Chapter 11. Duck
Professor Dumbledore—old Professor Dumbledore—had once said something along the lines of "What happened is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows." He, of course, had been referring to Voldemort and the Stone, but the sentiment, Harry felt, could certainly be applied now.
"Good Godric Harry," Atlas remarked from beside his bed, "It's supposed to be a high of 31 degrees today. You're going to melt during Herbology."
Harry, who was currently struggling with a long-sleeved tee, grunted before his head finally popped out of the neck hole. "Yeah, well, I don't exactly have a choice in the matter, do I?"
Somehow, in less than a day, the word had gotten out to the students of Hogwarts that Harry's visions were catalyzed by touch. Resultantly, he couldn't walk more than three feet without some idiot "accidentally" bumping into him and grabbing at his arms or hands, hoping to see his golden eyes for themself. Harry had spent the majority of yesterday dodging or being unwillingly drawn into visions. Luckily, Minnie had had a bright idea at dinner last night and suggested that he could just wear long sleeves to minimize the likelihood of his visions. He was more than willing to try that today.
"You know," Al said, "I bet Riddle would know some Cooling Charms. You should try to catch him before Defense."
Harry looked up from tying his trainers. "Al," he said, "You're a genius."
Confusion knitted Al's eyebrows together as Harry abandoned his laces and rushed over to his desk. "Er, thanks?" he said. Harry waved vaguely at him with one hand, rummaging through his drawers with the other before eventually pulling out a small black book followed by a quill and a well of ink. Al glanced over at Atlas who shrugged.
Harry sat down, flipped open his journal, and loaded his quill.
"Know any cooling charms?" he wrote. Hopefully, Tom would either have his journal on him or still be at the dorms. Harry finished tying his trainers as he waited. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long.
"A few," came Tom's response. "Why?"
"Thank God," Harry scribbled, "I have Herbology this morning and I need to wear sleeves."
"You do? Professor Beery made no indications that long sleeves were necessary for the next lesson during the Slytherin/Hufflepuff class and our lessons are identical," Tom replied.
"It's not for the lesson," Harry explained.
"What on earth is it for then? We're going through a heat wave right now if you hadn't noticed. You'll need to cast the charms every 5 minutes."
Harry sighed. He hadn't planned on informing Tom about his predicament before he had to. He should've known he would want an explanation.
"It doesn't matter. Do you know the spells or not?"
"Well now I'm just curious," Tom wrote. "Why do you need to wear sleeves, Harry?"
Might as well get it over with. "Some people must have figured out that I get visions when someone touches me so I've had a bunch of people bumping into me in the corridors to try and force them out of me. Minnie came up with the idea of—"
"Are you joking?" Green ink oozed out of the page before he could finish writing.
Harry's hand faltered before he wrote, "No. That's why I'm going to wear—"
"Are you dressed?"
"Yes?"
"Meet me in the Great Hall now."
"I was going to wait for Minnie and Augusta," Harry wrote.
There was no answer.
"Tom?" A minute passed. "You there?"
Nothing.
"Perfect," Harry muttered as he closed the journal. "Just perfect."
Maybe it was his nerves, but all Harry could see as he approached Tom standing outside of the Great Hall was Donald Duck.
When Dudley was younger, Donald Duck had been his cousin's favorite. The boy would watch nothing else in the mornings, laughing hysterically at the grating, angry quackquackquackquack that meant something else had gone wrong for the stupid bird. Harry only ever got to watch snippets of the cartoons here and there when he was serving his cousin food, but he still vividly remembered the duck's impatient tapping foot. Looking at Tom now... Well, Harry just knew he would be tapping his foot as impatiently as that stupid duck if he wasn't so concerned about appearances.
"Morning," Harry said as he strolled up.
Tom got straight to the point. "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Tell you what?" Harry asked, not quite catching his eye.
"That people were attacking you in the corridors?" Tom looked furious.
"What?" he asked. "They—They weren't attacking me," Harry objected. "Just—"
"Just what?" Tom snapped. "Just touching you? Just forcing you and your magic into a vulnerable state for their benefit?"
"It's—Look, it's not that big of a deal!"
"I disagree!"
"Of course you do, you fucking hypocrite," Harry spat and Tom's eyes flashed. "You do realize you have done the exact. Same. Thing literally more times than I can count, right? What makes you so special, huh?"
"I—!" Tom's mouth snapped shut.
Harry glared at him. "Yeah."
As they lapsed into silence, Tom's eyes flicked away.
"Look..." he started after a moment.
"Save it."
"But—"
"Tom."
"...I'm sorry."
Harry startled. "What?"
Tom's jaw twitched as he aggressively met his gaze. "I'm sorry, okay?"
Harry could only blink.
"It was... wrong of me. To do that."
"...Okay."
"I won't anymore."
"Okay."
The murmur of the Great Hall blanketed them until—
"I can do you one better than a Cooling Charm if you'd like."
Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked.
Tom's lips twitched, "Indeed. Follow me."
"Why is Evans... shiny?" Charles asked Tom, his nose wrinkled with disgust.
Tom turned his head to the door to see Harry walking into the Defense classroom chatting excitedly with Minerva McGonagall. His arms were bare and, as he gestured wildly, his skin seemed to shimmer. Knowing it was his magic enveloping Harry's skin, his magic ready to shock the next bastard who dared to touch him... It sent a thrill of something rushing down Tom's spine.
"I don't know," he said coolly.
"Orion still hasn't heard back from his father," Charles said after a moment.
"Hm?"
"About Evans."
"Ah," Tom said and then frowned. "Interesting."
"He should've found something by now, you think?"
Tom nodded thoughtfully. "Probably."
Any response from Charles was cut off as the door abruptly slammed shut of its own accord, causing the girl sitting closest to it to squeak in surprise. All conversation halted.
"The Inter-House Dueling Tournament."
The words sounded as if they'd been whispered but they echoed in the room.
"A competition steeped in tradition, dating back to the time of the Founders themselves..." Professor Merrythought's voice trailed off dramatically as she finally revealed herself at the front of the classroom. "Reinstated once more."
One of the Weasley twins, Bilius perhaps, whistled and whooped and the tension broke. Several people, including Harry, Tom saw, laughed as Merrythought glared good-naturedly at him.
"Leave it to a Gryffindor to kill the dramatic tension," she grumbled, and Tom smirked.
"Says the Gryffindor alumna," the Weasley twin said, tongue in cheek.
"I'd know best then, wouldn't I, Weasley?" she shot back, grinning. "But I digress. The Tournament! History, rules, prizes..." She lingered, drawing out the 's.' Tom shifted, leaning forward in anticipation. "Let us begin,"
"The first written records of the Inter-House Dueling Tournament date to 1023 A.D., however, it is generally believed that the Tournament had been going on for many years by that time. Legend states that it was Frode Gryffindor, the third-born son of Godric Gryffindor, who founded the games after a drunken row with Ignaeus Slytherin, the first-born son of Salazar Slytherin."
Tom's stomach jolted as he recognized Ignaeus' name from his research. Ignaeus had been the father of Ignarilla Slytherin who had married Cyprian Gaunt.
"The Inter-House Dueling Tournament was held annually until the creation and prioritization of the Triwizard Tournament, which, as some of you may know, was a competition between the three wizarding schools of Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. The Triwizard Tournament with its funding and its international regard quickly outshone the Inter-House Dueling Tournament and it resultantly fell out of fashion. Since then, there have been numerous half-hearted attempts to reinstate it, none of which have stuck..."
"But, enough history, hm?"
"Hear-hear!" shouted one of the twins, and even Tom was amused.
Professor Merrythought grinned before continuing. "Before we get into the logistics, let it be known that you lot are some lucky bastards. After due consideration, the Headmaster and faculty have decided to part from tradition and exclude all students below the fourth year from competing in the Tournament. You just made the cut. Apparently, pitting seventeen-year-olds against eleven-year-olds is 'unfair' and 'unethical.'"
A couple of people laughed at her tone.
"Anyways... The Tournament includes three stages, the last of which consists of a final duel between the House victors for Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. The prizes? Three hundred House points, the legendary Dueling Cup, and glory."
The room burst into excited whispers.
"Yes, yes, very exciting," Merrythought nodded, "But how are these victors chosen, you ask? That is what the first two stages are for,"
"Stage one," she explained, "will consist of a series of duels held between students of the same House and year. These duels will all occur on November 15th until one victor remains for each year, fourth through seventh, for each House."
She paused, waiting for questions. When no one spoke, she nodded and continued.
"From there, the victors shall enter the second stage, and face the other students of their House lucky enough to have bested their year-mates until only the final House victor remains."
A Gryffindor, Evelyn King, raised her hand.
"Yes, Evelyn?"
"Is participation mandatory?" she asked.
"No," the professor frowned; she looked very put out by it.
Another Gryffindor, Cynthia Bones, raised her hand, too.
"Yes?"
"So you're saying that unless you're the final House victor, the only people you'll duel are Housemates?"
Merrythought smirked, "Disappointed?"
Tom was. His eyes flicked over to Harry, curious.
"Don't worry," the Professor continued, "That's what class time will be for. Now up you get! Up! Up!"
Everyone frantically scrambled out of their seats, which proved to be wise as Professor Merrythought barely waited for the last student to stand before Vanishing all the desks and chairs.
"Now," she purred to them all, "Show me what you got."
As the other students began to panic, the only grin more feral than hers was Tom's.
Harry had always known Tom was... magically proficient, to say the least. As someone with the potential to become Voldemort, he had to be. And even if Harry hadn't had the knowledge of what Tom could grow to be, the teen's causal, effortless displays of wandless magic in the most benign of circumstances at fourteen years of age spoke volumes.
So, yes, Harry had always known Tom was powerful. But it hadn't really hit him just how good he was until now.
"Show me what you got."
The words had barely left Professor Merrythought's lips before Tom sprang to action with a crazed grin, wand-tip already glowing. His red spellfire flashed into the crowd of faltering students and Harry ducked. As he twisted out of the way, he vaguely registered a body behind him dropping to the floor. A girl shrieked, Tom laughed, and pandemonium ensued.
"Petrificus Tota—!"
"Expellia—!"
"Wingard—!"
The room exploded with light and noise and Harry dashed to his left, instinctively dodging students and jinxes alike. He kept moving, twisting and swerving until his back was to the wall and protected.
"Oh-ho-ho!" Professor Merrythought crowed over the din, "Very good!"
Harry didn't let her distract him and swerved out of the way of a stray jet of light. By now, everyone who wasn't already down was moving; the room was chaos.
"Once you're down, you're out!" Merrythought yelled.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Tom effortlessly shielding himself while simultaneously pelting the ever-thinning crowd with spell after spell. Harry hadn't cast a thing yet. That had to change.
"Expelliarmius!"
The red light hit a Slytherin boy square in the back, causing him to stumble forward and onto the floor; his wand went flying. Harry grinned.
"Nice one, Harry!" he heard to his right, and he turned only to watch as Al was hit with a Knock-back Jinx and crashed to the floor.
Harry quickly sent a Leg-Locking curse in retaliation at the Slytherin who'd hit Al, followed swiftly by a Rictumsempra. The combination was too much for the girl's weak shield, which shattered, knocking her onto the floor laughing.
Satisfied, Harry quickly scanned the room. He barely had any time to be surprised at how few people remained before he felt a wave of magic crash over him and he knew, he just knew it was Tom's. As he staggered, billowing fog began to rise from the floor until it blanketed the entire room and he couldn't see. Instinct had him ducking before yellow spellfire blasted at the spot where his head had been. The close call lit up his blood and he rolled to the side, yet again narrowly missing a jet of light, blue this time. As he landed on his feet, he threw his wand out blindly.
"Flipendo!"
He heard a yell and a crash and he knew the spell must've hit someone. Suddenly, another bolt of light, red, ignited the cloud of fog and he heard another body hit the floor. If he was right, there were now three left. And Tom was one of them.
As the groaning of whoever had fallen trailed off, a hush fell over the class. Harry froze, light on his toes as he waited for someone to make the next move. The room was white; he could barely make out the shapes of the fallen students huddled on the floor.
Where are they?
Harry squinted through the mist, muscles tense, heart thumping. The silence stretched on.
Any time now... he thought.
Footsteps.
"Tarantallegra!" Minnie's voice bellowed.
"Stupefy," Tom's voice said clearly.
A thud.
Harry held in a gasp. Merlin, Tom was good. Tricking Minnie with fake footsteps into giving away her position... Tom was good. And Harry was in trouble. If he didn't finish this, sooner rather than later...
"And then there were two," Professor Merrythought's voice called.
He needed to be able to see. Harry wracked his brain for a spell that could help him, dismissing one possibility after another until an idea began to bloom in his mind. Perhaps...
"Is that you, Harry?"
"Expelliarmus!" Harry fired off in the direction of Tom's voice before diving out of the way of another jet of red light. It had come from his right. As he rolled back onto his feet, Hary allowed the memories of Ron and Hermione to fill him before— "Expecto Patronum!"
His stag burst to life and several people gasped as it cantered forward, blinding the room with its silvery-blue light. With the fog, its brilliance became even brighter as the water vapor reflected the light.
"Find Tom!" he hollered and the stag charged forward through the fog. Unsurprisingly, the stag was met with a barrage of spells, all of which soared through it uselessly. Harry watched as the stag halted, seemingly in front of no one. Harry knew better.
"There you are."
As Tom's disillusionment charms melted away, his eyes met Harry.
"You're good," the teen said, nodding his head in acknowledgment, "But not good enough."
"Tremebundulus!"
"Expelliarmius!"
Harry's spell missed by a hair as the ground began to quake beneath his feet. Caught off guard and reeling, he had no defense for the calm "Stupefy" that hit him before the world went dark.
"—ervate."
Harry woke to the sounds of students chatting and the sight of Tom Riddle looming above him, wand out.
"Welcome back," Tom crooned.
"Ughh," Harry groaned.
Tom's answering smile was very disarming. "You did very well, Harry."
Harry suddenly felt very flustered. He missed it as Tom bent over until he very deliberately placed his wand on Harry's throat. Which felt really dry for some reason. "But I won," he grinned.
"Con-" Harry's voice cracked, "Congratulations."
Tom beamed.
"Now help me up, will you?"
Notes:
I checked, and Harry doesn't learn Protego until he's preparing for the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament.
Professor Merrythought is a little unhinged and I'm so here for it :)