"ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴꜱ, ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴᴏᴜꜱ Qᴜᴀʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏꜱᴇ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴀ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴ."
― ᴘᴀʀᴀᴄᴇʟꜱᴜꜱ
Chapter Five: Queen of Poisons
"How could you be so foolish?" asked Mordred, seething as he paced up and down the meagre length of their room. He'd sprung out of the locket the minute Tee shut the door to his room. "Are you a complete idiot? How could you even give her an inkling of our true nature?"
"I never told her what happened that day," Tee responded, letting himself drop down onto the bed. The springs gave way with a slow, painful groan. "She must have figured it out herself!"
"Really!" Mordred's face twisted in fury.
How, he could not fathom. He'd seen her scry with her fire-marble before she'd broken it while they were fighting off the Inferi protecting the cave. Had she perhaps divined it? Tee admitted to himself that he had never given the field of Divination ample consideration as he'd not been gifted with natural ability. Perhaps that should be reconsidered now.
"Dumbledore might have discovered the truth," said Mordred, rubbing his chin. He had calmed down slightly. "It was only a matter of time before that happened, I suppose."
If Dumbledore discovers the truth, he will attempt to destroy me. Tee's stomach filled with cold dread.
Mordred flexed his wrists, then let them hang limp. When he lifted his head, his gaze was burning.
"This must be rectified; all that has gone wrong." Still pacing, he added. "To defeat this prophecised enemy, we must understand him. I fear this has not been attempted."
"He's a sick child," said Tee acidly. He glared out the window at the moonlight grounds. The cold night air blew in, and he shivered.
Mordred's gaze was intense, nearly crazed.
"Sick children don't summon shadows. Sick children don't survive with an Obscurus gnawing at their insides. Harry Potter is something more."
Something more. Poppy seemed to believe it; so did Dumbledore. And the prophecy... he'd never been one to disregard an omen of such weight.
Tee shifted a pile of books from the desk and sat heavily in the chair, his limbs filled with a strange ache. Then, wordlessly, he lifted a half-burned cigarette from the ashtray, put a spark to it, and inhaled the tar-tainted smoke, nearly choking as he did. The only comfort was that he could not tell if the choking was the beginning of tears or irritation from the smoke.
"Are you pleased?" Mordred pressed. "Is Dumbledore's level of trust sufficient?"
"You can leave in the summer in someone's luggage," said Tee, avoiding eye contact. He lifted the cigarette to his lips once more as he considered his plight, the smoke filling his lungs with a warm, tender embrace. "I need to figure out what to do."
"It's been months," Mordred hissed, his eyes alight with poorly-concealed fury.
But Tee only looked at him mournfully, smoke unspooling from the lit end of the cigarette.
"It's been fifty years."
He tugged roughly at his shirt collar, wetness forming under his eyes, and dragged on the cigarette again, nearly choking. The beginning of tears, then. Misery and shame seized at his constricting windpipe, sending him into a fit of wheezing.
Mordred's face had twisted into confusion.
"I didn't mean ― I didn't know―"
"You don't understand me. No one does."
He got up, painfully and delicately aware of the weight of the fabric of his clothes, the hardness of the wooden floor against his shoes, and went to the window, leaning against the frame.
"I'm staying," he said, trembling, either from the cold piercing through his thin cotton shirt or from emotion; he could not tell. "You can do whatever you want, Mordred ― but I'm staying here until I feel alive again."
"You don't mean that," said Mordred, his steps silent as a cat's as he moved to stand behind Tee. "You'll come to your senses soon enough."
Anger coursed through his veins; he slammed his hand so hard again the wooden frame that it groaned and threatened to break. He knew what it was that he wanted ― even the Mirror of Erised knew ― he had known since the nigredo turned pure white the night of the siege.
"God, Mordred ― I want to live!"
"We do live," said Mordred impassively, his voice tinged with disappointment. "A different kind of life. A better life."
"Longer." Tee's voice was cold. He felt himself begin to hyperventilate. "But not without fear."
"Without fear. We are stronger than ever, stronger than we dreamed. Did you not see the power Lord Voldemort possessed?"
Voldemort ― him and inexplicably not him, even colder than Slytherin himself, a match for Dumbledore despite the Headmaster's greater years. Without the interference of the children, Voldemort might have even bested him.
But not me, thought Tee irritably. I am still weak, still mortal, still fragile as ever. Perhaps even more vulnerable.
Tee shut his eyes, and the sheer white of the abyss swirled before him. And what about Harry Potter? Neither can live while the other survives.
"You must leave," said Mordred. Tee was inexplicably reminded of that horrible jackal all those years ago, and irritation bubbled up his throat, hot and choking. No longer would he consent to be ordered about endlessly, pushed to and fro by fate.
"Leave me be!" Tee finally screamed, surely loud enough to wake the whole castle. He slammed the locket shut with a deadening clang, wound up, and sent it sailing through the open window.
Finding himself once more alone and at a loss for how to rectify the situation, he shut the window and slumped to the floor.
Brooding never did him any good. Perhaps it would not do to be alone tonight. Tee stood, pushed the door open, and headed down the hallway. None of the doors was marked, but he'd long since memorised the inhabitants of each room.
"Come in!" called a muffled voice.
He did, turning the handle. Minerva startled when she saw him in her doorway, her quill falling from her grasp and clattering to the floor.
"Marking essays already?" asked Tee, striding across the room to peer at the papers strewn across her desk. "It's barely over two weeks into term." He bent down and retrieved the quill, offering it to her.
Her face went quite pinched; her eyes narrowed, and her lips thinned into a straight line. The change in expression was intimately known to him. "In case you haven't noticed the situation, Tom, the situation is too dire to encourage incompetence amongst students."
The chiding tone, too, was familiar. Perhaps that was why he had come here; familiarity, predictability. Minerva was reliable in all manners of things.
"Understood." He put his hands in his pockets and glanced around the room. It was vaguely Gryffindor-ish but more grown-up; the red muted, the gold dulled. Other colours had been mixed in, predominantly burgundy and ivory.
A white lily bud on one of the wooden shelves caught his eye; when he reached out for it, the flower sprang open and curled up again once he retreated.
"A gift from one of my students," Minerva explained, getting to her feet. "What do you want from me?"
Even now, Tee noted, he was still far taller than her, though that didn't seem to phase her in the least.
He cleared his throat, still inspecting the bookshelves. Curiously, he wondered if it was him specifically who drew so much ire from her or if he was simply the closest thing to the true object of her anger.
"Why do you care so much about the girl?"
"The girl? Which girl?"
Tee gestured vaguely. "The weepy girl in the bathroom."
"You don't even know her name," said Minerva venomously, her eyes brimming with tears and fury. "You didn't even bother―"
"It wasn't personal."
"Nothing ever was with you."
"That's where you're wrong, Minerva," said Tee bitterly. He began to trace out a rough circle around her with his steps, his empty hands clasped innocently behind him, and Minerva rotated, her distrustful eyes never leaving him. "Hasn't Dumbledore told you the full extent of my crimes? How I hung Billy Stubbs' rabbit from the rafters in the orphanage? How I lured Amy and Dennis into a cave full of snakes? How I repaid Abraxas's gang for the scars they gave me?"
Resolutely, she shook her head. So Dumbledore, then, still was, for some unknown and bizarre reason, protecting his image. Perhaps he didn't trust Minerva's reaction.
"That's where Dumbledore went wrong, then ― he should have left you there!"
Uncontrollably, he jerked away, then looked down hastily, hoping his face didn't betray him and that he was composed when he looked up again.
"I thought you might say that," said Tee, a cruel smile on his lips. "Poppy said the same."
"You're a monster," snarled Minerva. "You always were; I see, now. But I will not handle you with kid gloves any longer."
She was silent again. Tee turned his attention back to the lily bud on the bookshelf, white petals stained with pink. He was suddenly reminded of his conversation with Poppy.
"She gave that to you, didn't she? Their mother. Lily..."
Minerva stiffened. "Evans. Yes."
All this time, Mordred was convinced it was Harry Potter who had some secret, great power... but what if it's not... what if it's more than that?
"And the charm has lasted all these years," he probed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Minerva sigh heavily and cross her arms. "Indeed. It used to play music, too, but that wore off when... when she died."
"I'm sorry," said Tee placidly. "She must have meant a great deal to you."
"You've never been sorry in your life," Minerva countered, white-knuckling her wand, and Tee could only glare sourly because she was right.
"Good night," he said and made for the door.
Horcrux.
The word lingered in Ruby's mind; the word Dumbledore would not speak of, the word Regulus Black had been willing to turn his back on blood supremacy for, the word Tee had attempted to erase from her mind last night.
I must know.
She'd stared into the Slytherin Dungeon fireplace until the image of emerald flames was seared beneath her eyelids, and yet no prophetic visions came to her, no inkling of truth reached out from the past. In her dreams, she'd had only a nightmare of the garden variety (falling down an endless spiral staircase with Tee's disembodied eyes looming above her). Perhaps foresight had forsaken her, or perhaps Dumbledore was right. Perhaps she did need to be trained for her own good.
Ruby stared miserably up at the stone ceiling of the common room, sprawled out on one of the many ornate rugs.
"Duelling Club's today," Theodore noted as he sauntered up the stairs and into the room.
"You're going?" asked Pansy incredulously. Her head was propped up on one of her hands, and a book was propped open in her lap.
"Why not? We did call a truce with Gryffindor."
Pansy only offered a sniff in response.
"Are you going, Ruby?"
"Why wouldn't I?" She sat up, and stretched, then reached down to put her shoes on.
A harsh laugh ran out from Pansy. "Well, shouldn't you send them an owl in advance, Potter? They'll have to fire-proof the Great Hall!"
Her hand tightened on her wand, but she breathed out. It wasn't worth it. So instead, she turned to Daphne, who had been quiet the whole morning, and asked if she'd like to walk to breakfast. The other girl seemed relieved to have an excuse to leave the common room.
Even outside, Daphne was strangely silent and unresponsive to Ruby's clumsy attempts to strike up a conversation. Ruby even found herself longing for the familiarity of Daphne's usual overscrupulousness. Now, she was simply listless.
Only once they arrived at the Great Hall did Daphne perk up slightly, offering Ruby to follow her to the Ravenclaw table and meet Daphne's younger sister, Astoria, who was in the year below them.
Astoria regarded Ruby below her blonde fringe with a mischievous gaze as she helped herself to toast.
"You're the other Potter," said Astoria finally said. Ruby wasn't quite sure how to respond.
Daphne shot her sister a warning look that would have melted the resolve of many, but Astoria seemed utterly impervious.
"There's so many rumours about you," Astoria went on, now energetically buttering her toast with a flat knife. She leaned eagerly over the table. "Luna calls you the Queen of Poisons."
Ruby shuddered and wondered if people really could smell fear. Why was the name so apt? The 'queen of poisons' was another name for monkshood or wolfsbane, referring to its extreme potency ― a hundred times more lethal than strychnine. Even touching it made your fingers tingle, as she'd discovered for herself on that fateful day.
And Luna was Theodore's cousin. So Theodore had a clue, at least. He'd even said that he wouldn't mind if she'd killed Muggles as if killing Vernon was nothing more morally dubious than squashing a bug that had crawled up her leg on a hot summer day.
"You know, some people say you killed them, the Muggles you and Harry used to live with."
She could almost picture the nonchalant expression he'd had.
But no one but Dumbledore and Harry knew. How could Theodore be so confident of the details?
"Luna Lovegood says a lot of things, and most of them are just not true." Anthony Goldstein slid into the seat beside Ruby, giving Astoria a wary look. "Pass the pumpkin juice, please."
Seemingly unruffled, Astoria handed it to him. Anthony accidentally jostled Ruby's elbow with his bronze arm, and muttered a quick sorry.
Would he mind sitting this close to me if he knew what I've done?
"Start on your Astronomy star chart yet?" asked Anthony. And under his breath, he muttered: "I may or may not have skipped Wednesday night without telling anyone. And Thursday. Don't think Sinistra noticed, did she?"
"No, not at all," said Ruby absent-mindedly, fiddling with the end of her fork. "Not yet, anyway. I've got it in my bag if you want to copy it after Ancient Runes. After all, it's your New Year's, isn't it?"
Astoria was still regarding her very intently. "That Duelling Club's tonight, isn't it?" she said. "I suppose I'll go."
"What else would you do?" asked Daphne. "You're a third-year; you haven't got any commitments."
"I haven't got a Hogsmeade pass either," said Astoria sourly. She peered at Ruby again, a question in her eyes.
"Tell us about those Muggles, then ― why's your brother an Obscurial?"
"You don't need to answer that," said Anthony under his breath, with a sympathetic glance at her.
Though she'd barely eaten anything yet, Ruby could feel her breakfast threatening to make an escape.
She can't know; she wouldn't. At that moment, Astoria bore a terrible resemblance to Aunt Petunia, right now to the not-quite salmon pink nail polish.
Your mother was a whore! Your father was a drunk and a―
You're a drunk! Harry'd screamed back one time, and Ruby had squeezed her eyes shut and shrieked when Petunia backhanded him, the stone in her wedding ring leaving a thin red line. And for the next week, Uncle Vernon had walked by their locked cupboard once a day, jingling the keys as if he intended to let them out.
The Great Hall had disappeared, and then there was only Number Four Privet Drive and the cobweb-y ceiling of―
Daphne rounded on her sister instantly, leaning over the table in a fury.
"You tactless idiot! How could you say something like that? You know just how Obscurials are made!"
For the first time, Astoria had the grace to look a little embarrassed.
But everyone was asking these questions, Ruby realised. Especially in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, the Potters must be at the level of common room gossip. It was impossible not to think of Harry's Obscurus, with the gaping hole in the third-floor corridor an ever-present reminder.
"They were unfit guardians," said Ruby hollowly. "Let's leave it at that."
Anthony reached out to her tentatively as if to put his arm around her. But he hesitated and settled for patting her hand. She remembered Theodore doing that to Daphne. Something about it felt decidedly strange, and not just the cold, slippery feeling of his metal hand but also the identical one in her stomach.
"You haven't eaten," he pointed out, gesturing to the boiled egg rolling miserably around her plate.
"I've lost my appetite." It was true. Ruby wasn't sure she could get anything down and keep it there, not with her stomach doing flip-flops.
"At least take something for later," Anthony pressed, and Ruby wondered when he'd become so concerned with her health but took a few pieces of toast and an apple nonetheless.
Afterwards, they bid their goodbyes to Astoria and went on their way to their very first fourth-year level Ancient Runes lesson, which was held as usual in a small classroom with a high, arched ceiling that reminded Ruby slightly of the Great Hall. Theodore swooped into the seat beside Daphne and directly behind Ruby and Anthony as soon as he caught sight of them, to Ruby's great annoyance.
"Welcome to your second year of the study of Ancient Runes," said Professor Babbling from her usual perch. Out of the corner of her eye, Ruby saw Hermione excitedly draw out parchment and quill.
"We've covered elementary-level runic alphabets; by now, you should have a familiarity with Ogham and Elder and Younger Futhark. From here, you'll gain fluency with the theory and work towards a final project culminating at the end of your fifth year, where you'll create either a new spell or an enchanted object."
Ruby perked up instantly. Perhaps she could replace Nott's monocle! Of course, there was no knowing how it had been enchanted, but certainly, she might be able to approximate its powers at least.
Unceremoniously, Hermione's hand shot up. "Will our homework still be written in Futhark, Professor, or will we be moving on to different alphabets?"
"We'll mix in some others during the term," said Professor Babbling, nodding her head, "but the year will be focused on theory. Now, everyone, take out your wands."
Wandwork was not common in Ancient Runes, and as everyone fumbled in their bookbags, Ruby wondered what Babbling's intention was.
"Mr. Goldstein," said Babbling, catching his eye, "could you tell us the wood and core of your wand?"
"Rowan and unicorn hair," said Anthony, his brow wrinkling in confusion.
"Can we derive the qualities of this wand? Miss Granger?"
As expected, Hermione's hand hit the air in the blink of an eye.
"The horse is a joy to princes in the presence of warriors ― a proud steed could be a unicorn as well as a horse and could correspond to ehwaz. And the rowan tree is luis in the Irish alphabet, and the druids believed the rowan protected against the evil eye and vengeful spirits of the dead. So Anthony's wand is good for defensive magic and protective spells and won't choose a wizard who'll turn to the Dark Arts. And combined with the guardianship aspect of ehwaz, one could even say someone chosen by a wand like that is pure of heart, couldn't they, Professor?"
Anthony had turned a vibrant shade of pink at Hermione's unthinking praise.
"Very good, Miss Granger!" Babbling exclaimed. "Ten points to Gryffindor! And Miss Potter, tell us the make of your wand for comparison."
Next to Anthony's wand, hers did indeed look ominous, with the 'blood-stain' pattern marring the smooth heartwood. A tool of violence rather than a method of protection.
"Blackthorn and dragon heartstring," she repeated, just as Ollivander had told her years ago.
Again, Hermione answered, but she looked long and hard at Ruby before she did.
"It's nearly the opposite of Anthony's, really... Blackthorn's straif, or strife, a powerful energy but a destructive one, too, especially combined with the vitality and war-like nature of the dragon. Straif speaks of pain, wounding or damage, but it's not all bad ― it could be the storm that comes before the calm. And the druids say the tree itself belongs to the dark and the dead and the underworld. So it doesn't have to necessarily choose someone who turns to the Dark Arts," said Hermione in a strident tone, "but they'll probably take well to casting curses."
All the while, she noticed Anthony giving her an increasingly sympathetic look. Finally, growing irritated with the entire situation, she shoved her wand back in her bag and safely out of sight.
"Correct," said Babbling, looking somewhat solemn. The class had gone dead silent. "Blackthorn certainly has a reputation to uphold, but the most notorious of all is the yew."
"The Dark Lord was chosen by a yew wand," whispered Theodore.
"How do you know?" asked Daphne indignantly. He didn't respond, but Ruby was left to assume that he'd seen Voldemort with his own eyes and comfortably enough to get a good look at his wand or perhaps even ask him. Or perhaps it was even common knowledge amongst Death Eaters, and his dad had told him.
Yew's the tree of life after death, thought Ruby. Could that have something to do with how Voldemort didn't die when Harry defeated him?
"From this," Babbling went on, "one can clearly understand the utility of the theory. In the old days, Alchemy would be a corequisite, but Dumbledore never did find a suitable replacement for Professor Aureus. As a substitute, I will teach the core theory of alchemy: purification, maturation, and perfection. In addition, I will give you the Emerald Tablet to translate for the week's work."
Anthony attended to his notes; Ruby did the same.
"The four elements are earth, air, water, and fire, as I'm sure you're familiar." Babbling waved her wand, and the chalk drew four simple, geometric symbols on the blackboard in a square, and then a pair of coordinate lines bisecting them, one for heat and one for moisture.
And so, Babbling droned on for the rest of the lesson. After it had concluded, everyone slowly filed out; it was a Friday, still warm outside, and there might be a chance to get some sun in the courtyard before lunch.
At least, that was until Lavender came running up to Ruby with a summons from Professor Trelawney, indicating that she was meant to go up to the Divination classroom for the first of her private lessons. Ruby found herself filled with dread, but Lavender happily trailed her to the North Tower, making her pledge to tell her everything that had transpired.
Once she'd climbed up the silver ladder and emerged into the classroom, she found Professor Trelawney seated on a pouff; her eyes closed as if meditating. There was far more incense in the air than usual; several sprigs of sage were smoking away, and Ruby wished Trelawney would open a window. It almost rivalled Tee's floral-and-tar-scented cigarette smoke.
She kicked one of the pillows lying on the ground in irritation.
Trelawney's eyes snapped open.
"I felt that you were coming, my dear," she intoned.
"You summoned me, Professor," Ruby pointed out as she walked forward, but Trelawney ignored her. She tried a different tack. "What are we trying? Geomancy? Deciphering lunar phases? Scrying with mirrors?"
An angry look had come upon Trelawney's face. "No," she said fiercely. "These things hold magic and are useful tools, but compared to the power of the Inner Eye, they are baubles, Miss Potter, mere baubles. I thought you would know this; you are one of my best students, after all."
Then what am I meant to see with, without a medium?
Deciding to play along for now, Ruby sat on a powder-pink pouff opposite Trelawney and folded her hands in her lap politely.
"Alright, then, Professor. How do I see with my Inner Eye?"
If Trelawney detected the slight belligerence in Ruby's tone, she did not respond to it.
"It is not pictures that you must cause to be inscribed upon your eyes ... but the entirety of space and time that you must open yourself to. Have you heard of Occlumency, my dear?"
This, she was aware of.
"Preventing a Legilimens from attacking you?"
"Indeed," said Trelawney, rising from her seat to float behind Ruby and place her hands on Ruby's shoulders. "You must instead open your mind ... unfurl like a blossom ... become one with the universe itself! Only then will the gift of prophecy and Second Sight fall to your command! Do you see, my dear? You must lose control to gain it. That is the true meaning of scrying in the spirit vision. You must become the conduit, the medium upon which truth is inscribed."
"Of course," said Ruby irritably, but it was clear as mud. "How do we begin?"
Trelawney jumped a little. Perhaps she had not thought of that.
"Close your eyes," she said, after a long pause, "and open them without opening them. For you, images seem to come naturally... so let them come to you."
Obediently, Ruby shut her eyes and stared at the warm red behind her eyelids. She stared for what felt like ages and wondered if Trelawney would be able to tell if she decided to take a nap.
"Now stare inside," Trelawney commanded.
"At what?"
"At yourself. Try to see what you have already seen."
She stared, but in her mind's eye, all she could see was what Astoria had brought up that morning; Vernon's angry, frozen face staring up at her from the Dursleys' living room floor. She stepped forward, expecting to see Harry as he had been four years ago, shaking and terrified.
A loud whoosh behind her caused her to turn, still keeping her eyes closed. The Obscurus thrashed and thrashed, howling and caterwauling and reaching out to her with its oily appendages.
With her heart in her throat, Ruby forced her eyes open.
"And what did you see, my dear?" asked Trelawney, but Ruby only shook her head, remaining silent for the five minutes left in the hour.
Ruby promptly scooped up her belongings and left at the sound of the bell.
"Visions of the truth often shake the core of our being," Trelawney called after her. "This is proof of your gift, my dear!'
Evidently, the Duelling Club was a fabulously popular idea. Even with the tables pushed against the walls, the Great Hall was nearly filled to capacity.
A low stage had been erected; upon it sat Snape, Sirius, and Lupin, all of whom looked somewhat disgruntled.
"Did you see how Theodore Nott was looking at Sirius during Defence?" asked Hermione worriedly. "Do you think he recognised him?"
Ron shook his head. "Fat chance. And Dumbledore'll deny it, anyway."
The doors to the Great Hall swung open once more; Harry saw Ruby and a few other Slytherins filing in. He was surprised they'd even bothered to show up, especially Blaise Zabini, who usually eschewed this type of thing.
Lupin stood first, squinting out at the crowd. It was close to the full moon, and Harry thought he was beginning to look peaky (even more so than usual). "I believe we may begin, Professors?" he asked hoarsely.
"The hour has struck," Ron intoned in a vague approximation of Professor Trelawney.
"Oh, knock it off," said Hermione irritably. She stood on her tiptoes, straining to get a better look at the stage.
Sirius was the next to stand, clearing his throat. Snape remained seated.
"To start us off," Lupin continued, crossing his arms, "your professors will give a brief demonstration of duelling etiquette. In a formal duel, there'll be a challenge, although I think we may forgo that―"
"Will you fight me then, Snape?" drawled Sirius, the distaste evident in his voice.
If anything, Snape looked less disgruntled than before. Harry even noted the appearance of a small and rare smile on his face. Perhaps the idea of fighting Sirius had put him in a good mood. Whatever the circumstance, the wizards advanced towards each other.
"Gladly, Professor," he bit out. Snape got to his feet with a swirl of his robes, drawing his wand in one fluid movement.
"The great greasy bat's got some moves, eh?" Ron noted, his comment punctuated by a loud "OW!" when Hermione stepped on his toes.
"First, the combatants bow―"
Apparently, what passed for a bow was an irritable jerk of the head from both parties. They raised their wands in a fencing-like position; Harry realised Theodore and Daphne had assumed a similar posture when he and Ron had duelled them in the hallway last year.
"―and on the count of three, the first spell is cast."
"Expellarimus!"
"Protego!"
A dazzling burst of red light burst out of the end of Snape's wand, splintering like a firework as it impacted Sirius's shield. Harry marvelled at it; he'd thought himself pretty decent at performing the Disarming Charm, having disarmed Voldemort himself several months ago during the duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort. But the force of Snape's spell made it look as if it would have made Sirius go flying had he not had his shield.
"Excellent," Lupin commented. "Now, if we― Professors!"
He looked absolutely horrified.
Clearly, Lupin hadn't intended on a second round, but neither Sirius nor Snape cared, too swept up in their competition. The following exchange of spells was too quick for Harry to hear their incantations, but Snape ended up with a face full of boils, and Sirius was hoisted into the air several feet, suspended by his ankle.
"PROTEGO!" bellowed Lupin, brandishing his wand furiously. "FINITE INCANTATEM! LIBERACORPUS! MOLLIARE! ARE YOU BOTH MAD?"
A brief titter resounded through the room at Sirius's sudden descent, especially when he rebounded slightly off the cushioned platform. Sirius got to his feet uneasily, and by Snape's half-smile, Harry gathered he was relishing every second of it.
"If I could have your attention, please," said Lupin tiredly, "Professor Snape first cast the Disarming Charm on Professor Gloucester. Had it succeeded, it would have caused anything he was holding to fly out of his hand; in this case, it's his wand. May we have a demonstration of that?"
Neither moved, so Lupin, clearly fed up, pointed his wand at Sirius, spoke the incantation, and caught his wand once it had flown out of his grip, then tossed it back to him.
"There," said Lupin as Sirius rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Now, my enemy is very nearly helpless."
"I suppose it's a matter of who casts first," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I wonder if it's better to go for a protective charm or attack straightaway."
"Defensive spell, I think," said Ron. "More time to make your next move."
Hermione, true to form, raised her hand and repeated her question to Lupin, who nodded.
"Ah, I see," he said soberly. "Do remember that many of the Darker curses will not be held back by a Shield Charm; it all depends on the disposition of your opponent."
"Each of you pair up," Sirius instructed, attempting to regain his dignity, "and practice."
Ron turned to Hermione; Harry found himself face to face with Blaise Zabini, who was grinning from ear to ear. Ever since he'd arrived at Hogwarts, Blaise seemed to be convinced Harry was secretly a Dark wizard all along and even considered his Obscurus and ability to speak Parseltongue corroborating evidence. To Harry's great misfortune, Blaise found this prospect utterly thrilling.
"Shall we, then?" asked Blaise. He bowed, twisting his wand in an elaborate flourish. Harry bowed, too, but refused to do anything to make himself look like a clumsy idiot by attempting to copy Snape or Blaise.
"Three... two... one... Expelliarmus!"
"Serpentsortia!" shouted Blaise a split-second later. His wand flew out of his hand, but not before a mean-looking pit viper issued from it. Harry groaned internally. Of course, Blaise wanted to see him show off his Parseltongue.
"Finite Incantatem!"
The snake was unharmed by the spell and continued its passage forward. However, since it was venomous and would likely go berserk the moment someone inadvertently stepped on it, Harry had no choice but to calm it down. He reached a hand out and whispered, "Come here."
For a moment, the snake paused; then, the ssh-shh sound of dry scales on the stone floor followed its sinuous progress towards Harry.
He looked up and jumped in surprise; Snape had appeared behind Blaise's shoulder, a sneer plastered on his face.
"Showing off, I suppose, Potter? I can't say I'm surprised." He waved his wand, and the pit viper disappeared in a plume of black smoke.
Harry thought Blaise looked a little disappointed if anything.
"Don't hold me back from letting you show off your brilliance," Snape drawled, his dark eyes sparkling with unbridled malice. He thrust Blaise's wand back at him. "Engage your opponent."
"En garde!" whispered Blaise, twisting his wand like a rapier.
"Locomotor Wibbly!"
"Flipendo!"
Neither spell hit its mark.
"Your footwork is dreadful, Potter," said Snape, drawing behind Harry with a sweep of his robes. "Just like your father ― all style, no precision."
Harry bit down an insult, glaring down the length of his wand.
"Expelliarmus!"
To his surprise, just like Snape's Disarming Charm, red lightning thundered through his wand and went blasting out the other end; he only barely registered Blaise's shocked face before the other boy was launched backwards and into the air. He stood here, blinking and trying to comprehend what had just happened.
Snape had rushed forward; Blaise, to his relief, was sitting up and looking mostly unharmed.
"You really got me, Harry," said Blaise, inexplicably grinning. "That was some Disarming Charm."
"Indeed," said Snape, his expression inscrutable. "It is a shame Mr. Potter remains at a remedial level in so many other areas."
And with that, he swept off.
"He doesn't really mean that," Blaise offered before walking off to find a more interesting duelling partner, but it was no use; Harry's mood had already soured. "Your aim's not so bad; I'm just really good at dodging."
Catching motion in the corner of his eye, Harry couldn't help but notice Theodore Nott slip out of the Great Hall, taking care to shut the door very quietly behind him. With a glance to ensure no one was watching him, Harry slipped through the crowd and out of the door. If not Riddle, at the very least, he could easily tail Theodore.
He wished he had his Invisibility Cloak; alas, it was stowed under his bed, and he didn't have time to go up and get it without losing Theodore, who had set off at a brisk pace down the hallway. Taking care to step as quietly as possible, Harry trailed him, ducking between tapestries or suits of armour whenever the Slytherin paused to look over his shoulder.
They exited the castle on the east side of the school, directly below the professors' apartments, and Theodore slowed, looking around him. Harry crouched behind a bush, holding his breath.
Theodore was on his knees now, patting around for something in the grass for a few minutes. Suddenly, a grin broke out on his face, and he straightened up, slipping something into the pocket of his robes.
"Too easy," said Theodore to the empty air, patting his pocket. Then, he turned on his heel and walked past Harry with his nose in the air.
Harry only watched, holding his breath and wishing he'd gotten a better look at what Theodore had picked up.
First him, now Riddle. It's too much to handle by myself. If only―
He nearly jumped out of his skin; a small Ravenclaw with a long bird's nest of dirty-blonde hair was staring at him with large, watery eyes. How had she gotten so close to him without him even noticing?
"He does things like that often. Theo, I mean," she said in a soft, dreamy voice.
"You're his cousin," said Harry, leaping to his feet and smoothing the twigs and branches off his clothes, but it was no use. It was obvious what he'd been doing. "Luna Lovegood."
Like both Theodore and Harry, she was small for her age. There was something almost elfin about her, particularly in the unblinking stare of those great, big eyes.
"I'm surprised you know who I am, Harry Potter," said Lovegood stuffily, as if there was phlegm stuck in her nose.
"Well ― er ―" He couldn't very well repeat the gossip he'd heard "― you saw the Dementors first last year, didn't you?"
She didn't respond to that, only staring fixedly at Harry with those large, unblinking eyes.
"I'll see you later, Harry Potter. And, um, I'd be wary of drinking any pumpkin juice if I were you. Heard there was a Nargle infestation in the pumpkin patches."
And with that, she turned on her heel and walked back into the castle, leaving Harry to attempt to comprehend what had just happened.