QLFC Season 10 Round 2
Main prompt: Write about Christine by Stephen King.
Main Theme: Relationship turned sour.
Additional prompts:
1. [object] a paper sail boat
2. [location] a small town
3. [theme] forgiveness
Word: 2999 words
Warning: Character death.
Filius Flitwick had always hoped to leave behind his legacy, and he worked tirelessly to make that a reality. As a part-goblin, some people naturally avoided him because he was different, while others feared him because they did not know what he was, and still, there were those who envied him for his magical talents. He was crowned Hogwarts' Dueling Champion at a young age. For a long time, he held the title of Charms Master, an unrivalled maestro.
He grew tired of people who dared to challenge him to a duel. When Armando Dippet, Headmaster of Hogwarts, offered him a teaching position, he jumped at the chance. That was when Flitwick realised he enjoyed teaching Charms to children, but his heart still yearned for the fulfilment of his greatest dream. So, in 1960, when an eleven-year-old black-haired boy walked into his class, Flitwick's heart soared.
Except for his bright eyes, the student was physically unremarkable. Despite that, he had a natural affinity for Charms, and his mastery of all the spells Flitwick demonstrated in classes was exceptional. He had the grace and flair of an aspiring Charms Master, and the burning questions he had privately asked after each class revealed an intensely inquisitive mind. Antonin Dolohov could have been the generation's prodigy, but he was the protégé Flitwick had always desired.
Naturally, Flitwick lavished a lot of attention on Antonin: improved his spell attempts, refined his understanding of Charms, and encouraged his explosive creativity. He could not say when it happened, but the line had become so blurred that he had forgotten Antonin was his favourite student and began adoring him as the son he never had.
Horace Slughorn had repeatedly warned him to be wary of the dark and ambitious imaginations of a curious young mind. However, Flitwick ignored him every time because he knew Antonin best—the boy was not power-hungry. Not at all. Antonin was only interested in testing the boundaries of Charms. Surely, that was not power-hungry, was it?
"Were you a Dueling Champion, Professor?" Antonin asked curiously, raising his gaze from the parchment. He had just finished writing his latest charm when he decided to confirm the rumour.
"Yes, but that was before I came here," Flitwick replied easily as he read the new spell his student had created.
"Do you miss it?"
"Yes, but... no, not really," Flitwick shook his head as he dried and rolled up the parchment. "Duelling is too ugly and rough for me right now. I enjoy teaching. It's calmer and gentler." He jumped off the table and waddled to the glass cabinet, where he would store the new spell alongside all of Antonin's previous works and attempts at spell invention.
"Would you fight me?"
"I was a previous champion, Antonin. You're not my opponent."
"Would you duel with me for fun if I became a champion and prove to you that it can be a gentle art?"
"Maybe."
Flitwick had noticed Antonin's improved discipline since then. The boy, who used to be ecstatic about learning new spells, had become more subdued and focused. Flitwick was not bothered by the reticence until he learned about the boy's daily duels.
Despite watching every duel, Flitwick's colleagues were consistently impressed by Antonin's skill at completely subduing his opponents through trickery, complex combinations of spell traps and merciful charms. They would always compliment Flitwick on producing such a talented student. While the Professor of Transfiguration, Albus Dumbledore, admired Antonin's talent, he advised Flitwick that Antonin needed a firm hand, not an indulgent hand, to manage him before his dark hunger for power led him astray. Flitwick remained silent during the discussion because he lacked an appropriate response. Soon, Antonin had intimidated and defeated so many students that no one dared to challenge him. The students at Hogwarts dubbed him the undefeated Gentle Duelling Champion.
"Professor, I will be gra-"
"Ah, Antonin, I have a surprise for you!" Flitwick smiled warmly as he beckoned his favourite person in closer. He displayed a waxed paper sailboat on the table. "I'm at a loss for what to get you, so I've charmed this. Once you've decided what you want, hold tight to it. I'll find you and pass you the gift."
Antonin stared silently at the boat for a long time. Finally, he asked softly, "Am I a champion duellist to you?"
"Not yet, Antonin. You must set sail and test yourself against the rest of the world." Flitwick squeezed Antonin's shoulder and smiled encouragingly.
"Will you duel me for three rounds if I become the champion who defeats champions?" Antonin asked hopefully as he slid the boat carefully into his robes. "Will the boat lead us to that fate?"
Flitwick chuckled after blinking in surprise. "Fine, fine. I'll duel you three times if you're that champion," he indulged good-naturedly. "Save the boat for something more valuable, silly boy."
"I'll be the undefeated champion," Antonin declared as he locked his gaze on Flitwick. "I'll not lose until we have our duels!"
Flitwick had caught sight of himself in those ferocious eyes, and he felt trapped between the devil and the deep sea. He knew he should have said something—perhaps chastised the young man, discouraged the dream, or simply done something—but Antonin was his precious protégé. He had watched and raised the boy, and now he was astounded by Antonin's steadfast determination. He did not wish to dim the light even slightly. He wanted to keep watching Antonin soar and push the boundaries. Flitwick should have remembered that lights never shine so brightly in the absence of darkness, but he chose to do nothing but watch the boy leave his office at the time.
Flitwick wrote letters to Antonin after he graduated but received no response. His only sources of information about his protégé were the newspapers and gossip about a young wizard who was quickly gaining a reputation as an upcoming Charms master specialising in curse-breaking and spell-traps. He worked for Gringotts Wizarding Bank and was so well-respected by the goblins that they made him their Head Security. He improved and installed even more complex charms around the vaults. Flitwick remembered smiling proudly to himself. Flitwick could not be more pleased with the boy's achievements.
1969
"Filius, I need you to look into Davenfield for me."
Flitwick raised his head from his parchments to face the newly appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. "Surely, Headmaster, the Ministry-"
"No, they've sought our assistance," Headmaster Albus interrupted firmly. "Their preliminary investigation has led them to believe it's the same complex charm that had put Celia of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang's Crawford, among others, into a comatose state. It might be the work of an aspiring duelling champion."
Flitwick was familiar with those names. They were the recent duelling champions from their respective schools. "You want a Charm Master and a duellist," Flitwick remarked solemnly. "Do you think it's someone who wants to take on Hogwarts' duelling champion?"
The Headmaster looked at him patiently, and within the hour, Flitwick found himself seated in the train express heading towards Davenfield, a small, sleepy town only fifteen hours away from Hogwarts.
Flitwick stepped off the train and looked around at the deserted train station. The train had vanished behind him, bound for its next stop. He continued walking, noticing the broken windows and destroyed buildings, and he came to a halt at the first townsfolk in his path. He checked her pulse, performed a quick examination, and discovered she was still alive but in deep sleep, with no visible injuries. He examined the next few townspeople and discovered that they were all in the same condition. It was a gentle—arguably harmless in severity—but extremely effective curse.
Flitwick armed himself as he checked each room in town until he arrived at the most perfect-looking building in town. It was a pub. There was no broken glass or anything out of place. He pushed the swinging doors and noticed something odd. The bar was empty except for a table and a pair of mismatched stools in the middle.
"Hello, Professor."
Flitwick almost dropped his wand. He had not heard that voice in ages. He had no idea he was walking until he almost collided with the stool. A palm touched his cheek, and he looked up to see Antonin's grin.
"Antonin, why are you here?" he asked slowly. He watched the young man help him onto the taller stool before claiming the much shorter stool.
"So quick to business," Antonin chuckled, helplessly shaking his head.
Antonin looked just as young as Flitwick had expected a twenty-one-year-old wizard to be, but he did not feel like the boy Flitwick once knew. As he observed his protégé, he gradually clenched his fists. There was nothing naive or mischievous about him. Now, the boy carried himself with an air of arrogance and dark elegance. Was it too late for Flitwick to turn a blind eye and return to Hogwarts? He did not want to be here any longer.
"Look at me now, Professor! I'm prepared to take up your mantle!" Antonin announced proudly with a toothy grin. His dark eyes twinkled as brightly as they had the first time Flitwick taught him in the Charms classroom. "I'm the Gentle Duellist who has defeated the champions! I'm now the Champion of Champions! I've not lost!"
"NO!" Flitwick slammed his fists on the table and stared wildly at the boy. Then, as if he realised he had raised his voice, he became much quieter and harsher. "No, no, no!" he whispered desperately, reaching forward and grabbing Antonin's cheeks. "Tell me, you're lying!"
"Why would I deceive you? Aren't you proud of me now?" Antonin asked hopefully, covering Flitwick's hands with his own. "I've done everything for you! You can now duel again. Aren't you happy?"
"Is this what it's all about?" Flitwick roared as he painfully pinched and shook the cheeks. "You hurt hundreds of people, sent them teetering on the edge of life and death, just for that? Have you any idea how much pain and danger they're in while sleeping? How many people have you killed in this manner?"
"I don't know. Is it important?" Antonin protested as his cheeks were reddening from Flitwick's pinching.
"Is it important?" Flitwick's voice strained as he echoed weakly. He dropped his hands and crumpled in silent surrender on the table, almost as if he were exhausted. His shoulders slumped, and his chin was tucked into his chest as a keening whistle hissed past his lips. "I didn't teach Charms so that people could be hurt," he whispered gravely, his eyes welling up. "I didn't teach you to use Charms to murder people! It's for defence and protection!"
Antonin rose to his feet and looked down at his professor. He remained silent for a moment before his lips curled into a pained smile. Where there was once pride, sorrow and rejection now filled his eyes. "Didn't Madam Pomfrey always say that prevention is always better than cure?" he reminded softly. "If they're dead-"
"You stupid boy!" Flitwick snarled. Swiftly, he grabbed his wand, casting a series of spells that Antonin parried and countered with his own. The bar was quickly collapsing around them as spells were fired and deflected to ricochet elsewhere, and traps were triggered and nullified.
Eventually, Antonin collapsed on his back from exhaustion. His inexperience was a glaring difference in the duel. His chest heaved heavily, but his lips curled into a silly grin. In between huffs, he laughed, "That was a lot of fun! You're fantastic, Prof-"
Antonin choked on his words when a foot stomped painfully on his chest. He cast a tired glance at the enraged professor. "Don't you dare call me your professor! You've disappointed and disgusted me!" Flitwick growled as he jabbed the tip of his wand at Antonin's throat. "I'm no longer acknowledging you as my student!"
Then, Flitwick moved away. Antonin scrambled quickly and painfully to grab Flitwick's ankle. "Wait! Don't! I… I'm sorry! I'm truly sorry! Professor, please take me back!" Antonin pleaded as he looked up into Flitwick's cold, hard gaze. He frantically searched through his robes with one hand. When his fingers curled around the waxed paper boat, he yanked it out and desperately waved it at Flitwick. "Please forgive me! You have to forgive me! Don't abandon me! I'm begging you!"
When he saw the origami, Flitwick felt his heart shatter into pieces. Albus, the warlock, was right. He had been foolish. He had been blinded by his affection for the boy. He should have guided Antonin with a firm hand. He had been too lenient with the boy. He would fix his mistakes now.
I'm sorry.
Flitwick crushed the boat in his hands. "I lied," he lied coldly, as he watched the young man's face reflect the turmoil in his heart. He kicked Antonin's slackened hand away from his ankle and walked away without looking back. As he fled Davenfield, he shut his eyes and cupped his ears, but the thundering cry of despair and anguish still howled deafeningly behind him.
That cry would haunt Flitwick's every waking and sleeping hour throughout the seasons. It hardened him and caused him to close his heart. He treated every student with the same aloofness after that day in Davenfield. He would never choose a favourite. He would never go through that heartbreak again.
1998
"Do you intend to continue feigning ignorance, Filius?"
Flitwick was well aware that Voldemort and his Death Eaters would lay siege to the castle as soon as the death of Warlock Albus was confirmed. It was only a matter of time. Amongst them would be Antonin Dolohov, the dark Charms maestro and the most vicious Death Eater who slaughtered indiscriminately.
"Minerva, I'm too old for the war," Flitwick said tiredly as he turned to face the new headmistress.
"You were Hogwarts' Duelling Champion," she reminded emphatically. "Can we trust you to stop Dolohov again?"
"I didn't-"
"Filius, don't play games with me!" she snapped. "Don't think I don't know that you captured him after the first war."
Minerva left his office, and Flitwick sighed heavily. He turned to look pensively at the crinkled paper boat in the glass cabinet, which was surrounded by countless rolled parchments. He swallowed. "Will this heart be able to fight him for the third time?"
When Flitwick met Dolohov in the Great Hall the next evening, he had barely managed to protect two young Gryffindors while watching Lupin succumb to Antonin's curse.
Antonin looked over his shoulder as he watched the students flee. "Flitwick," he greeted curtly as he walked over Lupin's body.
"How many have you killed tonight, Antonin?" he inquired tiredly, casting a glance at the casualties around them.
"A hundred? Two hundred? I lost count. Is it important?" Antonin responded flippantly as he cast his spells without hesitation. It was skilful and relentless, betraying his disinterest.
Flitwick had hoped to end the duel as soon as possible, but as he faced the onslaught of viciously lethal curses, he realised that duelling Antonin was exhilarating. There was no reason to hold back. It had been a long time since he felt the excitement of duelling. Before he realised it, his lips had curled upwards as adrenaline roared in his veins. It was a pity because it would have been a lot more exciting to be fighting alongside a proficient duellist than against such a duellist.
However, he also knew that there would be no end unless one of them was returned to their maker. With a heavy heart, he cast his most potent spell at Antonin. It was the highest compliment he could bestow on anyone.
As the red light zipped out of his wand, he watched in muted horror as Antonin's hand dropped, and his wand rolled away. The spell slammed into Antonin, knocking him back. Immediately, Flitwick dashed forward.
"Why didn't you try to avoid it?" Flitwick asked softly as he knelt beside the devastated body.
"Who knows," Antonin mumbled between shallow breaths. "I lost all three promised duels." Blood was oozing freely from the gaping hole in his body caused by the spell.
"Was duelling me all you really wanted?" Flitwick choked.
"I wanted to be your legacy... as if I could," Antonin chuckled in self-derision humour. "You know, I only started killing after Davenfield."
"Why didn't you tell me the truth in Davenfield?"
"I wanted to make you proud. I thought you'd be impressed if you believed that I killed them," Antonin sighed regretfully, his tears streaming freely. "If I couldn't be your successor, if I couldn't be your champion, if you wouldn't forgive me, perhaps you'd still think of me if I became everything you despise."
Flitwick wiped Antonin's tears away and asked the question that had been bothering him. "If I had forgiven you..?"
"I wouldn't have met the Dark Lord and fought for him. Please, just once, can you forgive this stupid boy for his foolish dreams?" Antonin huffed weakly as his eyes fluttered shut.
"I forgive you. I forgive you, Antonin!" Flitwick sobbed as he caressed the lifeless cheek. "I'm sorry I never told you how proud I was to be your professor."
I dreamt just as foolishly.
Where had it all gone wrong? Was it at Davenfield? He had tried to do what was right...but for whom? He knew the boy better than anyone, and yet, when it mattered the most, why could he not hold onto the faith? When had his faith in the boy begun faltering? Was there any point in thinking about it now that he had lost it all?
Please forgive my weakness, Antonin.
As his hands wrapped around the death of his legacy, Flitwick had no answers. The wailing that had haunted his life resurfaced in his reality. A howl of despair and anguish that sang of unspoken desires and misunderstood intentions surrounded him.
Farewell, Antonin Dolohov, my dearest student.
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