The Faction and the Stone V

Previous chapter: Harry is gifted the Invisibility Cloak and stumbles across the Mirror of Erised. He makes up with Gabriel, and Susan accidentally activates a prank intended for him. Harry swears revenge on Hartin.

…

Not for lack of trying, Harry and Alan couldn't find Susan for the rest of the day. Eventually they turned to Megan Jones, who duly reported that she was down in the Hufflepuff girls' dormitory, crying in her bed, her curtains shut. Megan had tried to talk to her, then Hannah, both to no to no avail. None of the girls could coax her out; the rule against boys in the girls dormitories had never been more frustrating.

"It's pride," Ernie explained by the unorthodox Hufflepuff hearth, with Justin nodding along as if he knew what his friend was talking about. "To the manor-born, a prank is more than just embarrassment."

Harry twirled the white bishop in between his fingers, frowning at the board. He was already going to lose this game, he knew. The pieces were all wrong already, and Wayne was no help. Instead, he tried to imagine what Bones manor might look like. Turrets and stone? No, red-brick? Perhaps marble. Yes, he thought, it would be nothing so dark as Halt End. "Is Susan's family really that important?"

Wayne snorted. "She hasn't told you about her family?"

Justin took the opportunity to chime in; "Susan isn't exactly a rabbiter."

Harry turned his scowl Justin's way, holding his position until the other boy dropped his gaze to his feet. He took a pawn with his bishop; the former headbutted the latter. In wizard's chess, all the figures were enchanted, animated to move and given the intelligence to give advice. "She doesn't like to boast."

"The beneficent Bones," Wayne smirked. "Not a large family, not anymore. A few cousins scattered around, but they've got a seat in the Wizengamot, a fortune and the headship of the DMLE - that's most important."

It wasn't difficult to see why money would be important, or leadership of Britain's magical police; but the Wizengamot remained a matter of confusion to Harry. And though he hated admitting he didn't know something, this was too convenient a moment not to ask... "Oh," he said with a careful lightness. "What's the use of the Wizengamot seat?"

"It's hereditary, for one," Ernie said immediately - quite forcefully, in fact. Was that envy, dislike, or something else? "The Wizengamot proposes new law, and hears important trials. Not that it matters as much as it did, with the new seats watering down the vote."

"From wine to water, my father sometimes mutters," Wayne added. He was still smirking; in fact, his eyes were glinting knowingly. He knew exactly what Harry was doing.

"New seats?" Harry prodded. He moved his knight, who shouted up at him angrily.

"New in wizarding terms," Ernie qualified. "The Wizengamot is supposed to be the collection of all the peoples of Britain, so over the years we've given seats to guildsmen, elected sheriffs, that sort of thing."

"And they love taxes," Wayne said, with the same sort of bearing as one throwing a golden apple between the gods.*"

Ernie pursed his lips. "It was needed after the war." He moved one of his own knights in turn. It was cackling. "Checkmate."

Harry blinked. That knight was checking, but couldn't he... no, he realised, gritting his teeth. It was mate. Sighing, he relaxed into his chair as Wayne, Ernie and Justin started arguing about taxation.

Well, mostly it was Ernie and Justin. Wayne was simply being Wayne, adding fuel to the fire whenever he felt the spark was dying.

Harry let the noise wash over him. The board was more to his interest. He was outmatched without Susan's help. Wizards loved chess (and all board games, really), which he supposed was a consequence of the lack of television. Ernie had been practising with his father since he was able to speak. With so much experience, how could Harry compete?

It wasn't even clear how Ernie had manoeuvred him into the loss in the first place, which was baffling. Just like the Hartin problem, he decided, disgruntled. What was he to do? Any retaliation would land him straight in the teacher's sights, whether it was his own corridor ambush or a prank. He wasn't even sure why Hartin disliked him so much; jealousy struck him as an incomplete answer.

Harry sighed. Why couldn't Hartin have just approached him? If he'd only talked to him instead of spreading all those rumours about the troll, he was sure they could've sorted it out… Now it was too late to talk, so how could he find ou…

His eyes darted to his dormitory where, at the bottom of his trunk, the Invisibility Cloak was hidden.

Oh.

But by that time, Hartin would've been in the Ravenclaw Tower, so Harry retired to bed instead and dreamed of revenge. The next morning, he awoke full of ideas, full of possibilities. His mind almost felt like it was running away with itself, like his brain might pop out and dash off the other way. He was day-dreaming through the day.

Susan, meanwhile, had not left the girl's dormitories.

The thought drove his mind to yet more elaborate schemes, the designs of which were only halted by Herbology, the last lesson of the day.

This was especially unusual, as Harry generally couldn't care less about plants. He'd had enough of them at the Dursleys.

"Quieten down today children," Professor Sprout said, once they'd all filed into Greenhouse One. The arboretum seemed especially earthy today - particularly smelly, even - and Professor Sprout's voice was unusually sharp, and even primmer than normal. "Today I want you all on your best behaviour, understand?" Taking the time to look them all in the eye, she continued; "This lesson is intended to give you a peak at future Herbology lessons in the coming years, and demonstrate the potential dangers of plants."

"Try saying that five times fast," Harry heard one of the Slytherins' whisper to another. Nott, perhaps?

Professor Sprout's gaze shifted straight to him. "Do you have something to teach the class, Mr. Nott?"

Nott froze up like he'd been chucked in a freezer and left. "Er, no Professor Sprout," he eventually said. "Sorry Professor."

"Thank you for your lack of input, Mr Nott." Turning back to the class at large, the professor reengaged with her lecture; "Now, this is a school for magic, is it not? You have been taught from your first lesson that magic can be dangerous, and it is obvious in what ways the other disciplines may be dangerous. Today we will be examining a very dangerous plant to give you some idea of what you may come across in the field, and the challenges of the OWL and NEWT Herbology tests. This way."

She led them past beds of sprouting dittany to a box the size of a shipping container. Glimmering metal bars reinforced the pale timber. Whatever this plant was, Harry thought, it was big… and dangerous.

Professor Sprout tapped her wand against the strange metal. "Lux," she said.

A terrible cry arose from within, a piercing scream that seemed to shake the air. Harry winced. Whatever it was, the box did begin to shake. The entire edifice was moving, tipping like left and right as though it were trying to walk. Harry, along with the rest of the class, was staring.

Whatever plant was within was strong. Unearthly strong.

And then from the box came a wet, sickly sound.

"It's moving," he heard someone whisper uneasily.

Suddenly, the rocking stopped, and the greenhouse was silent; but whatever was in that box seemed somehow to loom before them - only more present now it was torpid.

The professor tapped the box once more and stepped back. "Aperi."

With a frightening series of clicks, a dozen bands of metal withdrew, revealing a pair of doors. They began to swing open. Harry felt his muscles tense as fight-or-flight overtook him.

A crack of light was first revealed; then the crack became a ball, floating in the foreground, blinding the class to anything beyond.

Whatever it is, Harry thought restively, that's in there.

"Keep calm," Professor Sprout commanded. "It's unpleasant, but it can't hurt you. Obscura."

The light dimmed at once, revealing a deep blackness in the bowels of the box. For a moment there was a long pause; then, slowly, something shifted. Something in the darkness; something was slithering, shifting in the shadows.

Beside him, he heard Megan gasp, while Justin shivered.

The thing - or things, he wasn't quite sure, started to expand, to slide and squirm toward them and the still faltering light.

Harry felt his breath catch; the black mass was drawing close and closer an-

- and it squealed horribly as it approached the dimmed ball of floating light. The thing withdrew slightly before coming to a restless pause.

Professor Sprout let it simmer for a moment. "This," she said, in her usual prompt way, "is Devil's snare, a vine of moderate danger for the unknowing or ill-educated. It expands to fill space, but is halted by its fear and hatred of light. It is not clever, nor compassionate; it cannot be reasoned with, so don't try. If you're caught by it, it's imperative you don't panic, just recall the children's rhyme - 'Devil's snare, Devil's snare, it's deadly fun, but sulks in the sun.' Light and fire are its foe."

Harry heard Megan gulp. He understood her reaction perfectly. Devil's snare was - frankly - disgusting. There was something… vile about it. Something slimy, unclean. It was unnerving. He didn't want to imagine what would happen if the faint ball of light went out…

Professor Sprout's continued narration only stirred up further unease. Apparently, devil's snare didn't appear in any known ancient sources; it was unknown to Zeno of Citium, the Chinese Yinxi the Guard, nor could it be found in the Indian writings of Mahinda the Mage. None of the great herbologists of the old world knew of it. The first recorded account of devil's snare dated from the early seventeenth century.

That left two prevalent theories as to its origin. A new world origin - likely in the depths of the Amazon - where it could prowl through the deepest forest floor, or an alchemical origin. The professor herself preferred the latter explanation, owing to the plant's resemblance to the domestic flitterbottom; researchers were still searching for evidence of chimerization. More… inventive theorists had pointed out the proximity between the appearance of Devil's snare and the Buzau meteor event (during which it had, apparently, rained black cubes).

Harry didn't really care, or want to know. He was just glad that Lumos was a simple spell.

Alan, though, was all too keen to discuss the Devil's snare with Susan the next day. She'd finally left the girl's dormitories at breakfast, looking haggard and unhappy. The sight had made Harry's temper flare, especially when Alan reported that Hartin and his friends had been laughing about the prank in the Ravenclaw common room. Owing to his sister, Alan was a far better comfort to Susan than Harry, who'd patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

Later, recalling his ineptitude made him grimace; but there was something he could do. He'd promised himself that he'd follow Hartin so, when the day was over, he made his excuses to Alan and Sue and dashed to his dormitory.

The Cloak was just where he'd left it (Harry would chuck himself off Ravenclaw Tower if he ever lost it); and, throwing it on, he was immediately reminded of the strange sensation it induced in the wearer. There was nothing like knowing you were invisible.

He didn't have time to ruminate though. Harry weaved through crowds of Hufflepuffs returning to the common room, only once grazing the side of a third year (who thankfully brushed it off), before making his way out through the massive barrel-door.

Out in the basement, Justin and Ernie were arguing gamely over... something. Their wands? The timber of the barrels? Harry couldn't quite tell; he had more pressing questions to consider. Chief among them: where would Hartin and his friends be? Hartin himself was a Ravenclaw, but he was a popular student. Many of his friends were Gryffindors, so they needed other places to meet. Harry searched his memory. Why hadn't he planned this earlier?

Eventually, a picture did arrive in his thoughts; a courtyard, somewhere near Hogwarts' bridge, where a brazier warmed a series of fluted benches. It wasn't dissimilar to the brazier in the Hufflepuff common room - and it wasn't far from Gabriel's preferred haunt, now that he thought about it. He'd spied them there a few times, usually after Herbology classes. There wasn't any guarantee they'd be around, of course.

"Better to try," Harry murmured to himself.

A few feet away, Justin glanced up. "Did you say something Ernie?"

Ernie shook his head. "Maybe it was a ghost?"

Justin looked around the basement. "I can't see anything."

No, Harry thought wryly, you can't. He left them to their next argument.

Up and up he climbed, up from the basement, past the Great Hall, and into the labyrinth that was Hogwarts' ground floor sprawl of courtyards, quadrangles and galleries. Even after nearly six months, Harry still found himself getting lost occasionally. The temptation to eavesdrop only made it worse; he couldn't help but follow a couple of fifth year Slytherins discussing their Transfiguration homework. They didn't say anything interesting, but they did make him lose his bearings.

After a dizzying search, Harry finally found Hartin and his friends (some of whom he did not recognise) sitting by the brazier. He glanced at his watch; it'd been half an hour since he set off. He leaned on a nearby wall and listened.

"-nape wants that in by Tuesday," Moon said.

Borehill scowled. "Ol' bat," he said. Or at least, that's what Harry thought he said. Borehill's Scottish accent was almost incomprehensible. Apparently, he was the third son of a Highland aristocrat - a 'Highland hoveller', as Wayne had cruelly put it. So named because they lived in a decaying stone tower, and never had any money. Ernie had added that they communed with fairies, but Harry didn't believe that.

Though now that he thought about it, Susan - ever sensible - hadn't contradicted him.

No matter the truth, their conversation didn't wind the way Harry wanted. They didn't mention Susan, or the prank, or anything relevant at all. Hartin mostly wanted to talk about Quidditch, particularly the Appleby Arrows.

Soon Harry's legs were beginning to ache.

Thus he was both glad and disappointed when they stood to leave. Now - finally - he could stretch his calves out without worrying that they'd hear his footsteps in the lull between conversation… but he'd also wasted over an hour listening to them prattle on about sport.

It was a total failure. Or so he first thought, because Hartin was heading away from Ravenclaw Tower. They weren't departing to their own common rooms at all.

Instead, Hartin stopped before a tapestry on the third floor; pushing it aside, he revealed a door, which he unlocked with a bulky brass key.

Harry followed the group inside, and was greeted by a hidden study, perhaps a quarter the size of a classroom. Six desks stood against each other in the centre of the room, and the walls were lined with bulging bookcases. But the riches of literature were overshadowed by the posters. Dozens of them were displayed above the books - and all of them were political.

He spied the amicable face of Herbert Campbell in no few, while Headmaster Dumbledore was portrayed rather more grumpily. One in particular caught his eye; the Headmaster's face was staring out at the reader, scowling, with a... was that a sponge(?) in his hands. He seemed to be wringing it: 'NOT ENOUGH!' the title roared.

What, Harry wondered, was the purpose of the sponge? As he surveyed all the posters, a certain disquiet began to settle in his stomach. None of it seemed… normal. His mind was made up when his eyes were caught by a banner that'd been tied to the top of the central bookcase. It read: 'THE FACTION'.

His concentration was broken with a stomach-flipping thud; Archiebald Smithson had shut the door behind him. Now he couldn't leave until one of them opened the door, and if he were discovered…

Merlin, Harry cursed. While he couldn't be seen, he could still be felt or heard. All it would take was one slip, or for one of them to walk into him, and he was in trouble. He retreated to the corner of the room on his tiptoes and waited, fighting past his anxiety to focus on their conversation.

Which proved to be something of a disappointment. Despite the posters, Hartin still wanted to talk about Quidditch. It wasn't that Harry particularly wanted to listen to their political opinions - he didn't care about politics (and after all, the oldest present was no older than fourteen. What would any of them know about the subject?). But some political discussion might've given him an idea of their motives.

At the moment, he was in danger of leaving the room with no more understanding than he entered. At least, he could snitch the room to the teachers. Perhaps Professor Snape, Harry thought, imagining the scene, a ghost of a smile spreading across his lips.

He was so distracted by his daydream he almost missed something interesting.

"-naw clo-ser to SLEIPH," Borehill was saying. "Potta's in with 'em."

SLEIPH?

Hartin frowned darkly, flexing his grip. "No, I hate to admit that you're right, but you're right," he said bitterly. "Perhaps we could slip Potter a truth serum, make him admit that the troll was a set up?"

Harry saw Smithson and Moon glance at each other as if to say - to Harry's mind, at least - 'what is this guy talking about, does he still think the troll incident was faked?' It might've just been wishful thinking though.

But it gave Harry an idea. He'd never heard of truth serums before (and that put a new, terrifying slant on his experience at Halt End), but if Hartin wanted to drug him... why couldn't he drug Hartin? After all, if Hartin admitted he'd pranked Susan, Harry had all the justification he needed for... he bit his lip... for a duel of honour.

Yes, he thought, a duel of honour, in front of all the Self Defence Club. Loser leaves the club in disgrace. Now he just had to get out of the room…

Eventually, the members of 'The Faction' did leave, and Harry crept out right behind Pritchard Moon; he was so close to the older boy he feared he'd trip on his heels. That would've been a catastrophe.

But he didn't. In fact, in the moment they were leaving, Harry had even snatched up a book from a shelf. Conjuring Courage, was the title, a Compendium for the Common Good. Harry put it in his trunk and settled down for an evening of Exploding Snap. He lost more than he won. His mind was wandering, wondering how he might complete his revenge.

After sleeping on it - and an afternoon of research - he was no longer so sure about his plan. Oh, he was certain he could beat Hartin. Though he was a second year, he was also an entirely unexceptional duellist. Too slow on his feet. Harry chuckled to himself, drumming his fingers on the library table. Half a dozen potions' reference books surrounded him.

But getting Hartin to drink a truth serum wouldn't be so easy. For one, Harry had no idea how to brew one. Variants were on order from Potion's Monthly magazine - Lancaster's Triumph was the strongest, yet it wasn't strong enough. Hartin might be able to resist it.

Then there was actually arranging for him to drink it… and the consequences of the duel. How often had Gabriel warned against 'honourist' culture among witches and wizards? He still recalled her first speech, recounting how many had died in a year at the height of duelling culture. There wasn't any danger of that between him and Hartin, but any ordained duel would go against the image the Self Defence Club was trying to project.

At worst, it would result in it being shut down. Was he willing to risk it?

Harry barely had to think: yes. Susan was his first friend. He wouldn't be satisfied until Hartin walked out the club's door, his head bent in disgrace.

And that wouldn't happen without a duel; if he only managed to feed him the truth serum, Hartin would deny everything afterwards.

Now he just had to figure out how to get one, and how to get Hartin to drink it. Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes. All this reading had taken a toll on them…

And he opened his eyes to a solution. Right across from him, the Weasley twins, two lanky, red-headed third years were bent over a thick tome; whispering, chuckling to themselves, they were surely scheming as to how the spells therein might be applied to pranking.

Yes, Harry thought, his eyes lighting up. The Weasley twins were reputed to be the best pranksters of Hogwarts… they'd surely have an idea or two.

But his delight deflated like a tire on a bed of nails; he'd bever spoken to the Weasley twins. He didn't really know anything about them. How was he supposed to convince them?

So instead he watched them surreptitiously from his spot in the library until the librarian, Madam Pince, ushered them all out.

It was another day before he finally mustered the courage to approach. The twins spent a lot of time by the lake. He knew their preferred spot; he'd seen it on his walks.

Squaring his shoulders Harry approached - alone. He'd not told Alan his plan, and certainly not Susan. Both would try and dissuade him, if for different reasons.

But when the twins turned to him, he almost lost his nerve. Harry was short for a first year, and both of them dwarfed him. And both of them were smiling with all the innocence of a crafty fox - as though their eyes saw right through him.

And that wasn't discounting their reputation as a pair of comedians - pranksters who sometimes took their jokes too far. It reminded Harry uncomfortably of a few of his primary school bullies. Not Dudley, obviously, but there were others who he tried to avoid. They were arguably worse; people who could smile at you, pretend to be your friend, then mock you behind your back.

But it was too late to back out now.

"Oho," said the one on the left. "By George George, we've got a firsty."

"A famous firsty Fred."

"Yes George, famous. A pleasure, Harry Potter." Fred bowed theatrically, never taking his mocking blue eyes off him.

"N-nice to meet you too," Harry said, wincing at his stutter. "I know we haven't spoken, but…"

The other one - George - raised a very red eyebrow. "Buuuut?"

"But I waswonderingifyoucouldhelpme?"

The twins blinked. "What?" they said together.

"Could-" said Fred.

-you" said George.

"repeat-"

"-that"

"again-"

"-for"

"us?"

Now it was Harry's turn to blink. "What?"

Then his brain caught up. "Oh, er, right. I was wondering if… if you could help me. You see, there's this Ravenclaw, Matthew Hartin, and he doesn't like me very much, and he tried to prank me but he got my friend Susan instead and she's been embarrassed and I want to get back at them and I have an idea but I'mnotsurehowtodoittcouldyouhelp?"

Harry blushed as he took in deep gulps of air. He'd kept his composure through the mess that was Halt End, why couldn't he do it now?

Meanwhile, Fred and George glanced at each other, as if in silent communication. For all Harry knew, they were. He waited with baited breath.

"Susan Bones right?" said Fred.

"The ginger?"

"The classic gunk-fountain-from-the-envelope prank?"

Harry scowled. Their levity was wearing his apprehension thin. "Yes, that one." There was no stutter this time.

Fred (or Harry though he was Fred, it was all rather confusing) made a superior sound, like a purring lion. "Hartin, hmm? Ravenclaw, bit stuck up, cleft chin?"

"That's the one."

The twins shrugged with eerie symmetry. "Sure," said George. "Gingers gotta stick together!"

Harry wasn't sure if he'd call the scarlet-haired Susan ginger, but he wasn't going to argue. He let out a deep, relieved breath instead.

"So what's the plan to avenge our fair maiden, troll slayer?"

When his flush finally began to subside, Harry described his problem in detail. Fred and George listened intently, nodding, chuckling, and glancing at each other inscrutably. He stumbled around the method of smuggling the serum into Hartin's drink a little, but arrived at what he thought was a viable plan. He just needed the twin's help to brew the potion in the first place.

"Hmm." Fred was stroking his chin like an imaginary beard. "A duel, how… romantic!"

Harry felt his face heat up again; this time from his forehead, to the tips of his ears, all the way to his neck. What were they implying!?

The twins just grinned. "Okay, we can work with that."

…

…

The twins turned out to be a great deal less intimidating than they appeared. They weren't bullies at all. In fact, they didn't seem to have a bad bone between them. They were also full of ideas, some of which were so outlandish they sometimes made Harry wonder if they were all there.

He had to talk them down from hanging Hartin upside down from the floating chandeliers in the Great Hall. They'd pouted at that; it was a prank they'd wanted to pull off for ages. Eventually, they came to a simple solution.

The twins would set up a lemonade stall in the duelling hall, presenting it as an act of an overly enthusiastic House Elf. One of the glasses, already filled, would be 'keyed' (and the idea that magic could be specified for an individual like that was news to Harry) to compel Hartin to drink from it; that would contain Lancaster's Triumph, the strongest legal, non-controlled truth serum available.

The Weasley Twins, suspiciously, already owned a vial.

All Harry had to do was walk up to him and start asking questions…

"Did you prank Susan last week?"

… Which he already was. It'd only been a day since that last conversation; when Harry asked how the twins would arrange all that in a night, George had simply tapped his long nose.

But Harry couldn't be thinking about that now.

He was watching Hartin's face twitch, fighting against the serum. A hush had settled upon the hall like a spell. The flickering of the torches cast long, laughing shadows.

"What?"

"Did you prank Susan last week?"

Harry felt himself sweating. It was now or never; it would work… or it wouldn't.

Hartin ground his jaw, trying to swallow the words before he was forced to say them. "Y-yes."

Harry felt the beginnings of a smile slip across his lips. "Why?"

And now the serum had forced him open, Hartin couldn't stop; "It was meant for you. W-we wanted to get back at you f-for f-faking the fight with the troll." His eyes were burning with rage. He looked around the duelling hall for support.

Harry followed his gaze; he saw tense faces - amazement, too, and disbelief. But Hartin's friends didn't seem prepared to come to his rescue. Borehill looked like he'd swallowed a gobstopper, while Moon was staring at the floor.

"Have you drugged me? You- you can't do this!" Panic seemed to be setting in now. "They'll kick you out the club for this!"

"Funny you should mention that," Harry crowed. It was strange, he thought distantly, how his enjoyment of this crowning moment seemed so proportional to Hartin's panic. "I challenge you to do a duel. The loser leaves the Self Defence Club."

The surrounding crowd erupted in a cacophony of muttering. Hartin seemed frozen in place, while Harry let the whispers wash over him. Most of the other students, from what he gathered, were excited.

He recalled what Gabriel said about the new members. That would work to his advantage.

But slowly, almost in slow motion in fact, a disconcerting smile began to spread across Hartin's face. It made Harry's stomach turn; he'd never hated the Ravenclaw more. How on earth did he think he was going to get out of this?

"I accept," Hartin said quietly, continuing with building confidence; "though honour duels are against the spirit of this club. We are here to learn how to defend ourselves and others, not indulge in violence for violence's sake, using 'honour' as an excuse."

Those were Gabriel's words. He even glanced at her as he spoke to them, and Harry couldn't help but follow his gaze.

Gabriel did not look happy. Harry was expecting no less; he knew this would only cause more trouble. It was why he hadn't told Alan or Susan about his plan.

"This is not an honour duel," Harry replied, trying his best to project an aura of confidence. The crowd was unsettled; Hartin's words had struck a nerve. Was this a bad idea?

He had to fight back, regardless.

"This duel will be about…" He searched for the word, "... dignity. You humiliated my friend who had done nothing to you, and during the Christmas holidays you ambushed me in the corridor for no reason at all. You don't belong in the Self Defence Club, which is about protecting others - on that we agree."

"That's not true!" Hartin said, aghast, a picture of indigence. He was trying his best to look innocent; and worst of all, it seemed to be working. "But if you want something as barbaric as an honour duel, fine. Name the time, and your second."

Now he seemed almost calm. Harry studied him carefully. What was going on? Had he walked into a trap? A frown marred his lips; but if it was a trap, there was nothing to do but spring it…

"Tomorrow, when we share the sun*, then. I name Alan Jorkins as my second."

Hartin's smirk was triumphant. "To the time, I agree. I choose… Lother McConnell as my second."

Harry's stomach felt like it dropped through the floor. The hall seemed to spin around him. Hartin obviously had no intention of fighting the duel. Instead he'd be facing McConnell. McConnell who was better than some fourth years. McConnell who he'd never beat.

McConnell who he had to beat, unless he wanted to give up the club he'd helped found.

Glossary:

*This is a reference to the Golden Apple of Discord, which Eris (Discord) threw at the feet of Hera, Aphrodite and Athena during the wedding of Peleus and Thetis (whose son would become Achilles). This sparked a dispute that would become a cause of the Trojan war.

*'Sharing the sun' involves fighting perpendicular to the sun, so that neither party has an advantage. This is easiest at noon and, though most duels are fought indoors, it's become a tradition in the wizarding world to fight honour duels at noon.

A/N:

So, Harry meets the twins, and has perhaps bitten off more than he can chew, in his 'duel of dignity'! Will he come out victorious? How will the school react to his challenge? What is SLEIPH?

At least some of those questions will be answered in the next chapter, the climax of the Harry-Hartin conflict. There is actually not much of First Year left.

I'm glad to read all your reviews, and to see the Discord slowly begin to fill up… Speaking of, the links expired - though I set them not to do so. So, if any of you have attempted to join and it hasn't worked, it'll work through this link now: /tvbvvfpq, which is also on my profile. Click 'Join Server' in the application and a place to enter it pops up.