CHAPTER 50: FRATRICIDAL DUEL
Harry could have dropped a bomb right in the middle of the room, and he wouldn't have hoped for a better result than this. Silent, the Great Hall seemed to be plunged into a stupor never before seen in the memory of any student or teacher, as if everyone took an unusually long time to assimilate what the young Frenchman facing Matthew had just said. Harry himself was not at ease, and just by looking at his face, anyone could understand that this unexpected situation was far from what he could have imagined as the conclusion to his threats. Even Harry's comrades and friends, who were at the forefront of their unfriendly exchange, had not, judging by the expressions on their faces, considered such a turn of events. Next to him, Harry could easily feel his fiancée tense up at the challenge he had just thrown at his brother, seemingly displeased with the idea. But it didn't matter now; the very idea of facing Matthew was too tempting to pass up on this privilege.
"I'm waiting for an answer, Mr.," Harry said with the same cold tone as before. "Will you accept an honorable duel, or will you flee like a coward? Aren't you the self-proclaimed slayer of a dark wizard? This fight should then be a trifle for you!"
Internally, Harry congratulated himself for playing with his brother's pride, or perhaps it was simply his foolishness that prevailed above all else. Nevertheless, he could easily notice the change in Matthew's behavior with just a glance, or perhaps when Matthew's eyebrows furrowed at the mere mention of his misplaced pride. The guests also awaited an answer from the young heir, hanging on his words like fish to a particularly enticing hook. Some thought a good duel could liven up the evening, while others believed Matthew deserved a little correction in front of a large audience. Another faction thought that this duel between a Frenchman and an Englishman could awaken the antagonism between their two peoples: the Muggle context could so easily infiltrate situations that didn't call for it, turning a simple duel into a sudden political confrontation.
"I may have overestimated you," Harry declared, coldly assessing him as Matthew's silence lingered. "It seems to me that the reputation you boasted of is but an illusion, and that against me, I don't have a budding duelist but a little boy whose pride is too great for his head to pass through doors without bumping into the frame."
"Little boy?" repeated Matthew with anger.
Harry's smile widened at his brother's evident state of irritation, and now only a spark was needed to ignite the powder, or in this case, Matthew's unhealthy pride.
"I've never backed down from any challenge, Frenchman!" he exclaimed, confirming his interlocutor's thoughts. "When I'm done with you, you'll beg for my forgiveness in front of this crowd, and then you'll go whine in your mother's skirts!"
"Is that a yes?" Harry asked calmly.
"Of course!" the other affirmed immediately. "I'm going to make you regret coming, Frenchman!"
In response, Harry gave him a mischievous smile, his eyes already gleaming at the thought of giving this little boy the correction he deserved, for whom he felt no sympathy. It had been a long time coming, enduring wild adventures, changing lives, escaping the grasp of a father who would never tolerate his eldest son challenging the one he idolized. The only regret might be that James wasn't there to witness the fight, but Harry preferred to think that the stories that would reach him would be enough to get him worked up.
"Unless there's a duel room in this school, this one is large enough to do the job," he argued, looking at the entire hall as if judging its dimensions.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible," intervened the person Harry probably hated as much, if not more, than his brother.
Turning his head slowly toward him, Harry had the unpleasant surprise of seeing Dumbledore appear, immaculate in his purple robe adorned with embroideries and diamonds that, worn by someone else, could perfectly serve as a dress for a lady with outdated fashion tastes. But Harry didn't care about the old wizard's appearance, his beard too long reaching below his navel or his half-moon glasses; the mere presence of the headmaster of Hogwarts just meters away from him was enough to nurture a anger within him that he was not accustomed to. The man responsible for all the troubles his family had known for as long as he could remember, the old wizard who sowed the seeds of discord among the members of the Potter family, the vile sorcerer capable of psychologically torturing his mother, or even physically his sister, stood there, calmly in front of him, a worried look on his old wrinkled face as the idea of seeing his protégé confront a perfect stranger worried him. Indifferent to conventions, he could have given him a monumental punch in the face right then and there, but he wasn't that kind of person. Yet, it wasn't the lack of desire that stopped him; the risks were just too great to let himself go to such an act.
"I'll still have my revenge," he vowed, keeping his eyes on Dumbledore. "Whether it's now, in a month, a year, or a decade, I'll make you pay step by step for your little machinations."
The turmoil within him did not seem to reflect in his emotions, as the director did not appear at all intrigued by the attitude of the young man he did not know. Placing a reassuring hand on Matthew's shoulder, Dumbledore then made a second mistake in less than a minute: addressing Harry directly.
"My boy, I don't know who you are or the reason you are among us for this evening, but it seems important to explain a few things about the rules of this school, including the fact that duels are strictly prohibited within these walls under penalty of punishment. However, you are not a student of Hogwarts, and I do not recall seeing you among the contingents of students from Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. Therefore, unable to punish you, I believe I am entitled and obliged to ask you to kindly leave."
"Firstly, I am not your boy, so I would appreciate it if you treated me with the respect I deserve," Harry retorted. "Secondly, duels are not under the supervision of a school director but under the authority of the government in the country where it takes place, and in this case, we are in Britain, a country that has not signed the 1713 charter penalizing duels between wizards, just like my country. So, forbidding duels in your school is, therefore, breaking the law, and you are not an outlaw, Mr. Director, am I wrong? It would be unfortunate if a man like you could establish rules in contradiction with the laws of his country, wouldn't it?"
Dumbledore seemed to pale slightly, but no one noticed except his direct interlocutor.
"The 1746 law prohibits duels, my boy," he began before being interrupted by Harry.
"It abolishes the principle of legalized deadly duels according to the conditions of the constitution of the magical confederation of European nations," he corrected coldly. "As long as a duel has no other purpose than to make two people face each other without ending in the death of one of them, our fight remains within the limits of the law. And rest assured: I have no intention of killing the young man next to you. I could humiliate him, I could even torture him in front of your eyes, respecting the laws of this country, and you would have nothing to say about it."
Dumbledore's frown deepened at Harry's last words, but still, he could do nothing but admit that this boy was perfectly within his right to engage in a magical duel against Matthew. Never would he have thought to encounter someone who knew as well as he did the laws, constitutions, and national and international magical charters, especially those that contradicted his principles; Surely, he would keep an eye on him.
"This brings us back to your identity, young man," Dumbledore continued after a few seconds. "It would be better for me to know it in case an unfortunate accident were to happen to you during your fight."
Now it was Harry's turn to furrow his brows, wondering what accident the senile old man could be talking about, and especially if this accident would be truly accidental or provoked. Would Dumbledore go so far as to protect his student?
"He says he's a prince," Matthew commented mockingly, obviously not taking him seriously. "A French and Savoyard prince, something like that."
"Yes, and you're an idiot or something like that," Tracey retorted amid the laughter of her friends.
Furious, Matthew turned crimson again before glaring at the heiress Davis, but she just gave him a dazzling smile that annoyed him even more. Dumbledore pretended not to have heard the young girl, or perhaps the impossibility of punishing her and taking away points as he usually did with his students was enough to stop him.
"I don't need to reveal my identity," Harry said, crossing his arms. "I just have to remind you of the final of the 1796 international magic tournament for you to understand who you're dealing with."
Intrigued, Dumbledore seemed to search his memory for memories of that famous tournament, and Harry could clearly see the evolution of his thoughts and feelings over time with just a glance into the steel blue of his eyes: incredulity, suspicion, surprise, and then horror. The already pale skin of the director became as white as cream, and a nervous tic appeared as he began to frantically stroke the tip of his beard, seemingly astonished at the idea of having in front of him the descendant of one of the few witches who had bested him.
"You... You're his son?" he asked as Matthew raised an eyebrow, surprised by his mentor's attitude.
"You don't need to know that," Harry retorted in a cold voice. "I am related to her, but I won't tell you how. It's been almost 10 years now since she defeated you, and today, it's the turn of the boy under your protection to pay for his foolishness in a duel of an entirely different nature."
The two stared at each other for a few more seconds, and when their eyes met, Harry immediately felt the unpleasant sensation of compression in his brain, and a sudden headache appeared.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said harshly, glaring at him.
Immediately after, Dumbledore stepped back a few steps, as if blown away by a shockwave that made him stagger. His gaze fell again on the young man in front of him, but he now stubbornly refused to look him directly in the eyes, aware of his maneuvers to extract some information from him.
"I told you that you wouldn't learn anything more about my identity," Harry continued. "Using Legilimency to achieve that could cost you much more than money if I were to file a complaint against you with the Wizengamot for the non-consensual use of a nebulous branch of magic against another person. Now leave us; we have a duel to start."
The order snapped sharply, and despite his refusal to end it with this boy, Dumbledore knew he could not get anything more out of him; The law was with him, his rights as well, and above all, his magical skills were astonishing enough for the little he had seen to understand that he should not push his luck too far. If this boy was really related to the Princess of Lamballe, then it was better to be wary and wait. As for Matthew, he could do nothing now to help him, but in any case, his protégé had put himself in this predicament, and he was clearly not determined to get involved at this point.
"Let's get to the formalities," Harry declared, focusing again on his brother. "My friend Jules will be my second," he said, turning to him. "I have full confidence in his abilities and judgment, and I know that if I have to make a substitution, he will be able to cause you as much harm as I would."
"Take a second if you fancy it, Frenchman; it will be two people knocked out in the same duel," Matthew replied mockingly. "But since I have to take one too to maintain equality between us, I will opt for someone who is particularly dear to me and who will fill this support role perfectly: my godfather, Sirius Black."
All eyes immediately turned to the said godfather, and he promptly advanced toward his nephew, wand already raised and ready to be used. However, as he was about to position himself next to Matthew, a redheaded tornado suddenly appeared and pushed him unceremoniously.
"And what about me?!" Ron erupted, taking on a ripe tomato hue. "Shouldn't it be the duelist's best friend who would fill the role of the second?"
"Ron, go somewhere else. You're making a scene over nothing, and especially, you're embarrassing me in front of all these people," Matthew said without even bothering to look at him.
"A scene?!" he exclaimed angrily. "I wouldn't make a scene, as you say, if you had used some logic in choosing the person who is closest to you at Hogwarts as well!"
"The closest?" Harry's brother repeated, turning to him. "Who called me a liar when I said I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire? Who ignored me in the past few weeks when the whole school turned its back on me? Who even dared to wear a 'Down with Potty' badge in our dormitory, before coming back like an angel once I survived the first task? Certainly not a friend! A friend would have stayed by my side and helped me endure the mockery, insults, and hatred of others and certainly would not have taken part in it!"
"Because you still complain about being Hogwarts champion? But it shouldn't bother you by now; it's just another episode in the long list of the magnificent Matthew Potter's achievements! Always in the spotlight, always the one who receives praise, compliments, rewards when others like me have to stay in your shadow and keep quiet! You don't even realize that no one can stand you and your oversized ego anymore! It's been ten years since we've known each other, ten years where I had to endure your whims and your nasty temper without complaining, and no one can imagine what it's like to coexist all year with someone as despicable as you!"
"Oh yes, but I gave up the case a long time ago," Harry thought amusingly as he silently followed their argument.
"I sacrificed my time to keep you company, I endured your complaints without complaining, I even kept the resentment that grew in me as I realized that you couldn't care less about me and my problems! Ron continued without realizing that he was airing his private life in the midst of a crowd ready to spread new gossip. "Have you ever wondered how I was doing? If I had problems or needed someone to confide in? No, it's only you, you, you, and you again! When I think that I even had to attend practice sessions supervised by Moody because there was no one else to keep you company!"
"Stop it!" Matthew erupted. "Anyone here would have been delighted to learn spells at the same time as me!"
"If you would kindly settle your little issues once the duel is over, I would be very grateful," Harry declared, losing patience.
The two immediately turned towards him, looking so furious that he thought for a moment that they might come to blows. But just as quickly, the two boys faced each other again, not saying a word and with their brows so furrowed that they could almost meet. Then, unexpectedly, Ron stepped back, and turning his back on Matthew, walked decisively towards the exit.
"Our friendship is over, Potter!" he exclaimed.
"It had never really started, in truth," Matthew argued with a smug tone, pride reappearing on his face, thinking he had just won the verbal duel with Ron.
"You'll ask Daddy and the other dog to be your cannon fodder against You-Know-Who! I don't want to sacrifice myself for a loser who still cries for his mother when he sleeps!"
Ron didn't have the opportunity to see the redness reappear on Matthew's face, but the people around him could enjoy it freely, and some didn't hesitate to discreetly chuckle at this new development. Harry, for his part, was surprised: his brother still thought about their mother, even after all these years of absence? Certainly, he only dreamed of her apparently, but for these dreams to bring him to tears, they must be quite poignant for him. However, maybe Weasley was exaggerating things, and there was not the slightest bit of evidence to support his claims, but doubt lingered on both sides.
"Let's get back to the point," he said after a few seconds. "We were at the choice of our respective seconds. Now nothing prevents us from starting our little duel."
A quick nod answered him, and both then headed towards the dance floor as the crowd scattered around them to give them space for their business. The distance between the spectators and the duelists was barely ten meters, and internally Harry regretted that the fight was not taking place on the snowy expanses outside; Some of his spells would not be of much use tonight unless he took the risk of injuring a number of students due to the closeness.
Professor Flitwick then appeared on the dance floor, and quickly tracing the contours of what seemed to be a combat zone, he divided the area into two equal parts before addressing the two duelists:
"I remind you of the rules of a wizard's duel: No deadly spell of any kind; The use of weapons, potions, or any other substitute is allowed without endangering the life of either duelist; The fight will end with the surrender or the inability of one of the two fighters to continue; No time limit is set. No foul play is tolerated, in which case disqualification will be immediately decreed against the offender. Any questions?"
Both shook their heads, and Flitwick then invited them to move closer to the center of the field and to greet each other. Harry and Matthew complied and raised their wands to face level before turning their backs and lowering their arms. Quickly, Harry took the opportunity to look in Daphne's direction, and while his fiancée seemed evidently worried about the turn their duel might take, a small smile appeared on her face when their eyes met—a smile to which he responded by nodding his head: Nothing mattered now except winning this fight for her, and especially winning it in front of her.
After a few seconds, the two brothers returned to their original position and then turned to face each other, only waiting for the order from the Charms professor that would escape his lips at any moment:
"Begin!"
As soon as Professor Flitwick had launched the duel, Harry opened hostilities by directly throwing his sword towards his brother's face. Matthew had time to see it coming, and with a head movement, he skillfully and easily dodged the projectile hurtling towards him. The sword passed a few centimeters from his face, ending its course behind him, and satisfied, he gave a mocking smile to his opponent. However, he was surprised to realize that Harry wore exactly the same smirk.
With a wave of his hand, Harry gave the impression of pulling something towards him, and too late, Matthew understood that it was the sword. It passed again near him, but unlike before, it deeply grazed his cheek before continuing its path into his owner's hand. Blood immediately flowed from his wound, and despite the hand he placed against it, Matthew had all the trouble in the world to stem the flow that ran between his fingers. The entire room held its breath, and Sirius Black, who had already taken out his wand, seemed eager to take over from his nephew. Dumbledore himself was not looking well, and the calculating and suspicious look on his face did not quite manage to hide the astonishment that arose in him before the unknown person's technique facing his protégé.
"I hope you appreciate my little appetizer," Harry said, releasing his sword, which now hung in the void. "To give you an idea of the person you're dealing with, look at this..."
The sword animated again, and just like a puppeteer, Harry moved it in the air with a wave of his hand, ready to throw it at his brother again without the slightest qualm about the injuries he could inflict on him. It was he who opened the debate again by launching his weapon towards Matthew, but now aware of this technique, he managed to get rid of it by moving quickly to the side to dodge it. But with a gesture, Harry changed its direction, and now it was a circular attack that descended on his brother and directly threatened his face. In a hurry, Matthew once again parried the blow at the last moment by leaning slightly forward, but the sword still managed to cut a few strands of hair when it passed over him.
For the third time, Harry attacked by making another exactly identical gesture to the previous one, but this time, Matthew decided to join his game by drawing his own weapon, the blade of which soon came into contact with his brother's. The steel clashed with a clang echoing throughout the room before Matthew threw the sword back with another blow that sent it several meters away from him.
"Do you want to get to that point, Potter Heir?" Harry asked, taking his sword in turn. "A little sword fight has never hurt anyone..."
And with these words, he rushed towards him, the sword curiously held in a low position on his side, ready to strike his opponent. The first move was easily countered by Matthew, but he was surprised by the force that his opponent put into the blow he was trying to deliver, and under the strength of it, he had to retreat a few steps. Another one quickly followed the first, just as powerful but so easy to parry that he began to wonder if the other was just playing with this duel—analyzing his combat methods or simply relying on broad gestures that he mistakenly believed could easily defeat him. In which case, he risked being sorely disappointed because, even with all the bad will that animated him, Matthew had not been such a bad student under Moody's supervision, and he feared having to explain himself to the old Auror if he lost a sword duel.
The blows rained down on him, ever more powerful, and for the moment, Matthew was mostly in a defensive position, unable to counterattack against the young man in front of him.
"Getting tired, sir?" Harry dared to ask between two new blows. "Come on, I expected more resistance from you; having a big mouth must surely compensate for your shortcomings in combat."
Stung, Matthew avoided another attack with a roll to the side. Seeing an opening, he lunged at Harry, aiming his blade directly at his leg to disable him for the rest of the fight. However, a simple dodge from his brother dashed his hopes. Taking advantage of Matthew's imbalance, Harry immobilized his blade by pressing his foot on it, delivering two punches directly to his face, causing him to fall to the ground. Matthew's face, already bathed in blood, became even redder as his nose broke under the force of the blows. Despite his attempt to stem the continuous flow from his nostrils, he only managed to smear blood on his jacket sleeve and the pristine white of his shirt, now speckled with hemoglobin. His mouth was also painful, and for a moment, Matthew feared he had broken some teeth, but a quick tongue check reassured him about his dental condition. However, this did little to calm his mood, and at this point, nothing pleased him more than retaliating against his opponent, perhaps even more if possible.
"Get up, sir," Harry invited him, allowing him to retrieve his weapon. "I don't like beating an heir when he's down."
"You... You'll pay for this!" Matthew shouted, wiping his face briefly before standing up.
"We'll see," Harry replied calmly, twirling his saber. "I hope for your sake that you're not just bluffing and that it was just a warm-up; otherwise, I would be sorely disappointed."
Playing with his brother's emotions was child's play for Harry. Just seconds later, he was dodging Matthew's attempts to land a single blow.
"He's not bad, but his movements are too broad, leaving him completely exposed for a counterattack..." Harry thought quickly, analyzing Matthew's strikes.
It was then that Harry became aware of the contents of his pants pocket. Without waiting, he took out the small canvas bag it contained and, seizing an opportunity during his brother's attack, opened the bag. A tiny, rosy powder as fine as powdered sugar escaped, and without delay, he blew it directly toward Matthew's face. The formed cloud immediately blinded him, rendering him unable to land a single blow. Frantically rubbing his eyes, his little brother was now incapable of continuing the fight.
"Cheater!" he spat furiously before splashing water on his face with his wand.
"All is fair in a duel, and it's not forbidden to use any trick to win," Harry patiently replied, turning to Professor Flitwick for confirmation.
Matthew didn't see the approving nod from the teacher, but he certainly saw his opponent's silhouette reappearing in front of him. Without hesitation, he cast a new spell at Harry, to which his brother responded with another "Protego," sending the spell back to the ground.
"Stupefy!" he exclaimed, pointing his wand at Harry. "Impedimenta! Expelliarmus!"
A flick of the wrist later, a wall of earth and rock appeared in front of Harry, and the three spells literally exploded against it. Debris flew in all directions, but the Frenchman immediately sent them back in his brother's direction with a wave of his wand. Taking advantage of Matthew's reduced visibility, he cast an unspoken and almost transparent spell that Matthew barely avoided with a nearly involuntary slide. However, destabilized, he couldn't evade the second one, which struck him squarely in the face and sent him heavily to the ground.
Stunned, lying on the ground, his body suddenly heavy, he lost sight for a few seconds, dazed and disoriented, desperately trying to find a reference point to regain his composure. But when his vision returned, he was surprised not to see the starry ceiling of the Great Hall and the snow falling around him but a particularly bright summer sky with no clouds on the horizon. As he sat up on his elbows, Matthew also realized that he was no longer in the middle of a Great Hall full of people in their magnificent ball attire, but in the middle of a grassy expanse with blades several inches long gently caressing his skin with every breath of wind. Nothing else around could break the monotony of the place except for a few scattered trees planted there by an unknown hand.
"Did he transport me somewhere?" he nervously wondered, observing the surroundings. "But for what purpose?"
His opponent was nowhere to be seen, and he must be the only living person for miles around. Matthew began to wonder if the Frenchman had somehow teleported him to the other side of the world, perhaps to a continent he had never set foot on. But above all, panic began to take hold of him as he became aware of his state and his inability to return to where he came from simply because he did not know how to Apparate and did not have a Portkey available.
"I see you..."
The voice immediately made him jump, but no one was visible, even though the person seemed to be very close to him.
"Accio Invisibility Cloak!" he shouted, pointing his wand in different directions.
Nothing landed in his hand, and neither did the "Homonium Revelio" he cast afterward indicate the position of his enemy.
"Nice try..." the other mocked in a voice as low as a whisper. "Look above you..."
Obedient despite himself, Matthew looked up at the sky, and that's when he noticed a few changes since a while ago. The perfectly blue sky had turned violet, and dark gray clouds had also appeared above his head. The panic that had already gripped him intensified as he stood on his feet, watching the blades of grass around him continue to sway under the force of wind that did not touch him.
"This is not normal," he nervously thought, running a hand through his hair.
Matthew then began to run as fast as he could, never looking back, with the sole purpose of putting as much distance as possible between him and the invisible man tormenting him. His run through the fields proved long and difficult, and he nearly stumbled several times, getting his feet entangled in the intertwining stalks on his path. Just as he thought he had run about a kilometer and hoped to catch his breath before continuing his journey and finding a way out of this world, the grass around him began to stir again. This time, however, the grass seemed to be reaching out to him, entwining around his legs and the rest of his body, immobilizing him and stopping his attempt to escape. Matthew tried to escape using several cutting spells, but as soon as the grass was cut, new strands took their place and wound around his ankles. Moreover, his run and the use of his magic exhausted him more than he thought, and in no time, he was unable to continue his journey when an entire clump attached itself to his left leg, causing him to fall to the ground. Immediately, the rest of the vegetation did the same, and trussed up like a pig, he was unable to even raise his arm to try to free himself.
Shortly after, the earth began to lift slightly in front of him, as if someone were digging up from below, similar to how an animal might. But it wasn't a mole or even a rabbit that emerged, but a metal point that gradually lengthened and extended to soon reach about thirty centimeters. A hilt soon followed the blade in its progression, a hilt that was horribly familiar to Matthew's eyes, being that of his own sword. A quick analysis of the weapon confirmed that this sword was indeed his, standing before him and now ready to either cut the ties that held him or plunge into his flesh. The sword came to life again, sliding like a snake on the ground toward him, leaving a trail behind it as the steel emitted a strange hiss. The blade finally stopped under his throat, the sharp side pressed against his skin, ready to slash, and Matthew now awaited the gesture that would most likely end his life in less than a second. A gesture that, however, did not come.
"There are a thousand and one ways to kill someone, and many more when it comes to being imaginative..." the earlier voice spoke in a conversational tone. "I could tighten your bonds so tightly that they would break your bones one by one, and your torment could last a long time before it comes to that..."
Involuntarily, Matthew swallowed at this mere idea, and perhaps it was his imagination playing tricks on him, but he suddenly felt that the grass had indeed tightened more strongly against his body, waiting for an order to crush him.
"...Or I could go much faster and command this sword to cut your throat," the other continued. "Your torment would last only a few seconds, and everything would be over for you."
"You... You said earlier to Dumbledore that duels resulting in the death of one of the fighters were forbidden!" Matthew desperately reminded him, not ready at all to die now.
"That's because you listen to the conversations of grown-ups now," his opponent replied with undisguised amusement. "But who says I don't work for Voldemort? That I could eliminate the one responsible for his disappearance in an instant and calmly wait in Azkaban until he returns from the dead to free me and reward me beyond my expectations? It would be so easy..."
The sword pressed more against his skin, and Matthew felt it could almost pierce through without even sliding on it. Large drops of sweat appeared on his forehead and slid down his face, and his body, although immobilized, began to shake as he became aware of his powerlessness against his opponent. Yes, he clearly wasn't at the level, and if this person could take him to another world where he seemed able to take control of everything in it, it was a level of magic far superior to what he was accustomed to until now; Maybe even Dumbledore would be helpless against him! However, was the other bluffing when he hinted that he might work for Voldemort? Dumbledore had never told him about foreign recruits in the ranks of the Dark Lord, but for all that, it could be quite logical. But the idea that a prince could join Voldemort's ranks seemed utterly incongruous.
"You're bluffing," he asserted, though his tone still betrayed a slight doubt on the matter.
"Perhaps, but I'm not bluffing when I say that your life is in my hands," the other said in a perfectly calm voice. "We could just as easily check it now..."
And as if to respond to his words, the sword began to tremble, waiting for the order that would come any second from its master:
"Kill."
Snap.
With closed eyes, Matthew had expected to feel the painful sensation of his skin being torn by the weapon, blood oozing from the wound as he agonized in a progressively weaker moan as life escaped him. But he certainly did not expect to hear that loud noise, like a particularly loud snap of the fingers. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to find the familiarity of the Great Hall and snowflakes swirling around him once again. Everyone was still there, eyes fixed on him, including his evening opponent, who kept his wand pointed at him, ready to use it again. A slight cloud of dust still rose a few steps away from him, where the spell that had narrowly missed him had ended its course. Matthew also noticed that he was sitting on the cold tiles of the room, legs slightly bent, and his left hand resting on the ground, from which a light flow of blood was trickling.
"The duel is not over, Potter heir," Harry reminded him with a slight smile. "I would be very disappointed if you were to shorten it by taking your own life with the blade of your own sword..."
Matthew lowered his eyes slightly, and with horror, realized that he was aiming his own sword at himself, ready to cut his own throat without even realizing it. Panic-stricken, he immediately threw his sword away from him, horrified by what he was about to commit. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that the students and adults around him were also looking at him in confusion, trying to understand how he had suddenly ended up on the ground and wanting to take his own life.
"H-how...?" he stammered more to himself, seeking an explanation.
"The powder I threw in your face earlier wasn't meant to blind you but was part of a plan I devised on the fly, and this plan involved a little concoction of mine based on hallucinogenic mushrooms added to a spell accelerating its effects that left you for just a few seconds totally under my control," Harry explained calmly. "I could manipulate your mind at will, play with your memories, immerse you in a world of illusions of which I was the master, and, if I had gone further, would have pushed you to commit the irreparable. Amazing what magic can do when coupled with a branch as rudimentary as herbology, don't you think?"
Surprised must probably be an understatement, as even those most cunning about this subject could not help but see it in a new light now. Even Daphne, who was well aware of her fiancé's skills, found herself admiring this combination of magical dueling and knowledge of plants for something other than medicinal recipes and nutrient potions made from plants.
"S-Sirius!" Matthew suddenly exclaimed, getting up hastily. "Take over!"
Without asking for an explanation, his nephew staggered toward him as quickly as his shaky legs allowed, and as soon as he collapsed at Dumbledore's feet, his godfather rushed toward his opponent, wand raised and his Auror's robe quickly thrown to the ground to give him greater freedom of movement. Harry greeted him with a wave of his wand, but Sirius did not respond, too busy already looking for a flaw, a weakness, or even an opening in the defenses of the young man in front of him.
A spell quickly shot from his wand towards Harry, but he deflected it with a wave of his own wand, accompanying it with another spell that now rushed toward the Auror. Matthew's godfather easily avoided it, but the sluggishness in his opponent's action indicated to him that he was not yet fully invested in this new battle.
"Stupefy!" Sirius exclaimed again.
The reddish beam shot as fast as a bullet toward Harry, but he easily blocked it with a "Protego." Without waiting, Sirius sent two more spells at him, which had the same result. However, far from being defeated so quickly, he then pointed his wand directly at the ground at his opponent's feet:
"Confringo!"
The spell raced at full speed and exploded upon contact with the tiles. Once again, a thick cloud of debris accompanied the resulting explosion, and just like Harry earlier, Sirius took advantage of it to send a few more "Stupefy" spells in the direction of the Frenchman before him. The spells passed through the cloud as easily as a blade through butter, but surprisingly, no sound indicated the success of his attack. His opponent suddenly reappeared, though, narrowly avoiding the last spell with a roll to the side. Sirius seized the opportunity and unleashed new spells in his direction. Harry once again had to roll to avoid their trajectory, but the last spell still managed to hit his arm, cutting it deeply. Disregarding the pain pulsating from his wound, he straightened up, and glancing in the direction of James's best friend, he displayed his first sincere smile, devoid of any mockery or similar feelings toward someone. Sirius might be the man he was, but he remained a good Auror, and Harry could almost have some respect for him.
"Interesting, you're a much better opponent than your nephew," he conceded. "It's clear you don't usurp your function and the skills it requires..."
"I can't say the same about you," Sirius replied calmly. "I haven't seen anything from you so far that stands out."
"All you had to do was ask."
Harry then crossed his arms above his head, and immediately, all the windows in the room shattered. The debris didn't even have time to start falling to the ground before another wand movement made them immediately fly in Sirius's direction, who, slightly surprised by this action, formed a magical shield around him, bouncing off the glass fragments.
"Rumpo solum!"
All the tiles between Harry and Sirius immediately shattered, and just like the windows, debris flew in all directions as a light dust cloud began to form.
"Acuo Petra!"
The flying tiles immediately began to break in places, forming various-sized projectiles in a matter of seconds, but all sharing one common feature: an exceptionally fine and sharp point.
"Projectio Missilia!"
As soon as the order was given by Harry, the blades descended once again on Sirius, and he again protected himself behind a magical shield. However, the speed of the objects and the impact on his defenses seemed more powerful than before, and as the projectiles tried to pierce his protection, Sirius's wand had more and more trouble maintaining his bluish barrier effectively. Soon, the first pieces of tiles managed to pass through and cut his skin deeply on their way. Sirius's arms were quickly scratched, and blood flowed abundantly at his feet, but he still managed to hold on until the assaults of the tiles became rarer and then disappeared altogether.
"Aguamenti Maxima!" he exclaimed as soon as he dispelled his shield.
A powerful jet of water immediately shot out of his wand toward Harry, who didn't have time to cast a counter-spell before Sirius continued his attack:
"Custodia Inimicus!"
The water immediately surrounded his opponent, forming a watery prison around him. Satisfied, Sirius pointed his wand at Harry for the third time, and after a few gestures with it, cast a third spell:
"Elido!"
The water seemed to spin faster and faster, gaining speed with each passing second, then suddenly began to compress and close in on the phantom-like figure appearing within it. A moment later, this observation was confirmed when the watery bubble reduced around the silhouetted figure. Convinced that he had defeated his opponent, Sirius allowed himself to smile for the first time since the beginning of their fight, and was about to release the spell to let the broken body of his enemy fall to the ground when the watery bubble suddenly exploded, and torrents of water fell all around them, especially in his direction. The water had not even reached his face when another face, that of the Frenchman, emerged from it and rushed straight at him, fist already raised:
"Well tried."
The blow was surprisingly violent, and the pain was such that Sirius was convinced he had a broken jaw before even hitting the ground a few meters away. His body rolled for several more meters and allowed for a few bounces causing nasty pains to his hips and thighs, then he came to rest directly at the feet of a stunned Dumbledore. Groggy, Matthew's godfather took several seconds to regain his senses, and much longer to get back on his trembling and bruised legs. However, curiosity strangely prevailed over everything else on this occasion. He had never faced such a strange opponent, especially one who knew such a variety of spells and combat techniques.
"Now I look clever with a completely soaked uniform," Harry grumbled on his side, trying to ignore the water that had seeped inside his boots. "Mother would kill me if she saw me in this state..."
"H-how did you propel yourself so quickly toward me?" Sirius couldn't help but ask despite his painful jaw, while his opponent quickly cast a spell to dry himself.
"Hm... You mean like this? Proiicio!"
Harry pointed his wand behind him, and as he incanted the spell, a kind of explosive force catapulted him directly toward Sirius, almost as fast as a cannonball. But just a few inches away from the Auror, Harry came to a sudden stop in his course, a smile on his face, reveling in the surprised and fearful look of the man whom, in different circumstances, he might have called "Uncle," but who today was just a stranger among many to him.
"At my academy, we are taught to always study our environment and exploit it to our advantage, no matter the situation," he explained, fixing Sirius with an intense gaze. "Even urban furniture like that of a house can become a helpful ally to those who know how to use it. In this case, this room offers astonishing possibilities. But enough talk about that; we have a duel to finish, and I'm starting to get bored. I thought prolonging it could be interesting, but obviously, you're barely better than your nephew."
Turning on his heel, Harry calmly walked back to his side of the arena, leaving Sirius free to cast a spell at his back without even bothering. However, the Auror had the decency not to push his luck that far. Despite his poor reputation, he was not one to attack someone even if they offered an obvious opening for victory.
"Oh, and before I forget, your watery prison was interesting, but reinforcing my body to make it as solid as a rock made it completely ineffective," Harry added as he returned to his starting position.
Each held their breath, waiting for the moment when one of them would reopen hostilities. Hushed comments were exchanged, anticipating the next move, the next tactic, the next feat they would witness soon. The desire to see this battle last a little longer was there, and this hope was shared by more than just one student.
"He's showing off as usual," Nicolas commented. "But he has a reason to, you have to admit. If I had a tenth of his talent, my head would be even bigger than his."
"It already is," argued Tracey with a laugh.
The two adversaries paid no attention to the occasional disturbance that interrupted the silence surrounding their duel. Both faced each other, ready to resume the battle with a spell directed at the other. Suddenly, Jules entered the arena and approached Harry. Intrigued, Sirius saw her place a hand gently on his shoulder, leaning slightly near his ear to whisper something. Harry listened without reacting, then a smile gradually appeared on his face as he nodded quickly, never taking his eyes off the Auror in front of him. Jules then returned to her original position, ignoring the curious glances of those around her. However, their attention quickly refocused on Harry when he lowered his wand, spread his arms, and challenged Sirius with a gaze:
"Go ahead, give it your best shot."
Without hesitation, Sirius immediately sent a spell with a reddish glow. Contrary to what his opponent seemed to imply, Harry certainly did not let himself be hit and responded with another spell. The two spells, perfectly aligned, met in the middle of the arena, initiating a duel to determine who would gain the upper hand. The beams emitted a blinding light, and traces of magic seemed to cut through the air and fall to the ground, producing tiny, brief flashes whose crackling could be the only audible sound in the room. The duel seemed evenly matched, and neither appeared to be gaining an advantage. With arms outstretched and postures upright, both men stared intensely at each other, ready to wait a long time for the slightest sign of weakness from their opponent to return the spells to his face.
Then, Harry raised his second arm, and a strange bluish light appeared around his fingers and then over his entire hand, bathing it in a dazzling halo. As quickly as it appeared, the light concentrated in the middle of his palm, and with a gesture, Harry simply sent it toward his opponent. The light seemed to explode as soon as it was expelled, but a powerful gust of wind hit Sirius head-on, causing him to lose balance and kneel to maintain his spell. Seizing this moment of weakness, Harry then increased the power of his own spell, which was already rapidly advancing towards Sirius. However, just when he thought he was about to be hit by the curse, Harry diverted its course, letting it pass very close to Sirius's head without hitting him, going on to die a few meters away.
"Jules!" he suddenly shouted, turning his head slightly towards her. "Now!"
"Proiicio!" his friend exclaimed, pointing to where his opponent was.
The area exploded once again, and Harry was propelled in Sirius's direction so quickly that it was difficult to follow with the naked eye. Using the same trajectory as his spell, he reached Sirius in no time, but unlike before, he didn't strike him in the face to send him flying behind him. Instead, he leaned on his shoulders and somersaulted over him in an acrobatic move that Matthew would have been incapable of performing even in his wildest dreams. Dumbfounded by his opponent's pirouette, Sirius followed him with his eyes as he soared over his head. Unaware of the scarlet spell sent by Jules, which was heading straight for him.
A slight explosion occurred, and Sirius was thrown backward, landing on his back at the same time Harry landed on his feet, motionless and with closed eyes. Faint traces of smoke seemed to appear where the curse had struck, but nobody paid it any attention. All were too busy observing with wide eyes and gaping mouths the two French individuals who, through an action they must have practiced extensively, had managed to bring down one of England's best Aurors. Silence settled in the Great Hall for long and tense seconds, and not even the smallest possible sound could disturb the astonishment and bewilderment that had taken hold of the numerous guests and students.
Then, like a signal, Flitwick approached Sirius and Harry. After confirming Sirius Black was no longer in a state to continue, he declared, "Sirius Black being unable to continue, the victory goes to his opponent and his teammate."
"Wait a minute!" Matthew interrupted, just as some students were about to applaud. "This can't be right; they should be disqualified!"
"Why is that, Mr. Potter?" Filius asked politely, turning to him.
"I'm disappointed you didn't notice, Filius," Dumbledore intervened, approaching as well. "The duel was no longer fair the moment Mr. Black was forced to face two opponents. You will agree with me that this young man's teammate had no reason to interfere in the duel until the change was made, which, by the way, did not happen. The victory, therefore, goes to Matthew and Auror Black."
"Except that the change was made, Dumbledore," countered Harry. "It only takes a word to do so, but also... a gesture. A single part of the body touching that of the teammate is enough to consider it as a passing of the torch. It just so happens that Jules and I were momentarily in physical contact. Remember, it happened just before I invited Mr. Black to attack me..."
The memories immediately returned to the director's mind, and by the same token, the act itself was indeed sufficient in his eyes to demonstrate a change of duelist. Yet, he was not willing to let this pass, and all the excuses in the world might not be enough:
"In general, it is recommended to change duelist with a verbal agreement, my boy," he said in a paternalistic tone that immediately annoyed Harry. "Your gesture could have had any meaning, and for a man who is not accustomed to dueling, it may not signify a passing of the torch."
"You overlook the fact that it is not obligatory," Harry reminded him. "The gesture is just as valid as the word, and this is perfectly presented in the terms of the duel established since the Great Charter of the 9th century. Sigebert the Mute would never have been able to ask his comrade to replace him and defeat Charles the Bad if only words could allow a change, don't you agree?"
"That changes nothing. You deliberately attacked Auror Black even though you had made the change," Dumbledore replied, losing patience this time.
"Another mistake on your part, Dumbledore," objected the young man in front of him. "I intentionally let Mr. Black attack first to have the ready-made opportunity to counter his attack. The poor man, like you, thought I was still his opponent and that Jules had not taken my place. You will also agree with me that I never reached the physical integrity of Mr. Black by magic or any part of my anatomy. It's Jules who hit him with her spell, not me; I only served as a distraction. Professor Flitwick will agree with me that my actions were perfectly legal, won't you?"
"Absolutely, sir," confirmed the professor with a nod. "Nothing escaped my notice!"
Suppressing the urge to smile at Dumbledore's furious expression, Harry patiently waited for him to deign to speak again, enjoying the immense privilege of countering all his futile attempts to change the outcome of the duel. Harry knew he was perfectly within his rights and had absolutely nothing to reproach himself for in his recent actions and their influence on the outcome of the battle. He was ready to listen for hours to the director's objections, just to push him to his limits. However, Dumbledore did not pursue it. After shooting him a disdainful look, the old man breezed past him toward the exit, his steps hurried and his shoulders slouched. Satisfied, Harry turned his attention back to Matthew, prepared to hear his own grievances. But a whirlwind of color rushed at him, enclosing him in a bone-crushing embrace.
"That was magnificent!" Tracey exclaimed joyfully as she joined Daphné in the hug. "I've never seen such a duel! I can't wait for Beauxbatons to teach us the same!"
"I'm not sure Madame Maxime would appreciate seeing the dining hall turn into a battlefield," Aglaé retorted, approaching with the others. "It was a marvelous duel, Monseigneur. You deserve your victory."
"Technically, Jules should be getting the laurels of victory," Harry reminded them, despite still appreciating their words.
"Oh, I did almost nothing," she mumbled, blushing slightly. "You did all the work; I just had to pick up the crumbs..."
Despite this modesty, a growing circle of students and adults applauded and sought to get as close as possible to the two heroes of the evening to congratulate them. While Jules was embarrassed but delighted by the praises, Harry had eyes only for the sweet face of his fiancée, pressed against him, her eyes sparkling with joy—or perhaps wonder?—that never left him. Parting the crowd, Harry then led her toward the exit, ready for one last stroll in the grounds of Hogwarts amidst the snowflakes to enjoy her sole presence, make up for lost time, and simply spend time with her before returning home and, who knows, boasting of his exploits to his family. If Daphné's fiancé had taken the trouble to look behind him, he would likely have crossed the hateful and red-eyed gaze of his brother, who, with clenched fists and eyes fixed on his back, seemed to brood over his anger and vengeance. Perhaps he would have also noticed the look that the old retired Auror, now serving as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, was directing at him, with both his magical and normal eye focused on him, a hint of visible interest on his face.
"Interesting," he grumbled in a gruff tone. "If the Dark Lord decides to recruit new members when he returns, he will certainly find what he's looking for in France..."
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