leave their estate once one has become Mistress of Thornes. If worst…we will deal with it if it happens, or someone else will. I had only hoped to avoid Harry ever having to be in a position to kill a friend…but that wasn't my choice to make…was it?"
Filius cocked his head to one side. "So, Albus, now what?"
"A duel is a serious business," Albus said thoughtfully. "There are rules to…limit and direct the danger. Between two people instead of whole families, a medi-witch or healer, seconds to make sure all the little rituals are followed."
"Yes, your point?" Filius asked.
"How likely is it that Ms. Thorne and Mr. Malfoy can reconcile?"
"There's always a chance," Filius said, but he looked away first. "Effectively none."
"And there will be no talk of 'first blood'," Albus said.
"It goes against the point," Filius said.
"But what if, and this is speculation mind," Albus said. "What if she is not sure enough of her ability?"
Filius frowned. "I'm not sure if I follow, Albus. She has power to spare, all of Thorne behind her I should think. Even if she doesn't have the technical ability it should be more than enough."
"If she were trying to kill Mr. Malfoy you'd be right," Albus said. "But what if she is trying for a wound that is serious enough that Mr. Malfoy is unable to continue, but not so terrible that he would die from it? Wouldn't you, as Master of the Field, be obligated to end the duel and declare her the winner?"
"Yesss," Filius said slowly. "And you don't think she has the degree of control to inflict such a wound using magic?"
"It doesn't matter what I think," Albus said mildly. "And keep in mind that Mr. Malfoy would be doing his best to at least stop her if not kill her, and her wand-based skills leave a great deal to be desired."
"So you're saying that when she sent in Misters Potter and Zabini she deliberately did not choose magic because while she likely thought she could win with it, she did not think that she could win without killing Mr. Malfoy?"
"Essentially," Albus said. "She did choose Harry as a Second, and while Harry might intellectually be aware of how wizard duels end…"
"She also chose Blaise Zabini whose mother has actually been in a full-out duel," Filius noted. "I was only a tournament duelist, Albus. The worst I ever had to deal with was demands for rematches."
He leaned forward in the little seat in Albus' office that was reserved for him. "But let us say for a moment that you are correct. That she doesn't want Malfoy dead. What do you suggest we do about it?"
"We?" Albus asked mildly.
Filius snorted at him. "Do you think I'm so blind that I haven't noticed you leading the conversation ever since I told you what Ms. Blackthorn and Mr. Malfoy agreed to? You already have a solution to this…little problem. Why don't you tell me what it is?"
Albus smiled. "Well, Filius, since Will was chosen it occurred to me that you get to choose how they are going to demonstrate that each has the superior strength of self. While a degree of danger is required, it occurred to me that Ms. Thorne may be relying on us to provide her with a way out short of killing Mr. Malfoy, and it occurred to me that if this is the case then perhaps we might consider how to go about providing her with it. And if we do that, then perhaps we should consider…"
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February
"This ceiling is starting to become far too familiar," Harry murmured to himself.
"Awake at last, I see."
A wand-tip that seemed very large indeed was thrust into his face and wiggled about. Only after a few seconds was Harry able to shift his gaze enough to take in a white sort of cloud-shaped thing. The wand-tip was withdrawn and his glasses were thrust into a hand.
Harry put them on to find Madam Pomfrey, Mediwitch, hovering next to his bed.
"Well, you'll be happy to know that you didn't damage yourself too badly this time," Madam Pomfrey said.
Harry frowned. "I was on my broom…"
She nodded.
He thought for a moment. "The quidditch game. Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor." He scowled, "there was a big black bat in my way."
Madam Pomfrey, who was not known to have a sense of humor, especially where Quidditch and injured people were concerned, snorted.
"How badly was I hurt?"
"Not so badly I wasn't unable to put you back together," she said kindly, before glowering and adding, "this time. If you insist on continuing to play that reckless game you people call a sport I cannot be held liable for any injuries you sustain that are unrecoverable. There's a Wizengamot decision on that, just so that you're aware."
"Oh," Harry said.
She sniffed. "Right then, you can go on to breakfast, a light breakfast. And if you hear any ringing in your ears or your nose starts running, you come right back."
"You think I could have a cold?" Harry asked.
"Of course not, if you had one of those I could heal it in a jiffy," she said. "But your skull might have sprung a leak. The last thing Argus needs if for you to be dripping CSF all over the halls."
Harry started to ask what 'CSF' was, but one look from the mediwitch decide that getting out while he had the opportunity was a better idea than sticking around and maybe being kept overnight for 'observation'.
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Soon after the Hufflepuff/Gryffindor game Harry found himself with a drastically reduced amount of free time as the teachers piled on homework in anticipation of end of the year exams. The same was true of Tonks and Cedric as well, and the High Lords of Chaos ground almost to a halt, much to the disgust of Peeves.
Twice after the last meeting about the duel Blaise had contacted him about arranging another meeting, but something always managed to come up. The other boy was not reticent in letting his disgust show. Affairs of honor, as far as he was concerned, should be dealt with openly and in a reasonable time period, perhaps a few weeks at the absolute maximum, certainly no more than a month, and it had been nearly twice that. As far as Harry was concerned it was just as well as it gave Malfoy more time to think about things and hopefully apologize. Allie was more pragmatic. Until Flitwick had a method of her and Malfoy's testing their wills against one another there wasn't really anything they could do.
Without any other major pranks planned, Ernie, Justin and the Patil twins had snuck out one night and used levitation charms to switch around as many of the portraits and paintings throughout the school as they could. Since Hogwarts was effectively unmapable, frames and the backgrounds in paintings—if not portraits in those paintings since they were, of course, free to move around—were one of the primary ways that people navigated. Overnight it seemed as though everyone was back in the first days of their first year.
Filch spent the rest of the day moving them all back.
In the end it was Tonks who broke first. "Look," she said one Saturday morning as they sat in the Tower's library. Through the windows they could see the thick snow-storm that had enveloped Hogwarts. "I joined this thing to have fun. Now, I don't much care what we do, but I for one have had enough with books for a while." She had crossed her arms and glared at them, shocking the first years into silence, though Harry noted that Cedric was distracted.
"Furniture for the circular room?" Padma suggested half-heartedly after a long moment.
That she was the one to make the first suggestion was a good sign, Harry thought, but he wondered how much of it came from the apathy on the parts of others.
"Might as well," Justin said. "I have something to help with that, anyway."
"Oh?" Cedric asked.
"Meet downstairs, I'll levitate it up," Justin said, heaving himself out of the chair he'd been sitting in and heading for the stairs.
Harry looked at Ernie who shrugged in reply.
Without any better ideas the rest of the High Lords followed Justin down to the large circular room. Justin went down to one of the lower levels, and returned levitating a large steamer trunk before them.
"My parents insisted on getting me a new trunk," he said, setting it down. There were five brass keyholes in the front. "I, uh, think they got carried away and bought the most impressively magical one they could find or something." He produced a key ring and stuck a brass key in the last keyhole and threw the lid open.
The inside was apparently much larger on the inside than it was the outside because Justin stuck his wand, followed by his whole arm and head, into the trunk. A faint 'Wingardium Leviosa!' was heard to echo from inside the trunk, then Justin reappeared followed by a levitating chair.
It was tall, mostly framing made of lightly-colored wood. Tough fabric was stretched across the frame to make a seat, and another stretched piece made a backing.
"Movie Director chairs?" Tonks asked.
"Movie?" Ernie asked.
Cedric shrugged and turned to the half-bloods and muggleborn.
"A movie is sort of like to the theater what the wireless is to a Wyrd Sisters' concert," Tonks said as Harry examined the chair.
The fabric was purple. A splotch of High Lords of Chaos tie-dye with HLC written in pink, decorated the inside of the backrest. On the back, where Harry expected to see 'Director' or 'Star' or maybe the name of a teacher, was written 'Grand High Poobah'.
"I had them custom-made," Justin said. "That one is Dumbledore's. I figured we could leave them a note bragging about our irreversible transfiguration or something. There are also a couple of couches. I figured we could snag one from each of the Common Rooms as well. They just need their colors changed."
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Severus Snape grinned.
This was quite different from his usual sneer, and the slight, unpleasant smirks he would sometimes sport just before his cold, precise tones began to flense the flesh from the bones of some poor unfortunate soul who had just managed to perform some spectacularly incompetent act.
No, this was a grin bordering on the full-fledged Smile of Unholy Glee.
He stared down at the parchment before him and he could almost hear the shattering dreams of a fifth year who was going to find herself with less than the 'O' O.W.L. that was required to get into his N.E.W.T-level potions class.
Carefully he unstoppered the little crystal pot of red ink that sat next to him on the table of the Staff Lounge. Its label bore, in a twisting script, the legend 'Ye Olde Red Inke of Doom and Despaire'. With meticulous movements Severus took up his goose-feather quill and charged it with ink from the pot.
Then, having contemplated his first withering remark, he brought the quill towards the parchment.
SLAM!
Severus' near-smile died instantly as he jerked the quill away from the parchment. Too late. A single drop of red ink had fallen from the quill and now soaked into the parchment like a drop of spilled blood.
He carefully set aside the quill before glowering at the person who had intruded upon his nearly-perfect moment.
"Oh, Severus," Pomona said, "Are you the only one here? Have you seen my new Pueraria assassinar?"
Severus looked with distaste at the waving fronds issuing from the pot the Herbology Professor was carrying. The Assassin Vine was native to the tropical jungles of Asia and thankfully did not adapt nearly as readily as its near-cousin the kudzu. The kudzu had been one of the rare magical plants that had made it into the muggle world before wizards could successfully contain it. But where the kudzu was remarkably hardy and able to easily adapt to a variety of conditions, the assassin vine required a certain level of ambient magic to grow. When it did find suitable growing conditions it did so rapidly. Partially this was because, like its cousin, it was a magical plant. Most of its rapid growth, however, was due to its self-fertilizing nature. Young plants were known to kill rabbits, while mature examples of the species had been known to kill humans who mistook it for its less lethal relative.
"I thought we had all agreed, Pomona, that the staff lounge was not the place for plants," He said coldly.
"Oh, Severus," she laughed. "Don't be such a spoil-sport. Isn't that right?" she asked, turning the the plant and tickling one vine with a finger. The small shoot wrapped around the proffered digit and tried to strangle it. "Severus shouldn't be such a spoil-sport?" she cooed, "Blue skies, smiling at me. Nothing but blue skies do I see…"
Severus angrily jammed the stopper back in the pot of ink and gathered the rolls of parchment, fully aware that no one would get any work done when Pomona Sprout was in one of her moods. He quickly left, angrily slamming the door shut behind him.
"Sunshine on my shoulders makes me haaapy. Sunshine in my eyes makes me crryyy…"
Pomona continued to sing for a minute, then someone knocked at the door twice, a pause, and then once more.
"About time," she muttered, her hair turning pink as she jerked her finger out of the grasp of the plant which she set on the table. She reached into her pocket and came out with a handful of small twigs connecting scraps of bright cloth. "Let's see," she said, peering closely at one. "Wee cute beasties' is Kettleburn, and he sits…over there."
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"What is this," Severus Snape said with considerable distaste. "Where is my chair?" he demanded. That all of the chairs in the staff lounge had been replaced was hardly of any great importance. But as far as his chair was concerned…
"I have to admit, the view will take some getting used to," Filius said cheerfully, "but on the whole I think I will come to like it."
He would, Severus thought, glaring balefully at the diminutive Charms professor who no longer had to sit on top of a pile of books on his chair.
Severus took another glance at the chairs, noting that each had something written on its back. Fully half faced away from him, of course, but Sinistra's Starlight Star-bright, written in something sparkling on a midnight blue background was certainly appropriate. The sight of Quirrell shivering on a chair that featured a green smiley face with fangs and horns almost made him smirk… "One equals Two? What errant nonsense is that, Vector?"
"It is the solution to an arithmancy proof that demonstrates the inherent illogic in the universe," the Arithmancy Professor replied. She gestured to a wall, "if we take 'a' to equal 'b' to equal 'one'," she said, "then multiple 'a' equals 'b' by 'a' on both sides, before subtracting 'b²' from both sides …"
Severus frowned, but used his wand to quickly write on the wall.
a = b = 1
a² = ab
a² - b² = ab - b²
"Very nice," Vector said. "Then if we factor the results, and divide each side by 'a' minus 'b'." Severus stared at this, and Vector raised her own wand to finish the proof.
(a + b)(a – b) = b(a – b)
a + b = b
1 + 1 = 1
2 = 1
Severus frowned at this. He knew a fair amount of arithmancy, it was necessary for calculating the best times to brew certain potions, but this was…
After a minute or so he angrily erased the glowing letters and numbers with a sharp slashing motion and turned to where his chair should be.
"Some day I am going to have proof that Potter did this," he seethed. "And when that day comes…" he lapsed into silence, the only sign of the fury he felt were his fingers slowly curling into fists.
Thunder echoed from outside as a storm began to beat against the walls and fortifications of the ancient castle.
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It was as though Hogwarts itself knew what was happening and did not approve, Harry thought as he stood on the Astronomy Tower. Black clouds slowly swirled overhead and thunder crackled ominously. Wind whipped up little flurries of snow and sent their robes to snapping.
He hadn't thought Dumbledore would allow the duel, that he'd find a way to stop it. Allie had had much the same thought for Dumbledore's agreement had taken her completely by surprise. Nor had the duel been kept quiet. The Tower hadn't been their first choice, but it was one of the few areas that was not only large enough for the duel, but was also small enough not to have spectators.
In this the storm helped. While there were no towers that looked down on the Astronomy Tower (except the Headmaster's Office if you happened to look through its windows, or, oddly, the Tower of Turmoil except when you looked at it from the outside), Harry was sure that the sky would have been crowded with brooms if a flight advisory warning hadn't been issued by Madam Hooch and all the brooms grounded.
"I can't believe we're really going through with this," Allie muttered. "Damn it, why doesn't Malfoy just concede?"
"The same reason you won't," Zabini said. "His father, or at least his father's pride, won't stand for it. Mother said his father couldn't have picked a more suiting name for Draco's father."
"And just what could Malfoy's father do that he won't back down?" Harry asked.
"Draco respects his father, Potter," Zabini said, suddenly stern. "To Draco he's the epitome of what a wizard should be. Genteel, powerful…"
The trapdoor of the roof of the Astronomy Tower opened and Madam Pomfrey emerged. She closed the door, then went to stand next to the crenellated wall.
Professor Flitwick gestured for them to join him at the center of the tower.
"Sir," he said to Malfoy before turning to Allie, "Madam. It is my first and foremost duty to urge a peaceful resolution of your differences, even at this late date. I ask you both now: can you not resolve your quarrel?"
Harry glanced at Allie, but her face was an impassive mask. He turned to Malfoy just in time to see the other boy look away from Flitwick and tap his foot as though bored with the whole thing.
"I see," Flitwick said. "Very well."
He opened a chest sitting on the ground, then, pointing a stubby wand-shaped object at it, a crystalline sphere slowly rose to chest-height. It was clear, clearer than glass, but oddly faceted. Inside the sphere was a roil of magenta energy, now crackling like caged lightning, now a seething boil of storm clouds, now an unquenchable fire…
Harry looked away from it as Flitwick set down the little stick and drew forth two more.
"This crystal sphere is made from crystals grown on a lattice of spider-spun hopes, dreams, and angel hairs," Flitwick said. "Incredibly fragile stuff," he continued, ever the teacher. "It shatters if the least magic is used on it or if it comes into contact with something solid, but for all of its external fragility, it can hold within it some of the most powerful and arcane of magiks. This is very useful for those studying those magicks, but occasionally they can be put to other uses. What you see here is Promethean Fire. A single spot of primordial fire."
He bent next to the chest and opened another chest, this one long and wide, but low, this he lifted and present to the duelists. There were a dozen of the stubby wand-shaped objects resting on cloth inside the chest. "These were crafted from stone quarried in the heart of the fey realms. You will each channel your will through these devices and attempt to exert your influence upon the sphere which you will direct to your opponent."
Allie picked one up and examined it.
"Hey," Malfoy said. "These are all cracked and chipped."
"They are centuries-old devices, Mr. Malfoy," Flitwick said sternly. "No one has crossed to the fey-realms and returned in over six hundred years. I assure you, the condition of your fey-stone wand will have no affect on your ability to channel your will through it. The least fragment of one of these would suffice. Wands are used because wizards and witches are accustomed to using devices shaped as such, and because such tiny fragments are less than ideal to hold."
Malfoy and Allie each choose one of the stone wands, then retreated to their places on opposite side of the Astronomy Tower. Harry and Zabini took their positions, standing well to either side of Allie, and staring across the Tower, over the globe of Promethean Fire, to Crabbe and Goyle respectively.
Harry felt acutely uncomfortable. If the rules of the duel were breached, then he and Zabini were supposed to fight Goyle and Crabbe. Malfoy and Allie, however, had agreed that since the test of the duel was a battle of will, all the participants (including the Seconds, but not the Master or Physician) should be wand-less. For the first time in more than half a year he wasn't wearing the phoenix amulet and it left him feeling…undressed.
He turned to look at where Flitwick was now standing, between the two principals, but well back. Madam Pomfrey was standing near the wall, not looking at all pleased. The presence of a Physician (strangely the post was not called Healer, Medi-Witch, or Witch-Doctor, which Zabini said were the common terms though Witch-Doctors were rare in Britain) was technically required, but that most duelists forwent. Allie, he knew, had made Pomfrey's presence a sticking point even before Flitwick had mandated her presence, and Malfoy, strangely, didn't seem inclined to object.
"When I send up sparks, you may begin," Flitwick said formally.
Harry glanced back at Allie who was standing straight-on, then across the tower at Malfoy. The blond Slytherin was standing sideways, with his right-side leading and the fey-stone wand held lightly in his right hand.
Bright gold and silver sparks lit the night. Malfoy's arm started up, but Allie twisted her hand like Harry had seen cowboys do on the telly once, pointing the fey-stone wand from her hip. The sphere bobbled and started towards Malfoy before his wand was fully up. He got it up fast, but Allie was just as quick and the sphere continued to slide towards Malfoy.
"Come on," Harry murmured before firmly clamping his mouth shut. Zabini had warned him that it was against protocol for Seconds to say anything during the duel. They were here to see that honor was served and that both sides accorded themselves with honor, not to be cheerleaders. Worse, however, was the realization that those two half-strangled words had, while encouraging Allie, also cheered for a fellow student's injury or even death. That wasn't something to cheer over, not even if it was Malfoy.
Lightning cracked nearby and the sphere of eldritch flames slowed to a stop. A peel of thunder was so close and so loud that Harry could feel the tower shake beneath him. The wind was freezing cold, though he oddly couldn't feel it, and every moment that passed it seemed as though the heavens were getting ready to open up on them but the ran never came.
There sphere started to creep back towards Allie.
Harry jerked his attention from the sphere as Crabbe let out a whoop as the device passed over the box. Flitwick sent the other boy a look of disgust, but didn't say anything. Malfoy had taken up Allie's pose and had both hands on the fey-stone wand. Harry turned to Allie who was still in her stance , legs shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, fey-stone wand held before her in a loose grip while her other hand was curled at her side.
Her expression was intent and strangely serene, and Harry realized that was her. How she really was. Beneath the uncomfortable interactions with most of their year-mates, beneath the difficulties with charms and transfiguration and brilliance in potions, beneath the almost-paranoid fear of her own magic. This was Allie, Slytherin, Witch, and Heir to the Thorne family, at her best. The point at which it was just her and magic and nothing else mattered.
In that moment he knew, knew just how outclassed Malfoy was. He even understood why. Allie had told him on the first day. She had a Talent, but had started with neither the skill nor control to keep it from hurting anyone; those had taken years of study to develop. She had power to spare so she would never not be powerful enough to use it, and it wasn't as though she could have stopped believing in a part of herself any more than Harry could have stopped believing in his left arm or his spleen. That had left her with only her sheer force of will while growing up in a house with the Patil sisters.
And her stubborn will had been enough for years. Until, with the rapid growth of her magic that happened around young wizards' and witches' tenth year of life, some of whatever she was had slipped through and frightened Mr. Patil so badly that she had had to leave.
The wind whipping her robes around her made it seem like magic was leaking through her very pores as the sphere came to a stop before her, casting her face aglow with ruddy light. Then it slowly began to slip away.
There was a sharp crack from somewhere close by. It wasn't thunder as there had been no flash of lightning. Besides, this was sharper, sudden, without the rolling sound that thunder always seemed to have.
The orb of magical fire slowly gained speed as it crossed the tower. The sky had grown steadily darker and the Promethean Fire's magenta glow leant a surreal hue to the tower. Malfoy looked as though he were struggling with his fey-stone, struggles that grew desperate as the sphere once more crossed the two chests that marked the half-way point between the two duelists.
Harry watched the sphere get closer to Malfoy. As it moved it seemed to dip slightly, as though Allie didn't intend to strike Malfoy squarely with it. He looked at her, but her expression offered no clues. Surely it would be faster if it struck the other boy in the chest. Allie had never seemed the kind to be purposefully cruel, but it continued to dip, now waist-high.
The orb came to a sudden stop.
By the time it had reached half-way between the chests and Malfoy the sphere had been moving quite quickly. But, a third of the way from Malfoy, the sphere just froze in place.
Allie made a sound, but when Harry looked her expression was more puzzled then stressed.
After what seemed like a long time but couldn't have been more than a handful of seconds, the sphere began to move again. Slowly, bobbing and weaving as though controlled by someone who was drunk, it began to move once more towards Allie.
Malfoy seemed taken aback by this. He still gripped his fey-stone tightly, but he was looking at it as though it had a mind of its own. Allie, for the first time, betrayed a hint of tension with a slight tremor in her arm and an equally slight crease on her forehead.
Goyle and Crabbe were openly cheering, which Flitwick very clearly did not approve of, and Harry wondered how the diminutive charms instructor was going to deal with them. Zabini, on the other hand, looked worried.
Malfoy's fey-stone exploded in his hands.
Flitwick roared a warning but it was snatched away in a sudden gust of wind.
Allie had started to drop her arm as soon as Malfoy had cried out and the sphere had practically leapt at her before she got it back up. It was her turn to struggle now as the sphere forced itself closer to her.
Flitwick had his wand out, but whatever spell he cast was snatched away.
Malfoy had sunk to his knees, his hands dark with what Harry suspected to be blood.
Allie grunted, and the sphere was forced away from her, nearly all the way back to the chests.
She was breathing heavily, but managed to keep it there, slowly bobbing and weaving in mid air as Flitwick raced across the tower to the smaller chest. He tore it open and nearly had his head taken off as the sphere suddenly lurched to the side, directly for Harry.
"Allie!" Harry cried, breaking his silence at last. It was all he could think to do. He didn't have his wand. He didn't have the amulet. He moved away from her but the sphere tracked his movements. It wasn't moving very quickly, but it was moving inexorably despite Allie's best efforts.
Flitwick cried out but at what Harry couldn't see.
Allie's fey-stone wand shattered. She turned and ran towards him, but the sphere of Promethean Fire was no longer subject to her influence and was just as fast.
"NOW!" Zabini shouted over the wind.
Harry noted, almost absently, Allie throwing a hand behind her. Something sparkled in the terrible gleam of the magic fire. Then she slammed into him.
He was aware of falling…and then his head slammed into something solid.
\|/\|/\|/
"Well done," The Master said as Quirinus set down the hammer.
Quirinus allowed himself a contented smile. Creating a thaumaturgic ritual that would allow him to destroy fey-stone, especially fey-stone that old—like many magic things, the older and more use fey-stone had seen the more powerful it became—had been no small task. In fact, it had taken nearly his every waking moment, aside from the bare necessities such as eating and teaching classes, since he had found out how the duel was going to be carried out. Even then, and with The Master's help, it had proved nearly impossible to carry out.
But he had succeeded. With good luck Potter was dead, but even The Master recognized that this was unlikely. No, the magical world, at least in Europe, had been forced to learn to deal with fire centuries ago. The methods of healing burns, even extreme ones, were well-known and in advance of many other areas of Healing. And Hogwarts, of course, would not settle for less than the very best of staff. This extended not just to the Professors, but to the Archivist and Healer as well.
Most others thought of Madam Pomfrey as a Medi-Witch, and indeed the Hogwarts Staffing Charter as amended in 1674 required a Medi-Witch on the staff. What many did not know but that Quirinus did —if only because The Master knew—was that Medi-Witch Poppy Pomfrey would revert to Senior Master Healer Poppy Pomfrey (Masters in Spell Damage and Artifact Accidents, Minors in Poisonings and Creature-Induced Injuries, current Holder of the Golden Caduceus, Winner of the P. S. Beagle Award for her work in reversing canine-based polymorphus, &etc.) the moment she left Hogwarts.
But he only allowed himself to savor his success for a short while. The main task, the one that The Master needed accomplished most of all, was still to be completed. The opportunity had been too good to miss, but he and The Master both knew it would arouse further suspicion. He would need to be extra vigilant and extra careful. Still, if the dragon worked properly his next chance at the Stone would be soon. If he missed then, he might have one more chance, but certainly no more. The Old Fool seemed intent on keeping the Stone inside Hogwarts, but even he would tolerate continued attempts to get it for only so long…