Chapter 4: Duelling Bastards

You may recall my mentioning that on the Quidditch pitch, anything went, regardless of personal friendships. Well, that went double for any match between Gryffindor and Slytherin – in part because there were very few friendships between the two houses. A combination of a general clash of personality types, and the two least popular professors in the school, with just a sprinkling of tradition, resulted in a lot of bad blood between the lions and the snakes. Shame really; Malfoy was a prick, but some of the others were decent enough fellows. I actually made a few inroads in my time at Hogwarts, probably due to my being something of a kindred spirit. Theodore Nott was always good for a black hearted laugh, and he could lay his hands on some sinfully good tobacco at a moments notice – his father had made his fortune off it,

Yes, it's true. A lot of wizards are partial to a drag of the old lung-rot. It's one of the few clichés that's actually true, although I was never able to master the art of smoke rings. Stupid trick anyway. But it wasn't uncommon to see a well-to-do wizard puffing away on a ridiculously oversized pipe. I quickly learnt that if you were really going to be respected, then discreteness was advised. Didn't want to look like you were making up for a short wand, as the saying goes. I myself favoured a four-incher carved from a rich mahogany, and it's still going strong today.

Anyway, I'm getting completely off topic. Sorry about that. Back to the Quidditch! As I said, there was an intense rivalry between the two houses, and this did sometimes bleed over into the Quidditch set – and I'll admit, I may not have been a beacon of modesty about my appointment as seeker. Well, Malfoy hadn't managed it, and any excuse to rub his face in it… And the first match of term was a juicy one, a real corker that I still smile fondly about today.

Flint was captain of the Slytherin team then, God knows why. Not why he was captain – that was perfectly obvious – but why he was in Slytherin. He fitted the house's criteria about as well as…well, as I did Gryffindor's. He was even worse at magic than I was, and by all accounts he actually tried in lessons. He did however bring a certain something to the Quidditch pitch. Mindless brutality for the most part, but everyone has their niche. Rumour had it that he had once dealt with his Chasers inability to score by hauling the Ravenclaw Keeper off her broom and dropping her to the ground. I didn't believe it had happened, but I did believe Flint would do it, if he could get away with it.

The fact that he couldn't get away with it was perfectly demonstrated in my first match. Longbottom was demolishing the Slytherin line of defence, keeping the Quaffle almost permanently in his possession. On the rare occasions a Slytherin got a look in, Wood kept the goals locked tighter than Cho Chang's legs (silly little witch was saving herself for 'the one'; I never did score with her, I'm sorry to say. Not even a blowjob). But of course, the match wasn't over until the Snitch had been caught, and its one hundred and fifty points netted – and even Longbottom wasn't scoring that quickly yet. Naturally, Flint decided the best course of action was to get me off my broom. For about half an hour, I found myself dodging a constant barrage of Bludgers and 'accidental' kicks.

I didn't hold it against him. I'd have done the same in his position, after all. However, Madame Hooch did take exception to it, and Flint was on the receiving end of one hell of a rollicking. I assumed that would be it…and then my broom started to buck beneath me. And I don't just mean as if in a stiff breeze – I mean like a bucking bronco. I don't mind telling you, it nearly threw me off, and I still don't know how I managed to cling on. At the time, I had no idea what was happening – for all I knew, it was a common problem, although not one I'd ever had before.

It was…nerve-wracking, shall we say. It was my first real taste of danger, although I felt unusually calm about it. Probably because I was on a broom, which always calmed me down. Still, I don't mind admitting that I nearly snapped the broom in half I was gripping it so tight. Could it have been part of Flint's campaign? Or was the broom simply damaged? I didn't know of any magic that could do this, but then I didn't know much magic full stop. I was fairly certain that nobody on either team would be able to muster the magical chops to jinx me, fly, play Quidditch and keep anybody else from noticing all at the same time, but you never know. There wasn't much I could do about it though. I ended up bucking all around the Stadium – even into the spectator stands, on a couple of occasions. Never mind an out of control broom, there's nothing quite so heart-stoppingly scary as nearly smacking your Headmaster in the face with the business end of your broom stick, take it from me. I did send Draco Malfoy flying though. It occurred to me that he was probably enough of a bastard to try and knock me off my broom like that, and I won't deny seeing his hair get mussed up for a change made me smile.

So yes, all things considered, I made a good accounting of myself first time out. Yes, catching the Snitch in my mouth was a fluke, I'll admit, but I'd have caught it regardless. Naturally, the party afterwards was veritably Bacchanalian.

As was my usual habit, I kicked the evening off with a quick round of butterbeers – nothing too strong, but if drunk in sufficient quantities enough to get one pleasantly tipsy. From there, I proceeded to spend the rest of the evening getting my tongue as far down Katie Bell's throat as I could – a Quidditch player a year or so above me, I forget precisely. I had high hopes for bedding her in the next few days. Ron was gazing at us in some confusion, bless him. I don't think anyone had ever got round to telling him the facts of life before this, so it must have been something of a rude awakening. Still, you'd think that with that many brothers and sisters he might have picked up a few things, brainless though he was. Especially with the twins around – Fred and George were both serious players. That evening they both had a girl on each arm, and it seemed likely that they would soon be participating in their very own orgy. Lucky bastards, although I did manage that a couple of times myself…

The evening was going with a real swing until the Slytherins showed up. Not entirely uninvited; there was no hard and fast rule about post-match parties being solely for the winning house, and God knows they needed to drown their sorrows after the trouncing we'd given 'em. Still, it left a bad taste in the mouth, as a matter of principle. Fortunately, they'd foreseen this reaction and brought several bottles of finely aged fire whiskey to soothe the palate. And Daphne Greengrass, of course. She was a first year, like myself, but she'd already made an impression as the most attractive girl in the year, and the biggest cock-tease in the entire castle. For the most part, we were just happy to stare and drool.

I managed to wangle a bottle of the whiskey for myself and Katie, and we were soon laughing uproariously to ourselves in a corner, and I was happily working my hands underneath her robes. Just as I was about to confirm my sneaking suspicion that Katie went commando, I was dragged away. I would have complained, but the other Gryffindors wanted to praise me as the best Seeker ever, and it would have been rude to disagree.

I don't actually remember the party from that point… I do know I woke up in my own bed though, which ticked me off just a tad. All that work with Katie, and it hadn't paid off. And my head was killing me. I dragged myself downstairs to find Ron, and badger him to go and get me some tuck, but to my surprise I was met with applause from most, and a smug grin from Hermione.

"Oh? Party still carrying on is it? Well, bit early for me lads, but don't let that stop you. Just let me get some food inside me, and I'll be with you!"

Hermione snorted derisively, and I glared at her. "What's your problem? Wood too drunk to get it up last night?"

"According to Katie, that was your problem actually. Trust me, Wood was very satisfactory," she responded with a toss of her hair. I frowned. Wouldn't be the first time alcohol had affected my prowess, I'll admit, but I didn't like to think too much about that. At least alcohol was a decent excuse. "No, I'm just laughing a little at your prospects for tonight."

"Tonight? What the hell's happening tonight?"

"God, you really were pissed last night weren't you…do you remember being the 'best Seeker ever'?"

"Well," I said with a grin. "I do have a vague memory of it, yes. Can't argue that much!"

"Hmm. Well, Draco Malfoy didn't agree. He was telling everyone that he was a better Seeker than you, and you… well, you punched him in the face."

"Really?" I quirked an eyebrow as I considered this. "Bloody well done me! I assume that's why people are applauding?"

"No. They're applauding because after you punched him in the face, you announced – very loudly – that you could beat him at anything, and he challenged you to a duel in response. You accepted, by the way."

Now, I think I deserve a little credit for not shitting myself the moment I heard this information. Let me put this in perspective: for all that he was a bastard, Draco Malfoy was a pretty decent wizard. Discounting potions (because of Snape's horrific bias towards his own students), his best class was Defence Against the Dark Arts. I, on the other hand, could barely manage a few basic hexes. In short… I was probably going to die.

"Now, speaking as someone who's seen your homework, and knows how much effort you put into practicing your spell work…I'd say Malfoy's going to kick you around the castle tonight. I might come along and watch…"

I scowled at her, but my heart – understandably, I feel – wasn't really in it. I thought quicker than I had in a long time. I flashed her a grin. "Hermione. Old pal. I don't suppose you could see your way to – "

"What, take the duel for you?"

I considered. "Would you be able to do that?"

"I can, yes. Will I? No. This is your mess, you can get yourself out of it."

I swear to Merlin that gravity switched off around this point, and it was an effort to stop myself gibbering. She looked at me, and sighed wearily. "I suppose I could try and teach you something…have you ever heard of the Disarming Charm? Or a Shield Charm?"

I shook my head, and she looked like she wanted to smack me.

"Seriously? Neither of them? Jesus…we'd better get started then, hadn't we?"

I laughed hollowly. "Oh come on, Granger. We both know I won't learn anything that quickly…"

She didn't disagree. Well, she was nothing if not honest. As I turned to leave, she did offer one last parting shot – although she probably thought of it as comfort. "Ron agreed to be your second. You know, in case Malfoy tries anything."

Well, didn't that just fill me with confidence?

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Ron had – sadly, in my opinion – remained sober enough to remember the details concerning when and where the duel was to take place; the Trophy Room, at midnight. He'd also filled me in on protocol: as this was a formal duel, we would be using special duelling wands, warded against tampering. Malfoy was to provide them, which didn't fill me with happiness, but I wasn't planning on using them anyway. Malfoy had graciously decided that the duel would not be to the death, which cheered me only slightly. While we waited for Malfoy to arrive with his second – Crabbe, a useless individual in every respect except his muscle – Ron and I went over our plan.

"Alright. When Malfoy hands over the wands, I'll kick him in the nuts. You set the room on fire. In the confusion, we claim a draw. Ok?"

"It seems a bit much, Harry…" Ron said doubtfully.

I glowered at him. "Maybe so, but that's the plan. We're in a stone castle, fire won't do any damage, and there's more than enough wizards around to conjure water aren't there?"

"I guess…"

"Then stop complaining."

We fell silent as Malfoy and Crabbe arrived. Crabbe was carrying a finely carved wooden box, and Malfoy gestured him over impatiently. The hulking bodyguard opened the box gingerly, revealing the duelling wands. Credit where it's due, they were impressive; elder wood with intricate patterns carved into them. I took one, and weighed it between my fingers.

"I like the feel of this one, I think. Assuming that's alright with you of course, Malfoy?" I asked, trying to sound cocky and knowledgeable.

"They're exactly the same, Potter, that's the bloody point," he muttered, taking the other wand. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

I was about to kick our plan – and Malfoy's family jewels – into action, but Ron grabbed my shoulder. "Someone's coming!"

We all ducked behind a display case, Malfoy dragging Crabbe with him irritably, and peered out.

"Is there someone here then, precious?" Filch. The caretaker and his foul cat. You're familiar with this charming individual, of course. I'd already had a couple of run-ins with him – caught me on the Astronomy Tower with a Hufflepuff girl – so I was even less happy to see him than the others were. Fortunately, there was another door not far from our hidey hole. Malfoy muttered something and flicked his wand, and the room was plunged into darkness. We made a dignified retreat, Filch at our heels.

At the staircase, we separated, Malfoy and Crabbe heading downwards to the dungeons, and Ron and myself just blindly running. We found ourselves on the third floor, and Filch had chosen to follow us…and the only door in front of us was locked. Ron, astonishingly, rose to the occasion, jabbing his wand at the lock. There was a click, and the door swung open. We dived in, closing it behind us.

"Where'd you learn that? We haven't learnt that in class."

"Heard my mum using it, thought I'd try it," Ron explained.

"Well, kudos. Quiet, I can hear something…"

Filch wandered around outside for a while, muttering to himself, but he didn't even try the door, which struck me as odd. Of course, you'll know why. Faced with a choice between Filch and an enormous, ravenous, drooling three-headed dog…well, Filch was the obvious choice. Happily, he'd already gone, and we slammed the door behind us once more. The beast's grunts and snuffles echoed down the darkened corridor. I looked at my trusted companion.

"What the fuck was that? And what was it doing here?"

Ron could only shrug in ignorance, and I snarled.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

On our return to the common room, I found – once again – that I had an audience. Most of the Gryffindor representatives of the Quidditch set, and a few personal admirers. And Hermione, smug cow.

"Well? How'd it go? Did ya kick his arse?" Seamus Finnegan asked, his eyes wide. Always a little enamoured of my fame.

I hesitated before answering. And then a grin started to spread over my face, which I hastily repressed. "Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance! Filch interrupted us, and Malfoy chickened out."

"It's true," Ron spoke up loyally, and I beamed at him. "Ran like You-Know-Who himself was after him."

"Ha!" Seamus high-fived our other room-mate, Dean Thomas, with a grin. "Told ya! Didn't even have to curse 'im!"

"Well, I'm glad everyone got out of this unscathed, I must say." Longbottom was making his way over to me. I groaned internally, but forced a smile as he clapped his arm round my shoulders. "Completely understand, Harry, completely, can't let someone cheapen your name like that, but duelling's a risky business. Very risky. Don't be so quick to rush into it next time ok?"

"Believe me, I won't…"

As the crowd dispersed, Hermione stepped over. "No need to thank me."

"What?" I was genuinely confused.

"Filch. He went there because I tipped him off – anonymously of course. I figured you'd rather be in detention than in several pieces, and it gave you a good get out."

"I…"

"Don't worry, I realise thank you isn't a big part of your vocabulary. Make sure Wood knows when I'm free, ok?"

"Yes…absolutely. And…" I winced. "Thanks."

"I can see that was a struggle for you," she deadpanned. "Anything else, or can I go now?"

"That's it – wait! You're brainy, you'll know. Is there such a thing as a three-headed dog, or was it a hallucination?"

"A three-headed dog?" Hermione frowned at me, her curiosity caught. "Where?"

I shrugged. "Third floor somewhere."

"Behind a locked door?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Yes, I unlocked it so we could hide from Filch," I lied shamelessly. She didn't seem convinced, but pressed on.

"Weren't you listening at the opening feast? Dumbledore told us to stay away from the third floor corridor on pain of death!"

"No, I wasn't. I was eating. Well, that answers that then. Bloody crazy wizards…" I turned and headed for bed. I needed it.