~An Emerald Amongst a Sea of Stone~
Chapter Eleven
On Friday, a considerably less strained Harry left the Great Hall behind after lunch.
He didn't recall when exactly he had passed out yesterday, only that Blaise had been forced to levitate him back up to the dorms some time before eight, and that - at five in the morning - he'd woken up, feeling somewhat refreshed.
Currently, he was on his way to those very same dorms. After all, he still needed to get the books for his meeting with Fawley – the meeting which was supposed to take place in just a couple minutes time.
Quick steps carried him to the entrance of the common room and up the stairs. Not before long, he found himself in front of his desk.
He had stowed away the stolen books inside one of the drawers. Wand in hand, he whispered the password.
'Skirmish.'
Even though he thought Blaise was unlikely to snoop through his stuff, Harry had decided to place a rudimentary protective enchantment on the drawer. Rather safe than sorry, he'd figured.
Opening the deepest compartment his school bag had to offer, he grabbed the still slightly dusty stack of books and shoved them inside. For a moment he considered leaving the ones he had stolen for himself behind, but then decided against it.
Blaise, Tracey, and Nott were out flying on some of the school brooms, and as such, he would have enough time to take a look at them this afternoon – perhaps even directly after his meet-up with Fawley.
Making sure to lock his drawer with a wave of his wand, he made his way back down the stairway and into the gloomy halls of the dungeons. With no one in sight, he briefly hid in one of the many broom-closets to apply a disillusionment charm.
His feet carried him up to the second floor, where – behind the weathered, fir-green door that marked the entrance to Myrtle's bathroom – Fawley expected him. This time, she wore her hair down. It was just about shoulder length and flowed down her porcelain face in silky waves.
Her storm-grey eyes pierced him with an expectant look. 'And? she asked, arms crossed loosely.
Harry clipped open the golden latch of his bag. 'Got most of what you wanted,' he answered.
The girl nodded appreciatively, eyeing the books inside. 'Good.' She paused. 'You weren't caught then?'
Naturally.
He shook his head. 'I didn't manage to get back in time, but no one saw me,' he said.
She nodded thoughtfully, her lips curling upwards ever so slightly. 'I suppose that's why you seemed so… indisposed yesterday,' she noted amusedly.
Briefly, he felt reminded of eldritch lights, otherworldly whispers and evil books. Part of it.
Harry's lips thinned. 'Don't remind me,' he told her. 'Here.'
Fawley took the stack of books from his hands. Blowing off some of the dust, she took a closer look at their condition, running her hand over weathered leather. She nodded, seemingly satisfied.
'Perfect…' she murmured, her grey eyes finding him once more. 'A thank you is certainly in order, Potter.'
Harry inclined his head. 'To you as well. Without the scheme I wouldn't have been able to get in,' he replied truthfully.
It was already hard enough as it is.
She smiled a seemingly sincere smile, extending her hand. 'To a successful heist then.'
He shook it, not shying away to look her directly in the eyes. 'To a successful heist,' he agreed.
Silence hung in the damp air which filled the abandoned lavatory for a moment. Fawley shot the books tucked under her arm a brief glance. Her gaze slowly drifted towards him. She nodded.
'You know how to contact me if you need anything,' she said, moving towards the exit. 'I'll see you around, Potter. Probably sooner than you think.'
Just long enough for him to say his goodbye, she vanished out the door quite abruptly. As her ash-blonde hair faded from his vision, a frown overcame his features for a moment.
Sooner than I think?
What was that supposed to mean? Perhaps she would approach him sometime soon? Harry shook his head, deciding not to ponder it any further. His eyes drifted towards his open school bag. There were books waiting to be read. He picked out a few, laying them out on the bench before him. Briefly, his lip curled inward.
'So many to choose from though…' he murmured. What to start with?
They all looked so very tempting. His mind basically itched with the urge to grab the next best of the stolen tomes and immediately devour the knowledge inside. Rationally though, he knew what one had to start with when exploring uncharted territory.
The basics.
His eyes settled on The History of the Dark Arts. The author's name adorned its black, leather-covered front in curved, golden letters.
Andrew Wilkes.
As his fingers moved to open the book, a strange, heavy feeling settled somewhere deep inside his chest. He licked his lips. This was it. The result of hundreds, and hundreds of hours of preparation and research.
Sheets of paper, yet the key to so much more.
Under Harry's touch, the book opened.
When he closed it hours later, it was already near dinner time. He sat leaned against the cold walls of Myrtle's lavatory, pondering his findings.
Yes, he had certainly advanced his research in a way he'd lacked so far. And despite that, the idea of making his goal a reality still felt as distant as ever.
The stolen tome had provided very pragmatic insights on both the history and workings of dark magic – Wilkes' style neat, curt, and to the point.
The man neither glorified dark magic, nor did he demonise it. He portrayed things from a quite scientific perspective, objectively discussing the powers and advantages the dark arts offered, while also informing the reader about the risks associated with them.
So, as it happened, Wilkes had confirmed Harry's suspicion that dark magic – unlike the Ministry claimed – did not just unconditionally corrupt wizards and witches to a point of no return. No.
While it was true that the Dark Arts had the power to corrupt, such a thing certainly didn't happen in the mere blink of an eye. Oh, dark magic could certainly leave its permanent marks – but only through careless and exaggerated use.
Something which it is possible to protect yourself against…
And while the author still heeded caution while practising dark magic, he also admitted that a thoughtful and calculated approach drastically reduced the associated risks for any wizard or witch who wished to foray into the dark arts.
Aside from a philosophic look on the matter, however, Wilkes had also gone into detail in regards to both the history and core mechanisms of dark magic.
Before, Harry had – for some to him now inconceivable reason – carried the idea that the dark arts were a more recent invention of wizardkind – perhaps because most of the curses and Dark Lords he knew had shown up in the last century or two.
Wilkes taught him though, that these magics were so much more than just a bunch of dangerous spells. The man recounted tales of gory rituals and necromantic abominations summoned from the pits of hell, spoke of powerful curses capable of wiping out entire bloodlines, and – on a side note – even mentioned that there were stories of artefacts granting immortality.
The Dark Arts were vast, ever changing, and powerful – Like a Hydra, which, when you managed to cut off one of its many heads, grew two new ones, even fiercer and more dangerous than before.
And in Wilkes' mind, this very power, combined with its availability, was what made them so very tempting.
Compared to what the book referred to as regular magic, the dark magic was simply far easier to wield. And it made sense.
Magical power, in nature, was amplified by intent. And emotions, especially dark ones – hatred, anger, grief, jealousy – were so much stronger than just willpower.
To cast a piece of dark magic, you didn't just wave your wand in a certain way, say an incantation, and desire something to happen. No, you needed something to fuel the malevolent magic you wanted to unleash – you needed emotion.
Which also presented the dangers the dark arts displayed.
Not only was the power these magics offered so very seductive. The fact that you needed to actively feel bad to cast them could lead you down a downward spiral very quickly – which was exactly why one needed to be so careful with their exaggerated use.
There were ways to reduce the risks – most notably the Mind Arts, which promised an improved control over one's emotions – but the side-effects could never be negated completely. The Dark Arts were a dangerous tool, which – if wielded responsibly – could grant you access to powers previously unattainable; but if used carelessly, would bring you to ruin as certainly as the sky was blue.
The History of the Dark Arts might very well have been the best and most knowledgeable book he'd ever read – at least ignoring that it didn't have too much to say about the Cruciatus Curse.
The only things Wilkes really discussed were the spell's origins.
It all began when Ekrizdis, a Dark Lord infamous for his creation of Dementors, had sought for a way to circumvent the Fidelius charm – a form of soul magic.
His staunchest opponent and greatest threat – a wizard by the name of Graham Prewitt – had hidden the Ministry of Magic behind such an enchantment, making it all but inaccessible to Ekrizdis and his dark forces.
So, when the Dark Lord had gotten wind of the secret keeper's identity – Graham's brother Arthur – he'd begun to devise a way to tear the Fidelius's secret from the place it was stored within – their soul.
When it became clear that simple, brute-forced attempts would yield no results, Ekrizdis had soon set about developing… other approaches. The most promising one of those…
Was torture.
For months, Ekrizdis had slaved away in his workshop, testing different spells, rituals, and potions, until – eventually – he'd created the perfect tool for the job.
Harry's flickered towards the scroll of parchment to his right.
Crucio - the Soulscorcher.
Using his newly created piece of magic, the Dark Lord had tortured a captured Arthur Prewitt to the point where the man's soul was scarred so heavily, that it was simply incapable of housing the Fidelius's secret any longer.
Harry had grimaced despite the rather vague description.
Years later, after Ekrizdis had been defeated and his followers scattered, the now infamous Cruciatus was outlawed and included as the third spell on the short list of Unforgivable Curses – magic which, at best, earned you a lifelong stint in Azkaban, and at worst, sentenced you to the Dementor's kiss.
And to think my mother was held under it for minutes… An ugly sensation, searing and ice-cold all at once, reared its head somewhere inside his chest.
But it didn't matter. He could curse and hate all he wanted. At the end of the day, what mattered was finding a way to revert the damages the spell had wrought. And this? This finally gave him a trail to follow.
His gaze flickered towards the stack of books scattered over the bench by his left. With a nonchalant wave of his wand, he checked the time.
5:30…
His stomach growled. For a moment he considered heading to dinner. He looked at the door…
…but his eyes shifted away, drawn back towards the collection of tomes by his side.
No. He couldn't stop now. Not when he was so very close to a breakthrough.
And it's not like I'm not used to being hungry. The Dursleys saw to that…
Rising from the bench, he glanced over the selection of books before him. And one very particular one caught his attention.
Magick Moste Evile.
If there was one tome among the ones he'd stolen which wouldn't hold back on knowledge about spells like the Cruciatus, it had to be this one – at least based on the title. Exhaling, he reached for the book's leather-bound cover. The material had a slightly sticky and grimy feel to it – almost as if it represented the very things that were undoubtedly written inside.
As he opened the work, an ice-cold sensation – most definitely of magical nature – snaked its way down his spine. His eyes scanning past a foreword, he browsed over the table of contents.
The Soulscorching Spell - Page 273…
Despite the itch in his fingers to skip ahead, he decided to give the book's brief introduction a look first. It would give him some kind idea about whether he could take what the book said for granted or had to… differentiate a little.
Judging by the choice of words so far, it seems like it was written by an unhinged genius… Harry thought. The author didn't seem to shy away from anything.
And that very fact was what made the last line of the introduction stand out like a sore thumb. So much so, that Harry couldn't help the frown that crept onto his forehead.
'Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, I shall not speak nor give direction.'
He brushed his finger over the array of letters. 'Horcrux…' he muttered. The word left a dry sensation behind on his tongue. He made a note on his parchment.
For now though… He browsed the book. The soulscorching spell.
Without wasting a second, he started to devour the words written on the page.
"The soulscorching spell, incantation Crucio [KROO-see-oh], was concocted by Dark Arts pioneer and Grand Sorcerer Ekrizdis in the early 17th century.
While originally designed as a tool to shred the defences of the Fidelius charm, this beautifully terrible piece of magic has the capability to do so much more than just maim the soul.
Crucio, in its essence, causes unimaginable pain to the target, the exact severity of which depends on the caster. Since this spell directly attacks the victim's metaphysical sense of self, it cannot be shielded or protected against. Neither can one get used to the pain or build a resistance to it.
So, whoever you wish to coerce, whoever you need to extract a secret from, whoever you desire to drive to the brink of madness – the Soulscorcher is the ultimate instrument for the job.
It matters not whether your victim is crippled, has consumed pain-numbing potions, or has been trained in the art of resisting torment. Crucio will break each and every one of them as easily as snapping a rotten twig.
The spell's only shortcoming – aside from being punishable by the kiss – is that, compared to similar curses of lesser calibre (f.e. Afflicto, p. 17), Crucio is exponentially more difficult to cast.
Similar to the Killing Curse (p. 281), the Soulscorcher requires undiluted, unadulterated hatred to be magicked successfully.
Your desire to make your target suffer must be pure and absolute. There is no room for weakness or hesitation. Rage and fury alone are not enough. Only the ugliest, deepest of hatreds is what manages to power the spell.
So, though it may be comparatively easy to fuel magically, the reality is that most people remain incapable of casting the Cruciatus Curse during the entirety of their lifetime. As I already mentioned so often – the Unforgivables need a special kind of motivation to cast, like all soul magic.
The only 'trick' so to say, to casting the Cruciatus Curse, is that the spell's target must not necessarily be the source of your hatred. So, speaking plainly, you could cast the spell upon your innocent pet kneazle, if you channel the hatred you feel towards, say, your wife's killer.
The rest of the text discussed practical uses and ways to implement it into a duel. On a side note, the author mentioned that, when being held under the spell for a significant amount of time, the target would eventually die from the wounds inflicted upon their soul.
Along with his eyes, he closed the book. His fingers prattled softly against the surface of his thigh. He bit the inside of his lip.
Soul magic. Professor Flitwick was wrong then. The books too. No wonder the healers haven't gotten anywhere. They don't even know how the spell works…
Not that he was surprised. The knowledge he had just acquired was probably enough to place him on a lifelong watchlist in the Ministry, if not in Azkaban. He shook his head.
No one can know about this. Not even Myrtle…
Even if he managed to keep his research a secret – there was one more problem the text had left him with. One question that had gone unanswered.
How do you treat someone who's suffered damage to their soul from it?
Wilkes had suggested there wasn't a way to revert the scarring, and the author of Magick Moste Evile had not even discussed the possibility of treating patients which were suffering from aftereffects of the curse. Which meant, essentially, he was in uncharted territory.
And what did people do to explore uncharted territory?
Harry grimaced. They experiment.
'You alright, Harry?' Blaise asked.
Harry glanced to his left, where the Italian boy scribbled away on his astronomy homework. He was supposed to be doing the same, only that he'd been busy staring holes into the wall ahead for a few minutes now.
'Hm?' the emerald-eyed teen asked.
Tracey's voice drew his head right. 'You haven't drawn a single line since we sat down. And that was fifteen minutes ago. You've been lost in your own little world for the past week. Even the Professors have noticed. Just what is it you're doing that has you so… out of it?' she asked incredulously.
She concealed it well, but Harry could tell there was a hint of concern hidden within her words. He shook his head. If only you knew…
'It's nothing…' he murmured. 'At least I think it is. Just a… an obstacle I've stumbled across in my research.'
A line I'm not sure whether to cross or not… He pursed his lip.
Tracey gave an exasperated sigh. 'Seriously, I don't understand the need for all the secrecy. By now it's pretty obvious whatever you're doing is at least frowned upon. It's not like we'd snitch on you or anything…' she muttered, clearly frustrated. 'I thought-'
Nott interrupted her. 'Don't bother, he won't tell us,' the brown-haired boy said offhandedly, turning towards Harry. 'The only thing we can do is offer you some advice, if you're willing to share a bit about whatever's bothering you,' he shrugged.
Harry pursed his lip. I shouldn't. But on the other hand…
It almost felt as if he was paralysed. Ever since his reading session last Friday, he hadn't made a single slither of progress towards his goal. It was almost as if he was stuck at a crossroads with nowhere to go. Perhaps some advice couldn't do harm. He just had to keep things as vague as possible.
'There's an… idea I have,' he confessed, scratching his chin. 'And I'm just not sure whether going ahead with it is wise, or if I should look for other leads instead. The problem is… I'm not sure if those other leads exist or not.'
His friends blinked. It seemed they hadn't expected him to take Nott up on the offer. Tracey, Blaise and the aforementioned boy were still busy trying to process his words. Greengrass, though, seemed remarkably quick to react.
'It isn't safe then? The idea,' the platinum-haired girl asked, tilting her head ever so slightly – almost like an overly curious owl.
'Risky, I suppose,' Harry nodded, eyeing the ceiling. 'There are ways to make it less so, but those will take up lots of resources. And even though I'm reasonably sure it's the best trail I have, I feel like committing to it could be a mistake.'
The girl's lips briefly turned inwards, as she pondered his words. 'Think about it rationally,' she told him, after a moment of silence. 'If there was someone else in your situation, what would you tell them?'
He shot her a doubtful look. Why would that change anything? It's not like I haven't thought about it critically yet.
She shrugged. 'Just try it.'
Against his better judgement, he did. But, unlike he'd thought – and to his own surprise – the answer came surprisingly quickly.
I'd tell them to give it a shot, even if that means taking their time.
His eyes trailed out the large glass front of the Common Room. The aquamarine colours of the lake always had a soothing effect on his mind. Harry licked his lips.
'I see…' he murmured. His shining, green eyes found Greengrass's dark ones. 'Thanks,' he said softly.
Greengrass smiled a genuine smile. What made it so surreal, was that it was the first time he'd ever seen the stoic girl do so – period. 'No problem,' she said easily.
Her expression evened out, as she rose from the couch. 'If you'll excuse me, I still need to finish my research on the Strengthening Solution,' she said. 'I'll see you later.' And without a complaint from anyone, she vanished out the common room.
Nott looked at Harry as if he'd just been forced to watch Longbottom and Sprout make out. 'How come she's never that nice to me?!' he demanded.
Tracey rolled her eyes, playing off her own surprise. 'Oh come on, Nott, your attempts at flirting are pathetic,' she said.
'Well, that's beside the point,' the boy said dismissively. 'But she smiled at him, Tracey. She smiled.'
Tracey rolled her eyes. Blaise shook his head good-naturedly. The dark-skinned boy stood up too, smoothing out his robes.
'I think that's the signal for me to head out as well. Mother was quite furious with me in her last letter. She demanded I write to her more,' he said.
Harry sensed his chance to jump in. He nodded, taking after his roommate. 'I'll need to get going too. I have a meeting with Flitwick at seven,' he said.
Tracey frowned. 'With Flitwick?' she asked. 'There's no way he gave you detention. You're his golden boy.'
Nott smirked. 'Oh, didn't you hear? Harry here got initiated into the duelling club. The youngest to join in a century, they said,' the boy mentioned nonchalantly.
Harry sighed. Their female friend's eyes widened. Tracey looked back and forth between Nott and Harry. 'What do you mean? The duelling club? Seriously?' she demanded.
'Afraid so,' Harry nodded gravely.
And before Tracey could say another word, he vanished out the portrait frame, leaving Nott to deal with the girl's inevitable assault.
A good thing I decided not to tell her… he thought. Even if she decides to grill me about it later…
Strangely enough, he didn't mind the possibility of it too much.
His feet carried him up to the third floor where before he knew it, he was standing in front of the charms classroom. Tentatively, he opened the gates leading inside.
The sight that awaited him was rather different from the one he was used to. Like during his duel with Flitwick some few weeks ago, the benches had been swished to the sides of the room and seemingly shrinked to accommodate more practice space.
At the very front, behind his lectern, stood the Professor, talking to a small group of students. Seven or eight, Harry guessed. As the man noticed his approaching form, a brimming smile settled on his features. The students turned around looking at him in a mixture of confusion and surprise. Among the many unknown faces, surprisingly, he was able to spot a familiar one.
That's what she meant…
Flitwick beamed. 'That marks the arrival of our newest member, I think.' The Professor's eyes twinkled. 'Doing alright, Harry?' he inquired sincerely.
Harry inclined his head, offering a polite smile. 'Quite. Thank you, sir.'
He was subjected to a critical look from Fawley's storm-grey orbs. 'You're sure a firstie is up for the job, Professor?' she asked sceptically.
The older Slytherin's eyes shone with well-concealed amusement. Harry shot her a flat stare.
Flitwick clapped. 'Oh, most definitely, Miss Fawley,' he assured quickly. 'I personally tested Mr. Potter here.' He laughed. 'In fact, it was me who extended the offer to join our little get togethers, after I had a chance to skirmish with him a few weeks ago,' he added. 'I think you'll all be positively surprised.'
The students didn't seem entirely convinced – which wasn't all that strange, all things considered. Harry wouldn't have been either
Fawley seemed intent on keeping up her act. 'If you say so, sir,' the older girl agreed, shrugging. 'Will he be working with Diggory then?' she questioned.
Her eyes shifted towards what Harry assumed to be a third or fourth year Hufflepuff. His hair was a darker shade of blonde and framed his admittedly handsome face in a middle-part.
The boy seemingly wasn't quite sure whether to say something or not, turning towards the Professor in question.
Flitwick nodded thoughtfully, looking at Harry 'Yes, Mr. Diggory here should match your level of skill quite well, I think.' He turned. 'Is that fine with you, Cedric?'
The Hufflepuff nodded. 'Of course, Professor.'
The charms master clapped his hands. 'Perfect. Let us begin then. Everyone get themselves a partner. This year we are fortunate enough to have an even number of members, so don't even try to protest. It will do more good for me to watch from the sidelines and assess your performances this way.'
The few grumpy mutters that appeared died out as fast as they'd come. Once everybody had found themselves someone to practise with, Flitwick continued.
'Today, we'll be doing some easy skirmishing,' he announced. 'Nothing grand, nothing special. Just boring old practice to get back into it.'
It seemed the students weren't too happy about that revelation, but no one spoke up to complain. Harry didn't either – the basics were important, after all, and it wasn't like he had lots of hands-on duelling experience.
'Take your positions.'
He moved over towards the opposite end of the classroom, coming to a halt directly across from Diggory. The boy was loftily holding his wand, not seeming particularly nervous. His posture was relaxed, almost as if he didn't see Harry as a real threat.
The young Slytherin didn't mind, however. He simply assumed his stance, steeling his eyes onto the older boy's form. The fact that Diggory underestimated him would merely improve his chances to win their first duel.
The perfect opportunity to prove I've earned my place.
On Flitwick's commando, their first skirmish of the night began.
All in all, Filius was quite pleased with what he was seeing.
He had expected some of his students to be somewhat rusty after the long break, but it seemed they had all stuck to practising diligently during the semester of downtime.
Especially Gemma stood out to him, as she hurled spells towards her opponent at a pace which he hadn't quite expected to see. For a moment Filius thought that – just perhaps – the girl was right in her claims that she would be ready for the Junior Championships at the end of the year. He shook his head amusedly.
Only time would tell.
Mainly though, his eyes rested on the right side of the rearranged classroom, where Harry was duelling with Cedric. As expected, the former of the two was holding his own. What came quite as a surprise though, was that Cedric seemed to be struggling a bit – against what was supposed to be an easier opponent.
Not that it looked like the older Hufflepuff was out of form, no – more so, it seemed that Harry had just decided to step up his game from his last duel on Halloween. His footwork was still rough around the edges, but all in all, the boy moved with a lot more smoothness and grace than he had just a few weeks ago. It brought a small smile onto Filius' face.
Attentively, he watched their trade of spells.
A disarming charm from Harry. Cedric's shield being chained into a knockback jinx. Harry dodging and countering with a Flipendo of his own.
While to an inexperienced eye it may have looked like their supposedly equal exchange could go on indefinitely, Filius knew better.
Harry was winning.
The younger Slytherin's spells were sharper. His smaller frame allowed for easier dodging – and in terms of magical stamina, the emerald-eyed boy was in no way inferior to his senior – if anything, he seemed to be outlasting Cedric, who was sweating already.
From the corner of his eye, Filius noticed that the majority of the duels around him had already ended. Instead of continuing their practice as usual though, his students seemed to prefer observing the exchange between Harry and Cedric. Not that he could fault them for it.
His eyes flickered towards the large clock hanging from the ceiling. One minute, forty-two seconds. He nodded appreciatively, looking down again just in time to see the duel end.
The way it did made a hearty chuckle spill from his lips.
Cedric fired a banisher. Harry cast a brilliantly silver Protego and followed up with an Expelliarmus. Cedric, in the middle of casting another knockback jinx, didn't have time to dodge. Harry's maroon spell hit him square in the chest, the Hufflepuff's willow wand arcing across the classroom, right into the Slytherin's outstretched hands.
Cedric was staring at the boy in a mixture of confusion, awe, and disbelief – not much unlike the students around. It seemed only himself and Gemma weren't surprised by the outcome.
As Harry strode over towards his opponent, he extended his hand. 'Well matched, Diggory.'
Cedric appeared too stunned to speak for a moment, but – after a second – recollected himself, grasping his wand.
'Well… matched,' the older boy agreed, a little out of breath. 'Merlin, you're good,' he chuckled. 'Sorry for not taking you seriously at first,' he said apologetically. 'I didn't mean to disrespect you. I just thought…'
Harry's lips morphed into a satisfied smile. 'That the newbie first year had no chance of beating you anyway?' he finished, raising an eyebrow.
'Yeah,' Cedric agreed, grinning. 'Professor Flitwick really wasn't lying, huh?'
Filius saw his opportunity to jump in.
'I certainly wasn't, Mr. Diggory,' he called across the hall, eliciting a few chuckles from his proteges. 'That however, should teach you to never underestimate your opponent, no matter how unlikely their victory may appear.'
The Hufflepuff rubbed his neck in embarrassment. 'Definitely, sir. I think I've learned my lesson,' he said.
'Very good!' Filius turned towards the rest of his students. 'Now that everyone has indulged in the grand finale of Messrs Potter and Diggory's first duel, I think it is time for all of us to continue our practice, yes?' he asked, raising an amused eyebrow.
Sheepishly, everyone went back to their drills. All in all, Filius was quite satisfied with how the evening was looking to turn out.
Their last duel of the night ended just like the first.
This time, however, Diggory took it upon himself to close the distance between them. He gave Harry a bright smile as he accepted his wand. The boy seemed in no way bothered or bitter about the loss.
'Well matched, Diggory.' Harry inclined his head.
The older boy seemed as exhausted as high-spirited. 'Well matched,' he agreed, offering his hand for a shake. 'And just call me Cedric.'
Harry took it. 'Harry then.'
The Hufflepuff chuckled. 'I really don't get how you're so good at your age, you know? Some of us have been tutored by our parents since we were eleven. What's it you're doing differently?'
I want it more.
He shrugged. 'I just don't do anything by half measures. Ever since Professor Flitwick recommended those books to me I haven't stopped practising. Protego was actually the first duelling spell I managed to master.'
'That I can believe,' the boy nodded appreciatively. He demonstrated his own silver shield. 'Mine's worse and I've been working on it for the last year or something.' He paused. 'I suppose I'll see you on Thursday for practice then?' he asked.
Harry looked up, concealing his surprise. 'Already?'
'Yeah, Professor Flitwick wants to catch up on the lessons we missed because of that whole ICW stuff. It's a welcome change to meet two times a week though. Less downtime this way. No chance to get rusty'
'Probably,' he agreed. 'I'll see you around then.'
'Yup,' Cedric said as he moved towards the exit. 'And don't think I'll let you win as easily as today, Potter.'
Harry smirked softly. 'Oh, rest assured, you'll lose.'
The Hufflepuff grinned. 'We'll have to see about that, won't we?' He waved. 'Bye Harry, bye Professor.'
'Bye.'
And with that, Cedric vanished out the door, leaving only Harry and Professor Flitwick behind in the room. The emerald-eyed teen turned towards the charms master, smiling politely.
'Thanks again for the opportunity, sir,' he said sincerely, lowering his head.
The Professor chuckled heartily, waving him off. 'Oh, there's nothing to thank me for, Harry. You've earned it. I must admit I didn't expect you to beat Cedric as easily as you did. Your footwork really has made a step into the right direction. Please do keep working on it,' he said.
Harry nodded. 'I definitely will, sir. I'll see you on Thursday, I think,' he said, eyeing the exit.
Flitwick beamed. 'Most definitely, Harry. Have a nice evening.'
'You too, Professor.'
The gates shut quietly behind him. Harry turned towards his left, only to almost jump out of his shoes. Fawley was standing right next to one of the many armour stands, her skin bathed in the azure fire of the torches illuminating the hallway. She was looking at him inquisitively.
'Not bad,' she commented.
Harry shot her a questioning glance.
She lazily twirled a strand of her hair. 'Walk with me, Potter. We're the only Slytherins in the club anyway. No one will ask any questions.'
Not finding any reason not to, he fell into step beside her. For a moment, silence reigned between them.
'Good show against Diggory,' she said eventually as they rounded a corner. 'Though I did admittedly expect you to win.'
Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Because he's bad?' he asked, frowning.
She shook her head. 'No. More so because you're quite good. I only managed to catch the end of that fight between you and the upper years but the fact that you were able to put them into the hospital wing was enough to tell me you had potential as a duelist. That aside, I don't think I've ever seen a first year with more inherent magical power or determination than you,' she said. 'That our little heist went according to plan proves enough.'
'The books were to your liking then?' he asked.
Fawley nodded. 'I suppose. Yours as well, I hope?'
'Yes,' he lied. 'But I'd rather not talk about that, It's not particularly safe without any silencing charms around.'
'Quite,' Fawley agreed.
They reached the foot of the moving staircase. Slowly, they descended the steps, entering the dungeons. It was eerily quiet with neither of them talking.
'Was there anything you wanted?' Harry asked eventually.
She glanced down at him in feigned surprise. 'Anything I wanted? Can't I just escort you down to the common room to make sure you get back safely?' she asked amusedly.
Could've used that escort when I ran into the troll.
Harry gave her a flat stare.
She smiled, dropping her act. 'Well, I was wondering whether you'd be interested in practising outside the club some time. My classmates are quite busy with OWLs and if I want to make Junior Championships this year, I'll have to practise one hell of a lot more than twice a week,' she said.
He frowned. 'Why would you want to duel against me?' he asked. 'I know I'm good for my age, but I saw how you were battering Davies into the ground. And he's a hell of a lot better than me.'
She rolled her eyes. 'He's also had five more years of practice. That aside, if you accept my offer, you'll have him beat before the end of next semester,' she said. 'You have nothing to lose by agreeing. You'll get additional tutoring and I get in the necessary practice to make Championships. It's a win-win for both of us.'
Hm…
Harry had to admit that the offer sounded appealing. And no matter how critically he tried to think about it, he wasn't quite able to see anything wrong with it. Except perhaps for the fact that his already tight schedule would become even more constricting.
Still, the way she made things sound caused something squirm inside him. It almost felt like Fawley was, in a way, almost obsessed with him. Catching him practising spells the first day in the castle, tracking him to the fight, offering to help him with the break-in, and now asking him to duel with her. These weren't just coincidences, but calculated manoeuvres.
He recalled her words about him being a generational talent. And even though they made sense, he just couldn't believe that was all there was to it.
But could he just refuse an offer like the one she'd just made? It would inhibit his own progress for no inherently discernible reason whatsoever.
He looked at the older girl, tilting his head in careful consideration just as they reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The runespoor hissed as the portrait frame opened.
'Alright,' he agreed.
She stopped for a moment, clearly satisfied. 'Perfect. Tomorrow at eight?' she asked.
He nodded evenly. 'In the bathroom,' he agreed. 'I'll write to you if anything comes up,' he said as they stepped inside.
'Very well,' she agreed, steeling her features into her usual mask of indifference. A few of their housemates were eyeing them now. It was clear they had drawn attention. 'I'll see you around then, Potter.'
Harry nodded, ignoring the mutters around them. He could spot his friends eyeing them from the opposite end of the room.
'I'll see you around, Fawley.'
Author's Note:
Sup, folks?
Hope you enjoyed the read.
In general, I'd say that I'm relatively happy with how this chapter turned out. Also, despite the fact that finishing it took a bit longer than I wanted it to, I had quite a lot of fun writing it.
We made progress in both story arcs and hopefully I showcased that Harry is less of a social cripple now – even if he's still not entirely himself around his friends.
I hope the part about the Cruciatus was interesting and enjoyable to read. I believe I've created a quite original take on how it works and am honestly a fan of the lore. Btw: this time I managed to write the book excerpts without the help of Chat GPT. *shoulder pat*
Also, to ease some of the worries one reviewer expressed in regards to the pacing of the story: No, I will neither cover future duelling sessions, nor Harry's practise with Fawley in detail.
I've done most of my set-up work now and the only plot points left for year one are the dragon incident, what Harry does with the knowledge he's gained through the stolen books, and the grand finale featuring the Sorcerer's stone and Leville Nongbottom. So, prepare for some action.
Discord if you wanna chat with me about the story or ask some stuff: https :/ discord . gg/ zwpshsfKJn
(Just remove the spaces)
Last but not least, I want to express my love and appreciation for all the reviews, favourites, follows and kudos you guys are giving me. Especially the comments manage to brighten my day substantially, even if I don't always respond to them.
I'll see you around for the next one and of course:
Cheers.