SS-1: He's My Opponent, Not My Enemy (October 1993), a harry potter fanfic

He's My Opponent, Not My Enemy

. . . for God did not give us a spirit of timidity but a spirit of power and love and self-control.
— II Timothy 1:7 (Revised Standard Version)

A/N: You may have noticed that this is not quite the Harry Potter universe of the books. Indeed, as time goes on the rest of this canon will be unveiled. What Canon is that? The Word Over the World Universe.

This is a short story (one-shot) companion to my Word Over the World Universe. Currently, the only one of those tales I am actually publishing, Volume I that is: Wizards of War. The rest are works in progress. They are in planning and are taking much longer that I ever thought. But sometimes I get inspired to write stories like these and they become a block to my thinking process. So I had to write this one down.

At this point in the WOW Universe, Harry has yet to claim the Peverell Lordship as his own. If you are not familiar with my Gears of War x Harry Potter crossover, then know that Gellert, properly Gellert Grindelwald II is my OC character, the grandson of the Dark Lord Grindelwald and Vinda Rosier, born to unknown parents.

Oh and SS means SS#1 meaning that there will be more short stories unveiling how Harry Potter came to be Harry Peverell, heir to seven houses.

Summary: The year 1993, Harry Potter's 3rd year into the magical world, and the month is October, the month of the annual duelling tournament. Harry and his friends have been granted special permissions to attend the week-long event. With someone as strong as Harry, he's sure to win. But Harry's about to learn a valuable lesson: Power without conscience is a savage weapon.

(~~~~~~~~~~)

[4,600]

October, 1993
Burkina Faso, Africa

Harry could not claim to be a seasoned Duelist, but this year would be his third year in the competition, more than the average person, and he couldn't claim to be a novice either. By now he was familiar with the protocol and etiquette. By now he was familiar with the grizzly sights of blood splattered across the floor and broken bones. By now he was familiar with the energy that oozed off of the crowds in anticipation of said blood. But nothing could have prepared him for that tournament, no matter the experience. Soon Harry was to step up to the mat. It wouldn't be his first duel of the day, but it was to be his last.

Theo Marshall was the boy's name. He was one of the few contestants that Harry got to meet early on and even chat with. He was a lot like Harry. Being born to unknown lineage after Voldemort had razed his hometown, he was placed in an orphanage before being adopted by an older muggle lady. She had her own back story. She was a pale skinned woman from Jamaica, whose father had vacationed there after World War II. Like so many of these tales go, he met a woman and not before long, there she came, a white lady born in Jamaica. Once she grew older, hearing stories from her dad, she moved to Birmingham to learn more about her British ancestry.

It all made for a rather strange conglomeration of cultural lines. A white mom, speaking Patois at home, raising a dark-skinned British son in Birmingham with a Birmingham accent, imparting to him aspects of the Jamaican accent. (It probably didn't help that they made regular trips to Jamaica. Indeed, the boy was a strange melting pot of accents.)

The lad was also rather upbeat and joked about the dark tone of his skin compared to the pale skin of his mother. No doubt being raised in Birmingham with a good conscience made him who he was today, Birmingham where the tensions between gangs and races were rather high. Theo after all really was a black man. While most people who were called "black" tended to have a brown skin tone, Theo was actually a man with black skin, dark as night.

"I'm just glad he doesn't go to Hogwarts," Ron said after the man departed.

"Why's that?"

"There'd be no ladies for the rest of us, mate."

And Harry had no doubt that he was right. With a tongue of flattery and voice as deep and smooth as better, and that rare complexion, yup. . . Harry had no doubt that Theo would have had himself no shortage of beautiful girls.

In another respect, Theo's mother was also a hardworking woman. When she adopted him, she never thought she'd be adopting a wizard baby. Technically it wasn't supposed to be possible. Children of the wizarding world were never supposed to be placed in a muggle orphanage, but every year, a couple managed to slip through. Perhaps the most damning thing was that there was enough murder and evil going on in England for there to even be a couple of new orphans to slip through the cracks. Anyhow, Theo's mother was just a normal working woman, hard at that. She didn't make enough money to have her son attend Hogwarts, thus she could only afford tutors to come by regularly, doing away with the boarding expenses. (For some stupid reason, probably a pureblood one, since she wasn't a British native, there were no scholarships available to her adopted BRITISH son.) Each time wards had to be set up so that the lad could do magic in the home, and the tutors would come by less frequently than what they could hope, making for less learning time, but her son was a brilliant man.

Theo did all that he could to make up for it in self study. He practised the wand movements on his own, practised the incantations and only when his tutors would come around did he actually perform them. Theo was indeed the pinnacle of self-discipline for a fifteen-year-old boy, and Harry had no doubt that Theo would go far in life. . . that Theo should have gone far in life.

Even in this year's tournament, the boy had a cunningness to him that was downright Slytherin, seeming to recognise Harry, not for the legend surrounding his name, but for his personal accomplishments on the ring.

"Oh, yah man, I be watchin' you in te stands last year. You scrap betta tan any of te boys in te pubs back home."

"What are you doing in pubs, mate?" Neville had asked. "Me grandmum would never let me go to one."

"Well me mother not being, you know? Being home all day get old quick, me need some kind of adventure." The smile that he gave promised nothing but trouble.

"Amen to zat," Gellert growled out.

(~~~~~~~~~~)

The two wizards stepped up to face one another. Theo was dressed in traditional Jamaican duelling attire, while Harry was equipped with a dark red robe. There were gold patterns flowing all along its red intricate pattern, and a large golden lion on its back legs, reared up in a defensive position. If one even looked closely, they would see the embroidered beast opening it a mouth in a roar. It was the Gryffindor relic house robes.

They both got close enough to bow at the waist. Harry slunk slightly lower than his opponent. He always made sure to do that. It was his way of giving honour to the person.

After bowing, they each retreated to their end of the courtyard.

Finally, a green barrier arose over them so that those in the stands wouldn't be hit by a stray spell. It also had the advantage of being a one way sound barrier. Sound could escape freely, but none could come in so as not to disturb the duelist. It was charged like an electric cage, and the strands of lightning dancing across could be lightly perceived. It was just enough so that the audience could still see through it with relative clarity. The barrier only became opaque when it was struck with a particularly strong spell.

Once the barrier was fully erected, then a large number 10 appeared in red letters hovering in the centre of the field.

A wide grin crossed over Theo's face unveiling a set of pearly white teeth set in stark contrast to his dark skin, and his brown eyes were twinkling in delight. Meanwhile, a small smirk came across Harry's face, and his emerald eyes seemed to come alight with raw power.

Theo was quick to move into a duelling stance, while Harry just stood there cool and collected. That was his style after all. While most duellists, at least the best kinds, would move across the field, Harry was above them all.

There was a sort of irony to it. Inexperienced wizards and witches often tended to stand still like rocks while casting, either that or they flailed about wildly. Experienced duellists were taught to always keep moving, dodging and weaving, while casting. It was the same method employed by the aurors in combat. However, those ascended to the next level eventually learned to simply stand still and deflect each spell from where they stood. So indeed, there was a sense of irony to it all. And it was no wonder that Harry was considered the only S-Ranked duellist from such a young age. It was his personal style after all.

Still, that didn't make him invincible. Afterall, he didn't know what he didn't know, and it seemed like every year the judges bumped him up to a higher weight class. If things stayed as they were now, then in two years' time, he would be competing with professional duellists, rather than in the international junior leagues.

"Bombarda" roared Theo, before dashing to the left. As he moved swiftly, three more jinxes escaped from the tip of his wand. "Brachiabindo! Ebublio! Locomortis!"

Harry deflected the first spell into the barrier, a large eruption of purple energy exploding on it. It was followed by a gong noise as the barrier went to work restricting its power. Some of that energy still made it through though, and an intense vibration was felt by the bystanders.

It made Harry's smirk grow wider. Just as he suspected. Theo was indeed a powerful foe.

Harry deflected the second against a pillar, part of the decor of the arena, and it was wrapped around by a set of semi-translucent white cords. The third he banished against a rock, which ended up getting encased in a bubble of water.

The fourth one, Harry actually reflected against his opponent, and Theo made to dodge, allowing the jinx to pass harmlessly past him.

Then, Harry loudly proclaimed "Ignis Fatuus!" Although this was just another one of his tricks, because in fact, in his mind, another was on his mind. Ignis Caraeleum Letum!

Theo, having seen Potter battle in the past, also knew better than to simply assume that the spell Potter said was in fact the spell he cast. Another why Potter was considered S-Ranked, silent casting. Always better to be safe than sorry. This one was obvious too. Why would anybody cast Bluebell Flames, a spell that was totally harmless against humans and animals.

This particular spell appeared to have a wide berth, which meant that his chances of dodging it were slim.

So, he slammed himself to the ground. Thus, the spell flew over his head and into the arena walls.

"Oohhhh!" the crowd awed, from beyond the barrier of course, as they saw an explosion of blue fire erupt along the wall, melting the stone. There also seemed to be some kind of aftereffect as laughing skulls flew off of the fire.

Theo watched wide-eyed before turning back towards Harry, who was there with an arrogant smirk.

"Straight from te devil, man." It made Harry's smirk only grow wider.

Not a second later, Theo was back on his feet and dashing across the arena, running low but fast. He continued trying to attack Harry, who had not moved from his spot at all. Each second he tried to get closer and closer to Harry, hoping to force him to back up. Finally, when he was only ten feet away, Harry threw out his second spell.

"Cherev Charas!" It was an ancient Hebrew spell, so the first syllable had to be pronounced like a guttural instead of the typical k sound accompanying ch.

And like a tidal wave descending from the sky, daggers began to fall, two metres wide the entire ten foot stretch between he and Theo.

"Incendio Lahat," Harry whispered, and each dagger's blade was lit up like it had been covered in Phoenix oil. They descended fiercely, and Theo's eyes widened as he barely had time to roll out of the way, once more finding himself on the ground. He was nicked by one of the flaming blades, singeing the edge of his luscious Jamaican duelling robe.

He didn't have time to gawk though, because Harry slashed his wand horizontally, and the daggers began to move, slicing through the stone floor like butter, and forming themselves into a pattern. Theo had to quickly jump in a sort of frog manoeuvre to avoid losing a limb to them.

The blades kept moving until they formed into a perfect octagon, with four floor blades on each side. Then Harry flicked his wand vertically, in an upwards direction

"Hálogi. . ."

The ground that was encompassed by the flaming blades began to glow brightly with a rune found in the centre. It was the Elder Futhark rune: ᚲ, looking like a sideway upward arrow, only wider. This particular rune began to glow a deep, blood red.

And as it seemed to become the theme of this battle, Theo found himself running again, trying to escape the circle. As the circle air began to change in temperature, growing hotter and hotter, the circle also glowed brighter and brighter. Theo was close to the edge of the circle, and he lept through the air. At the same time, the faux ritual glowed its brightest and red fire erupted from the ground.

The young dark skinned man managed to escape out of the circle, but his back was caught in the flames, and he let out a roar of pain as it seared his back like he was just a common animal, cooking up the backstraps.

Thankfully, the wounds were only surface level, not even touching the deeper layers of skin, but that was only because he had been fast enough to escape. Still, with it barely grazing him, he'd hate to see what it would have been if he had taken that blow head on.

When he turned to Potter, he saw something different this time. . . something somewhat terrifying — if he were being honest. Potter was smiling in a full gleeful smile, his eyes wide and glowing, but also crazed and alight with madness. It was something that he had been warned of, something that few people knew about and fewer discussed. He'd learned about it by asking last year's runner up.

"It's the Titan's Curse," the lad had said. He was a Russian boy and spoke with a heavy. "The boy is inflicted with Madness."

Powerful magicians, truly powerful ones like Grindelwald or Voldemort or even Dumbledore were often tainted by the magic they used. It affected different wizards differently. No one really knew what Dumbledore's ailment was. Grindelwald had become power hungry, and Voldemort had become ruthless without human emotion, if the rumours were to be believed. Already people were starting to suspect what Potters was.

Madness.

The ironic same ailment that had afflicted Voldemort's righthand women.

Harry was loving this fight, and it was beginning to show.

Usually bouts of madness in magicians was tempered. Bellatrix had been the extreme case. Harry also was like the rest, and truth be told, most Titan-Class wizards inflicted with madness simply enjoyed duelling and battle, like Harry here. Still, it made for some of the most vicious duelers. If the magical-biologist and anthropologist were to be believed, it was possible that wizards with the madness gene were used in ancient times for war, likely making for some of the most powerful wizards in Morgana Le Fay's army. And that's exactly how Theo felt. Like he was facing the Lord of War, rather than a simple schoolboy in a fun and exciting competition.

Soon enough, as Potter raised his wand with a vicious smile, Theo found himself on the backfoot: running and running and running — spell after spell after spell. Potter seemed to favour fire elemental spells, and Theo was sure that he'd have several burn scars after this, some that maybe not even the Healer could mend.

The arena by now was turning to dust as explosions went off and parts of it were transfigured and even pieces of it were solidified into solid ice. Slime and ectoplasm was on the walls, from Merlin-only-knows what spell, and the crowd was getting riled up at the sight.

He fought back as best as he could, deflecting a couple spells, though that was a rare thing he could do, and mostly dodging and jumping in any direction he could. Any opening he got, he tried to fire back with several spells of his own, but truth be told, it was in vain. For every one that he got off, Harry had already deflected it and fired off several more.

In fact, this didn't feel like a proper duel at all. It felt like an execution to Theo. An exhortation of dominance, and a demonstration of Potter's ultimate supremacy over his every foe.

Then. . . there was a sudden stillness, and the spells ceased.

When Theo realised this, he stopped running and turned to face Potter.

Potter had his wand trained on him, and there was a large bright red light illuminating off of the tip of his wand.

A Telios Shot, Theo realised. When a wizard would hold a spell from escaping the furthest of their wand. Instead they imbued magic within the spell, and the longer they held it off, the more power it reared up. True to the magical theory of it all, Potter's light was getting brighter and brighter, but Theo waited to see it fired off, that way he could easily dodge it.

However. . .

Then Potter vanished with a pop, and Theo's eyes widened.

Apparition!

Technically it was illegal to perform apparition without a licence, but within a duel, there were very few restrictions short of the Unforgivables and very many work arounds. Most spells were sanctioned in the arena, including apparition. Or rather, there were no laws strictly forbidding it; in fact, no rules had even been considered about. Why? Well, the thing was that most junior league competitors. . . no. . . there wasn't a single junior league player who had ever performed such a technique, and Potter definitely NOT had shown off this skill last year, which means that he must've learned it since then.

Potter appeared right in front of him, smiling ever present and said, "Game over, Theo, I win."

The spell was unleashed, and it hit him straight in the face. Everyone could see that it was the Banishing Charm, Depulso. However. . . this was no simple Banishing Charm. It was Telios charged, and it collided with Theo's body with much greater force than what was normal.

His body was ragdolled across the arena, from one side to the other, and he collided with the wall.

A sickening crunch was heard, and the eyes of all in the arena went wide at that.

Harry could feel any kind of joy or glee evaporate in that moment, being replaced by a sudden soul sucking dread.

In an instant, the barrier separating the crowd from the duelist collapsed, and the ref rushed in as soon as he could and waved his wand.

"Homenum Revelio. . . "

There was a moment of silence as the referee's eyes went wide, then in a choked and slightly shocked voice, he announced, "He's. . . dead."

And from somewhere in the crowd, there was a piercing scream, a cry from the soul of a wailing mother.

(~~~~~~~~~~)

Three Days Later
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizards, Scotland, United Kingdom

The tears wouldn't stop flowing, and Harry found no rest for himself. He couldn't even fault his friends for being timid with him.

Draco seemed uncomfortable, Ron tried to be supportive but was still disgusted and Neville was flat out afraid. Hermione and Gellert were the only two that showed one hundred percent loyalty.

Gellert he had come to expect it from by now. Harry didn't know why truthfully, but it seemed that no matter what Harry did, Gellert would always be at his side, no matter how heinous. Hermione had been a small surprise, though after he battled that troll for her, she was always fiercely supportive and protective of him, borderline downright obsessive. He knew he could always rely on them. Truth be told though, it offered him no comfort in that moment.

All his teachers had excused him, even allowing him to wander the halls at night. No doubt Snape had advocated for that one, being one familiar with grief and death, knowing that Harry would need solace and alone time. That's what Snape had even said.

"What you need is time, Potter. Guilt is a natural human emotion, probably one of our best. . . but don't let it consume you." The greasy haired-man had gotten right up close to Harry's face and said, "Be better, next time."

Those words also didn't help at all. Perhaps they weren't truly meant to. Harry thought he should suffer after all.

The only thing that did help was that Gellert had promised Harry that they would make sure that Mrs. Marshall would receive 20,000 galleons a year, about an Auror's annual salary, until the time of her death. Grindelwald had done the maths for him, and with he being the next in line to inherit the Potter, Black and Dumbledore vaults, and Gellert having become his secret vassal, thus effectively making him the secondary owner of the Grindelwald vault, it was no hidden thing that Harry and Gellert had tons of money.

20,000 galleons was a smile price really. Barely a dent in their vault.

But it did nothing to abate the echoes of her cries and the image of her rushing into the arena, cradling her son's body in her hands as she wept with sorrow.

Harry also knew that it would do absolutely nothing to replace the hole that no doubt filled her heart, and that thought alone brought tears rushing to his eyes as he stood on the Astronomy Tower, allowing his tears to fall to the ground beneath. .

Perhaps the worst part of it all was that Harry would face no charges against him. All duellists knew that death was a possibility in the right, and that's why every competitor, even the junior league had to sign a magically binding contract of no fault on the part of the organisation and that the duel was sanctioned as being without possible legal reprehensibility. Thus, Harry would go unpunished and a mother would go home childless.

Thus, in all his sorrow, he didn't hear the quiet footsteps that approached behind him. In fact, the voice of his mentor startled him.

"It was my old friend Grindelwald that first pointed out my ailment." Harry was not ashamed to admit that he gave a slight jump, but nonetheless, he was quick to begin listening. "Similar to your own situation in fact. Grindelwald was a perceptive man, and his grandson has clearly followed in his steps. He was the first one to figure out what it was, when on one else could tell. It is something that plagues all us Titan-Class wizards, just some more than others. Mine was particularly severe."

Gulping, Harry asked, "What was it sir?"

"I am bipolar," Dumbledore simply said.

And Harry simply cocked his head in confusion.

"Bipolar?"

"Indeed, my boy. To the muggles, it is a term that means 'one who experiences extreme shifts in moods'. . . but in my case, it is slightly different." He turned a sad smile to the lad. "You see Harry, most people experience many ranges of emotions, but my particular ailment allows it so that all but two emotions are dulled. Don't get me wrong Harry, I do experience grief and sadness and loss and anxiety and desire and disgust and all the rest, but truth be told, most of the time, I only experience two of them, and the rest are like background noise. They are the colour grey, and the other two are red and blue. My ailment makes it so that I feel them to the uttermost. In this case, I really am BI-polar."

"What two emotions are those, sir?" asked Harry, not quite understanding why he was being told this.

"The first is extreme joy or happiness. It is why I am the way I am Harry. Half of the time I am giddy with joy at the things around me. That. . . isn't so bad I suppose."

". . . And the other?"

Dumbledore seemed to age before Harry's eyes. From what was a 120-year-old man, jubilant with joy, turned into a stricken 180-year-old wizard. He even let out a long sigh.

"Volatile rage, Harry."

Harry could feel his own eyes widening at that, and parts of their past began to come together in that moment.

"Sometimes Harry, I am so angry that I become a vicious monster," he said with a knowing look, no doubt aware of the realisations coming together in Harry's mind.

"It was my old friend Grindelwald that taught me how to control that aspect of me. While happiness could be at most annoying, in the worst of situations, my rage was like Cursed Fire without end." Dumbledore let out a mirthless chuckle. "Minerva also helped temper me. I was older than her when we first married, much older, and I think it was her kind and young spirit that reigned me in."

"You told me that you had hoped Grindelwald would have married you two."

Dumbledore chuckled again at that. "Indeed, he was qualified. Recognised as a proper Priest of Magic by the High Order, he could officiate our marriage. It would have been such a wondrous day, Harry. My two best friends by my side, one my lover and the other my brother, both of whom taught me how to control the monster within."

Both had been staring off at the grounds, but now Dumbledore turned to face Harry.

"You too have friends and family who want to help you."

"But. . . what can they do, sir? How can they help me control. . . this thing inside of me?" The anguish in Harry's voice was one of the few that could bring a bipolar freak like Dumbledore to sadness. It seemed that way around Harry often for Dumbledore though.

"Lean on Hermione and Gellert. They will support you always, and never think ill of you. I know you know this. And well, you have me and Severus and even Minnie and Filius. We are all here for you Harry."

"But sir—"

"Hold up my boy, I am trying to get to something. You see, though you have seen the dangerous repercussions of your ailment, in truth, you have but a minor one, which with a little instruction, can be tempered."

Hearing his grandfather, for all intents and purposes, call the death of a child a "minor one" was certainly shocking to Harry.

The Titan's Curse was a dangerous thing, and Harry was perhaps one of the luckiest, even if he didn't know it. Afterall, he had only killed one person thus far. Better than Dumbledore at his age.

Nevertheless, in spite of the despair Harry felt, hope began to bubble up inside of him.

"How sir?"

"By learning Occlumency and Legilimency."

"By learning what?"

"They are the mind arts Harry. One helps you guard your mind from invasion and the other helps you invade others' guarded minds. Occlumency is technically your best bet. With it, I have no doubt that you will also learn to abate the madness. But, a lesser known fact is that these arts actually compound one another. Thus, if you will master one and then master the other, only then will you achieve the highest results."

Harry's eyes were wide and he was fraught with anxiety. The idea of invading people's minds sounded. . . diabolical.

"But sir, I don't want to invade people's minds."

The grandfatherly smile that Harry was familiar with appeared.

"I know you don't my boy, but for you to get the most out of the mind arts, you must learn both. Otherwise Harry, when you battle in the future, you will be blinded by foe and opponent."

"Foe and opponent?"

"Indeed, Harry. Mr. Marshall was not your enemy, he was your opponent. But the madness within you wouldn't let you see anything otherwise, that madness that was only compounded the longer you cast Titan-Class magic. See Harry, you are a powerful wizard, and it is the magic that allows madness to wreak havoc on your kind and tender soul. That is why you must learn to control this magic Harry, to overcome the madness. Otherwise. . . you will be powerful without conscience, and power without conscience is a savage weapon. "

Those words seemed to ring in his head.

Power without conscience is a savage weapon.

There was again a moment of silence, before a fierce look came upon Harry's face.

"Okay, when do we start?"

Satisfied, Dumbledore rested a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Your training begins next Friday."