Chapter Ten

For his part, Bart remained blissfully unaware that Professor Dumbledore would leave the school until he sat down in the Great Hall the next morning. However, his instincts told him that something was wrong when he peered up.

Hey, what's with Groundskeeper Willy?

He had never seen the man sport such a nervy look, even when dealing with Justin's petrified form.

So, Bart wondered; why did a few words from Lucius Malfoy unsettle him so? And why did he hold a hand to his chest?

These questions would remain unanswered, however, since the headmaster spoke.

"Good morning, students. As you are aware, recently Mr. Filch was taken from us, while Mrs. Norris was petrified, alongside two students.

Unfortunately, as a result, the Board of Governors will now suspend me."

An uproar broke out. Whispers and shouts abounded, with the looks of horror on Harry, Ron and Hermione's faces contrasting the supercilious smirk on Draco's. Even Gemma momentarily looked surprised before schooling her expression. Bart himself didn't know how to feel – only how to think.

Huh, didn't see that coming. But you'd think the old man's drug-dealing would be a problem. Maybe he's their dealer.

That said, when he took centre stage after the headmaster's introduction, Lucius did not mention drugs. He did, however, mention something far less palatable.

"Thank you, Dumbledore. Good morning, children."

Dude looks like a lady. And sounds like Sideshow Bob, Bart distastefully observed.

"Yes, due to recent tragedies, Albus Dumbledore will not be Hogwarts' headmaster any longer. However, I am pleased to announce a replacement. Let us give a round of applause to Severus Snape!"

Bart's eyes bugged out.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Sheer, unadulterated terror filled his insides as he fled, but he could only travel one metre before the back of his robes caught on his seat.

THUD!

Bart's world went black.

When he woke up in the Hospital Wing, three figures coalesced themselves in Bart's vision – Gemma, Madam Pomfrey, and a man who resembled Santa on his off day.

"Oh man, I had the worst nightmare – and you were there, and you were there…and you I don't remember seeing." Outside the North Pole.

The man shook his head and chuckled.

"That was no nightmare, my boy! I'm Horace Slughorn, your new head of house!"

Bart gasped.

"B-but that means…"

"That Professor Snape's our new headmaster", Gemma finished.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO – ".

While Bart screamed his head off, Willy sang a cheery little ditty while vanishing some dust.

"Whistle while you work, Voldy is a twerp! He's half barmy, so's his army, whistle while you work!"

"That's a catchy little tune, Widdershins."

Willy spun around with surprise in his eyes, only to be confronted with a leaning, scowling Headmaster Snape, a frailer Batman whose frame belied his menace.

"Stitch my tits with candyfloss, it's Sevvy! Congrats on getting the big chair, mate!"

Snape angrily bared his teeth.

"Thank you, mate. However, I see life as one big game of musical chairs. You're most fortunate that Lucius vouched for you, otherwise you – would – have – lost – yours."

Willy laughed while nervously rubbing the back of his head.

"Ol' Lucy, he's a good bloke, isn't he?"

Professor Snape slowly nodded.

"Inexplicably so where you're concerned, Widdershins. But if you don't start paying me the proper respect, I might just reveal your little nickname for him during our next conversation. And then we will see just how much of a good bloke he really is."

After the new headmaster marched off, Willy gulped. A dismissal he did not need. But he did need something else – and that something involved Ginny Weasley, who was currently walking in the same corridor.

It was an unusual, trance-like walk, but Willy didn't care. He made to move, only to be halted by an unfamiliar emotion – guilt. Willy could only watch as Ginny slowly but surely disappeared into the distance. After shaking his head, Willy continued working.

Speaking of which, during that day Bart worked on processing the five stages of grief. After Gemma poured cold water over his attempt to deny Professor Snape's inauguration, he psychotically ranted about Snape's dickishness during History of Magic. This worked splendidly – until Daphne kicked him back into reality and Professor Binns deducted points from Slytherin. He then begged Daphne and Tracey to tell him that Professor Snape's inauguration was just an elaborate hoax, but they both laughed in his face.

Eventually, an utterly defeated Bart trooped into the dormitory, spreadeagled himself on the bed, and groaned.

But Draco wasn't about to let sleeping Barts lie.

"Have a good day, Simpson? I know I did! Soon, you'll be nothing more than a bad memory. That's what happens when your father is on the Board of Governors."

Bart unleashed a full-blooded cackle. After all, how could he pass up an opportunity to put Draco back into his box?

"Your dad looks like a cokehead! He probably gave his stash to the others!"

Draco momentarily narrowed his eyes before continuing.

Remember father's words. "At least we can afford to share things with others. The only thing you share is your Mudblood stench."

"And you share a limp-dicked loser's stench. It's all good."

"If by good, you mean bad."

"Yeah, I'm sure your girlfriends would agree!"

But Draco retained his composure.

"At least I'll have girlfriends, Simpson."

"Like Pants Down? I'd rather do a tree than do her."

"What, and Farley's better?"

"Yeah, if you're straight."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"That's not what I meant, Simpson."

"Like I care."

Draco smirked before leaning forward, striking a pose that would impress The Joker as the reflected light turned his skin into an eerie shade of white.

"Simpson, Farley's just using you. Once she's gotten what she wants, she'll dump you and leave you with nothing. I know you're just a stupid Mudblood, but do keep up."

Had this remark come from Daphne, doubts would have accumulated in Bart's mind. After all, the perceptive witch had hinted at Gemma's agenda last year, and Bart was certainly not impervious to peer pressure.

But because it came from someone he hated, he just laughed.

"Dude, are you trying to intimidate me? You look like a goddamn clown! Are you available for kids' birthday parties?"

Blaise and Theo snorted, but Draco was still unfazed.

"Well, when I do have a birthday party, I'll invite you. That way, we can work on your timetables together."

That's the closest thing he's had to a comeback since I've gotten here. But I can't let him have the last word, Bart thought as snickers and sniggers abounded.

"After I kick your ass in front of all your stupid friends and family."

"I was being sarcastic, Simpson. See, sarcasm means that I'm not being serious."

"Really? I would never have guessed."

Draco narrowed his eyes for a moment before continuing.

"When I see you begging in Diagon Alley one day, maybe I'll give you some old boots to chew on. But maybe not. My boots are too good for you, you see."

Bart scoffed.

"Dude, boots are made for walking, not chewing. And my boots will kick your ass."

Draco shook his head and smiled.

"Last chance for some boots, Simpson."

"Last chance to eat it."

"Going…going…gone."

Bart played an imaginary violin in response. Draco didn't bother commenting on his antics, instead casting the usual charms before hitting the sack.

Meanwhile, in Gryffindor Tower, Harry couldn't sleep at all.

Let's see…over the past six weeks I've put up with Hufflepuffs hissing at me, Ravenclaws saying that I'm thick, and Slytherins laughing at me. Now Dumbledore's gone and Snape's the new headmaster! The way we're going, the thing that killed Filch and attacked those students will show up in the Great Hall and kill everyone!

Upon reflection, Harry had enjoyed only his lessons with Bart. However, even those lessons were not without frustration, for the anger he felt over his treatment often caused his spells to scatter to all parts. While frustrated that he couldn't brush off negativity like Bart could, he nonetheless enjoyed it when Bart outlined his coping mechanisms during one lesson.

"To be honest man, I felt real pissy after the troll incident last year, 'cos people said all sorts of shit about me. But it goes away eventually. Better not tell him how it went away.

I've dealt with it better this year because I've been through it before, so I know how to handle those dipshits.

When I saw the Huffle-poofs, I either pointed and laughed at them from behind a shield – because they're all losers – or I made stabbing motions with my fists. Sometimes I'd also cast a shield, drop to the floor, and imitate a twitching, dying body. Went down a treat."

Harry stifled a laugh. While Bart's coping mechanisms were rather tasteless, they were still very funny.

"What about the Gryffindors?"

"Eh, they just threw things and made jokes about me killing people and looking like a punk.

One dude went, 'Your hair looks stupid, Simpson.' Then I said, 'That's because your girlfriend styles it after I do her.' His reaction was P-riceless!

So, why did the Ravenclaws call you stupid?"

"What, haven't they called you stupid?"

"Nah, just a murderer, so I cast my shield, gave 'em the finger, and waddled away while making stabbing motions."

"Or you just made them slip on a puddle like Clearwater."

Bart laughed.

"Yeah, if you wanna piss a chick off, tell 'em to make you a sandwich! Works every time!"

Now, Harry was no feminist, but if he was talking to almost anybody else, he would have chastised them for their sexism.

Instead, he just laughed.

"Speaking of which, didn't Greengrass and…Davids…Davis…invite you to visit them over Christmas?"

"They sure did."

"What did Farley think?"

Bart lay down, crossed his legs, and threw his arms up with trademark insouciance.

"She was cool with it, so long as her parents came with.

So anyway, why does being caught with Colin's frozen body make you stupid?"

"Because since I was the Heir of Slytherin, I should have been smart enough to cover my own tracks."

Bart shook his head.

"They think you're the Heir of Slytherin, but they call themselves Ravenclaws? Dumbledore must've shared some of his stash with the Sorting Hat."

Harry looked very cross.

"Can you please not call Dumbledore a drug dealer?"

Bart thought for a moment before placating the Gryffindor.

"Well, he did tell the school to lay off..." After a few weeks. "…so I'll stop calling him that.

Now, as for the Ravenclaws, just ask them what an 'id' is.

Then when they get it wrong, you say: 'You call me stupid, but you don't even know what an 'id' is? If a Gryffindor like me knows that, then why are you in Ravenclaw?'

Ravenclaws think they're all super geniuses and stuff, so that'll get 'em.

And if they do get it right, just say: 'Hey, you're a real Ravenclaw! Wanna cookie?'

Also, just so you know, the id's the part of the mind which deals with uncoordinated instincts and impulses. I learnt that during a game of Scrabble. I try not to learn much from my sis, but some things just stick." Especially 'cos I zinged Homer right after!

Harry nodded and smirked.

"I'll try that, Bart. But write all that down for me."

"Sure, man. Here you go."

After Bart handed Harry the parchment, they both meditated, which invariably improved Harry's fortunes during each session. Still, while he obviously lacked Bart's generational talent, Harry was nonetheless disappointed that mastering the Protego, Stupefy, and Impedimenta took three weeks.

"Well done, dude. I knew you could ace those spells", Bart remarked while they sat in the middle of that duelling arena.

"Yeah, but it took me three weeks!"

"Dude, that's pretty normal for a talented wizard like you."

Harry didn't care.

"But you learnt that crazy dagger spell without even trying."

Bart sighed.

"Dude, I'm as talented as Voldemort. Also, I hadn't even mastered that spell when I used it against the troll! That's how hard it was!"

Harry looked aghast.

"Are you seriously telling me that you just aimed at the troll and hoped for the best?"

Bart nodded.

Harry gasped.

"If your dagger missed the troll, then – "

"We would've all gone to the Great Castle in the Sky, because casting those things takes a helluva lot of effort. It was either one or done.

Anyway, who cares? It's in the past."

Harry's shook his head before his eyes steeled in determination.

"You're right. Stuff the past; this school needs us right now."

"Right on, Harry!"

But, rather than being spurred on by Bart's rousing rhetoric, an uncomfortable silence filled the arena, a silence broken only after Harry's mind drifted to that elemental book.

With a newfound purpose, the green-eyed mage stood up. Before long, he was looking through the book.

Bart shook his head and smirked before casually walking towards his friend.

"Captain Planet strike your fancy again, Harry?"

Harry ignored him, instead reading about a spell which piqued his interest.

"Hmmm…this 'Heart' spell looks interesting."

Bart cackled maniacally.

"'Heart' spell?! What, do you shoot hearts at your opponent? Or just kill them with kisses?"

Having tuned out Bart's cracks, Harry focused intently on the page.

Hmmm…let's see, you point your wand up, turn your wrist down a little bit and swing it anti-clockwise. If you're pure of heart, you can create a ball which you can guide with your wand.

Harry gently placed the book down and mouthed an incantation while swinging his wand like a lasso. But no spell came.

"Ah, so the modern-day cowboy's back in town, huh?" Bart jested. But Harry, who was trying to master the spell, didn't acknowledge him.

Unfazed by Harry's non-reply, Bart nonchalantly picked the book up and smirked.

Pure of heart, 'ey? Well, my heart's puuurre badaassssss. Now to re-lax and swiiiiiinng.

Bart thrust his wand up and imitated a black power salute before swinging his wand.

"SPIRIT BLA – "

KABOOM!

Before he knew it, an ashen-faced Bart was on his back. His focus having been broken, Harry laughed at his friend's misfortune.

"I don't think your heart's pure enough, Bart."

Bart could only mutter angrily while Harry went about his work. One swirl followed another before the boy finally saw a shimmering light touch the edge of his eye.

Hardly daring to hope, he looked up and saw…a shiny white orb. Fragile though it looked, every glow betrayed its raw, surging power.

Harry tentatively flicked his wand back and forth. The orb instantly responded in tune with Harry's wand. Harry stood there like a stunned mullet, but suddenly he knew what to do.

Without warning, he drew his arm back and hurled the ball across the arena.

BLAM!

The orb exploded. Following the blinding light came a massive shockwave that might well have mulched their organs had the boys not shielded themselves. But even behind a shield, the boys were swept away by the blast's force.

A thunderstruck Harry had only one thought.

What a weapon…

Pumped up by the memory, Harry bounced out of bed with renewed determination, only for Ron to wake up and groan.

"What's the matter, Ron?"

"You know Myrtle's bathroom?"

"Yeahhhh?"

"I dreamt that I was searching for something in there. Myrtle was trying to tell me something…but I couldn't hear her. And I couldn't find what I wanted, either…"

Ron then propped himself up and shook his head.

"Oh well. It was only a dream. And not hearing Myrtle's a good thing, anyway."

Harry snickered before remembering Ron's invitation.

"I think I'll stay with you guys over Christmas. Bart's staying with Farley, I don't want Snape watching me, and I don't feel like living with Muggles again just yet." Sorry, Hermione.

"You know, Malfoy was talking about staying, but his name wasn't on the list."

"Probably because Dumbledore's already gone", Harry snarled.

"Yeah, the git probably helped out with that, so Daddy will probably give him an Acromantula silk suit for Christmas", Ron sneering, his face reddening in rage when he pictured Draco enjoying his unearned wealth while he had to spend most of his money on protecting The Burrow, buying school supplies, and acquiring Hera.

Blimey, celebrity really isn't all that, Ron contemplated. A lot of people who used to act like Harry's mates are now calling him a murderer. I'd better ask him how he's doing.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"A-are you OK?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"I am now, Ron, but I'm glad you asked."

"Why?"

"Because it shows that you care about me, instead of just my celebrity."

Ron hugged Harry tightly.

"I do care about you mate! I do! Those tossers can say what they want, but you're still my friend!" Ron exclaimed as he fought back tears.

The expressions on their faces betrayed their dedication to each other, come what may.

For Gemma, what came was an unexpected problem, as she stood before the common room door during her break period.

"Swelling Solution."

No response.

What the - ? Maybe I just mispronounced it? "Swelling Solution."

The door was still unmoved.

Something's very wrong here.

Laughter then erupted. Behind her stood Draco and his posse, all his Quidditch teammates bar Bart and Marcus, and an unenthused Theo.

Typical Malfoy. He always thinks that he can beat his opponent with numbers.

"Nice to see you too, Draco", Gemma replied with an incongruous politeness which Draco clearly interpreted as a sign of submission.

"You've finally figured out whom your betters are, Farley. I'm impressed! Maybe I won't get my father to fire yours, after all."

That remark would have angered many wizards, but Gemma merely nodded, not caring so much due to both her Occlumency and her experiences with Draco.

"Anyway, I think you'll love the new password, Farley", Draco crowed before cheerfully yelling "PUREBLOOD!".

Gemma's would-be assailants burst out laughing; Pucey and Theo less so.

"Did Slughorn authorise this password?" Gemma rhetorically asked.

"He sure did."

Liar.

Having known Horace Slughorn for her entire life – indeed, her parents formally began their relationship at a Slug Club meeting – she knew that he abhorred blood supremacist ideology and so would not have approved of this password.

Normally, she would have asked Draco which prefect was dumb enough to change the password to that. However, she was too busy analysing the group's relational dynamics.

Nott's less sympathetic to Draco than I expected, and there's no reason for him to pretend otherwise. Interesting…

And as for Pucey, he's a halfblood who only fouls opponents when necessary – he doesn't go overboard like Flint sometimes does.

Maybe I should get to know them better, and help them abandon these Death Eater sympathisers?

Draco then brought Gemma back to reality.

"Don't you want to go in, Farley?" he asked, feigning civility as his minions snickered.

"I do, yes", she neutrally replied. She firmly put her right foot forward…before spinning it towards Draco and slamming her left knee into his crotch while whipping out her wand and firing. In under three seconds, Pansy, Derrick and Miles Bletchley were flat on their faces and Draco was a human shield. Lucian fired off a stunner, but it went well wide.

Sufficiently emboldened, her next words conveyed their usual authority.

"Who changed the password? Well? Answer me!"

Crabbe and Goyle then advanced.

Nice try, trolls, Gemma thought as she knocked them both out and pressed her wand against Draco's head before anyone else could react.

"That wasn't a question; it was an order! Tell me!"

Lucian put on a show of defiance.

"Why should we, blood traitor?"

Lightning, tornados, and firestorms raged behind Gemma's brown eyes as she surveyed her recalcitrant housemate.

"Because if you don't, I'll mindfuck you!"

Gemma generally eschewed such vulgar language. It was not only unacceptable in her social circles, but also lost its effect if overused. But when used correctly, such language gave her words a visceral force which demanded respect. And the word 'mindfuck' left little to the imagination. Predictably, Lucian folded like a pack of cards.

"I-it was Travers. H-he set the new password."

Gemma's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She had known Langdon Travers since they were children and was well-acquainted with his cautious and withdrawn comport.

I can't believe that he set this password! He would have known what it implied when he set it, and he would know what I'd think of it! He was smart enough to not beat Bart up last year, and he did what I told him before I disciplined Bart earlier this year.

He was always civil to me, even after I took Bart under my wing. So why would he do this now?

She fought off feelings of betrayal before realising that something wasn't right. Sure, Langdon was a Travers, but while he was secretive, he was not as bigoted as his father.

I actually don't remember him mistreating Muggleborns. Sure, he avoids them and says that purebloods are better, but he doesn't actively harass them like the wannabe Death Eaters here do. So why do this?

Unless…he was pressured. But by whom? And for what reason? And…what would the consequences be should he fail?

Normally, Gemma felt happy when her political opponents messed up, but she couldn't feel that way about Langdon or even Theo right now. After all, both represented opportunities to increase her family's sphere of influence while having inside men in the Death Eater camp. Given her mission to make her family the player in the wizarding world, she couldn't pass such opportunities up.

"Bole, where is Travers?"

"He's with your dad."

"Excellent. Now, as for your punishments..."

Before Lucian could react, Gemma knocked Draco out and disarmed him before binding her unconscious housemates with ropes. She didn't bother disarming the other two, since their faces screamed surrender.

If I slap these two on the wrist, they should be more comfortable joining my side later.

"Pucey and Nott, you will both serve detention tonight for attempting to ambush a prefect. Now leave."

The two froze for a moment, scarcely believing that Gemma would be so merciful. Eyes gleaming with gratitude, they scarpered.

I'll have to ask Nott what Bart meant later. "Now as for you, Bole…"

The malice tainting Gemma's tone seeped into the surrounding atmosphere, affecting Lucian's disposition. Academically accomplished though he wasn't, he knew that facing Gemma wasn't like facing Bludgers. To him, the former came with fear, not fun. Fear which made him shiver even as he tried intimidating Gemma by puffing out his chest.

Gemma's grin turned ravenous as she walked towards him with calculated menace, with his posture slumping in anticipation.

In fact, he was surprised that she hadn't paralysed him…until she did, leaving him defenceless on the floor as she whispered into his ear with sadistic delight.

Officially, Gemma used the Gaseous to discipline students with Professor Snape's blessing. As a harsh disciplinarian, the man accepted that most Slytherins would be scared straight after experiencing such pain. She also knew that Professor Slughorn would approve just because Gemma invented the spell. After all, he was not without ethical blind spots, especially where his favourite students were concerned.

In reality though, she enjoyed punishing her enemies, so Bart's assailants, real and attempted, all received the treatment last year. Tellingly, far fewer crossed her this year.

Bole, however, was bigoted – and stupid – enough to try, so he'd pay the price.

"Three weeks detention, to be served before and after the Christmas break…with the treatment."

Powerless to avert his fate, Lucian could only lie there as Gemma levitated him into an empty classroom before commencing the treatment, which Draco, Derrick, Miles and Pansy would all soon receive. Time was with her; her father's class wouldn't end for a while.

A while later…

"Informing us of poor Master Travers' plight was very wise of you, Gemma", Jake intoned as father and daughter strode to the Duelling Room under the dungeons, with Professor Slughorn waddling beside them.

"Father, Slytherins look out for their own", Gemma smugly replied, guessing that their rotund head of house would shower her with points. She was not disappointed.

"Indeed, Miss Farley! Five points for taking a stand against that blood supremacist rot, and another five points for some expert political manoeuvring!"

Like clockwork… "I do hope that you're not planning on deducting points from the other Slytherins after this, Professor? That would somewhat obviate my efforts."

The portly professor chortled.

"Absolutely not, Miss Farley! Someone with talent like yours, and a father like yours, wouldn't struggle with good judgment. So surely you haven't exceeded your bounds?"

Gemma smirked.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Professor."

The professor's bushy moustache curled upwards in amusement.

"You'll never cease to amuse me, Miss Farley."

"Speaking of amusement, I assume that Travers will not be amused about the arrangement we made with his son. Our families have never much liked each other, you see."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Jake! My Occlumency lessons will hold the boy in good stead should his father get suspicious", Professor Slughorn replied. The ageing wizard's tone was still jovial, but venom crept into his voice when Langdon's father was mentioned.

Why, Gemma and Jake did not know. Nor would they, for they didn't bother asking. Jake's next question would instead be tainted with irony.

"For entirely altruistic reasons, I assume?"

The pea-shaped professor laughed.

"It depends on what you mean by altruistic, Jake."

Jake mockingly rubbed his chin.

"Altruistic in the Slytherin sense, Horace. In other words, you're altruistic to him…if he's altruistic to you in return."

The professor's enigmatic smile would make any Slytherin proud.

"That's an interesting way of putting it…but it's not wrong. After all, that's why I invited him to my Slug Club meeting after Christmas. You may attend as well, Miss Farley. And do invite Mr. Simpson along. Someone who can scream like that clearly has considerable talent. Talent enough to charm a piece of parchment, in fact. Is that correct, Miss Farley?"

Gemma nodded before Jake spoke up.

"Yes, and now Langdon will be keeping us abreast of any developments in Travers Manor using the piece of parchment that we generously provided him. I think that immunity from punishment and some pocket change is a small price to pay for that, don't you Horace?"

Horace grimly nodded before abruptly changing the subject.

"Yes. Speaking of talent, I'm sure you'll show plenty when you duel with Filius."

Jake smirked.

"Maybe, Horace. Maybe…"

But just how much talent would Jake display? That question lingered on every student's mind as they stood inside the Duelling Room. While this room lacked the Slytherin Duelling Dungeon's dark mystique, its red carpet hinted at the fiery action that awaited, while the craggy, grey stone walls were indicative of its unpredictability.

Before long, the headmaster regally strode into the centre, with the echo from his syllabic drawl only amplifying the sense of foreboding.

"Combatants, ready – your – wands."

Professors Farley and Flitwick thrust their wands up. Licking their lips, the pair were ready to win…but nonetheless waited until the new Headmaster uttered the fateful word.

"Begin."

For moments, the duelling professors both waited for the other to strike first, creating a tension so thick that Bart almost suffocated.

Jake moved first, as Flitwick cast a Protego mere milliseconds after Jake's opening salvo. But the dwarf's eyes then widened.

Flying towards him was a flock of canaries, their appearance and sheer volume signifying the emerging spectacle's beauty and intensity. Before brown and orange became the new grey, Flitwick vanished both the shield and the birds, only for Jake to send three stunners towards his head, legs, and chest. In one graceful motion, Flitwick left the ground, flicked his head rightwards and artfully deflected the chest-bound stunner before landing with a crouch. As Jake's follow-up singed his hairline, Flitwick went on the offensive.

Jake found out just how offensive, as before he could jump over the seemingly innocuous red and white spell heading his way, it jagged up and headed straight – for – his – throat.

Shock coursed through Jake as his retinas expanded and his throat went dry. Not caring to be a note in Flitwick's chin music, Jake instinctively launched himself into the air, his body twisting so violently that it almost tore itself asunder. He reflexively drew his wand close to his chest as the spell scorched past his nose, such that Jake could almost smell it.

An enraptured crowd went wild when they saw Flitwick's mystery spell turn Jake into a flying salmon.

"WHOA, THAT IS AWESOME!" Bart yelled over the din. Harry, Ron and Hermione were rendered speechless, while the Ravenclaws forewent their usual wit by hooting and hollering like drunken frat boys. Even Gemma and the Slytherins couldn't help but applaud Flitwick, even though they mostly preferred that Jake won.

Very neat, Daddy. Only a few wizards here could have pulled that off. I know that you won't let Flitwick force you onto the defensive for long. Go on, Daddy. Make me proud.

While Gemma's tender feelings belied her outward stoicism, Jake quickly deflected the stunner destined for his feet before crouching and disappearing in a puff of smoke.

That's just a delaying tactic. Flitwick will find him very quickly.

Jake knew this, but he did buy himself valuable time.

My usual rope-a-dope tactics won't faze Flitwick. He's small, agile, and accomplished, so he can dodge and deflect more spells than most…so...

Hearing a tell-tale swooping noise in the distance, Jake acted, distracting Flitwick with a nominal stunner while firing several Bombarda Maximas into the ceiling above Flitwick before he could react. Jake skipped over the retaliatory stunner, closed his eyes, and unleashed a Lumos Solem while the falling debris dinged off the dwarf's shield.

Flitwick was momentarily thrown by this but quickly recovered, crouching and transfiguring a makeshift shield that protected his front and top from both light and debris.

But Jake was unfazed, conjuring and banishing a small box into the space beside the dwarf. Flitwick momentarily wondered what Jake's angle was, but reflected light quickly shone on his face, obscuring his vision such that he only barely deflected the following stunner.

But Flitwick's troubles were far from over, for a powerful Reducto shattered the shield's front, sending debris flying towards his face. The improvised Protego saved his vision but cost him the momentum, as some debris beat his shield and tore into his skin. A gasp left his throat as his pain sensors flared up, with crimson staining the grey ground beneath him.

Fumos is too simple and tricky for my liking, but if the occasion requires it…

With that, he hid himself behind smoke after reinforcing the Protego, applying Episkey while Jake pinged his general position with the same spells that Bart had taught Harry. However, suddenly the spells stopped coming.

Flitwick's eyes widened in surprise. Before he could retaliate, he heard an ominous-sounding whistle close in. Realising that his eardrums were seconds from shattering, he only had one option. He crouched, placed one hand on the ground, propped the other arm up, and, with the whistle's sound now promising despair, he uttered the magic word.

"Ascendio!"

BRRRROOOMMM!

Whoa baby, Jake's bringing out the big guns! Bart exultantly thought as the Bombarda Maxima's sheer power shook the dungeon to its very core. Students were stumbling, the walls were shaking, and the roof threatened to collapse. But before anarchy erupted, a metaphorical wind tunnel brought student upon student to the ground very, very slowly.

Realising what was happening, the spectating professors each cast an Arresto Momentum, arresting the action before them.

Bart quickly found himself falling at a glacial pace towards the grey ground. The impact almost knocked the boy off-balance. Since the spell could not entirely cushion the impact, pain shot through his knees and ribs. Nonetheless, with trademark wherewithal, he pulled himself up before facing the ring once more.

Moments earlier, Flitwick had flown out of the explosive shower. Seeing his opponent's flying frame, Jake went for the kill as he peppered Flitwick with stunners. Economy, not extravagancy, was the watchword here.

But Flitwick clearly heard the word, for he stabilised himself mid-flight before batting the stunners away and returning fire.

Jake's eyes widened as he saw stunners spiral towards him with dizzying speed. He flicked his head to avoid one, deftly hopped above another, and deflected a few others.

The duel then descended into a slanging match, with the two professors trading spells at eye-straining speed. For every shield there was a spell, for every stunner a cutter.

However, despite his indefatigability, the tide began to turn against Flitwick, for he started incurring more cuts than he gave. Unfortunately for the diminutive professor, an out-of-practice duelling champion evidently couldn't defeat someone who had duelling in their blood – not in a straight fight, anyway.

So, Flitwick got creative. Just before he hit the ground, he hastened his descent by breaking his Arresto Momentum and crouching just before the incoming body-binder could bring out his inner statue. He then applied Episkey before fading into his Fumos.

Wasting no time, Jake fired another Bombarda Maxima, but this time Flitwick obviated the blast with a Finite Incantatem.

After realising that the smoke was not just concealing his view of Flitwick, but also Flitwick's view of him, Jake then did the Slytherin thing – bluff his way into the ascendancy.

"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!" he roared, without moving his wand. While confused murmurs rose from the crowd, the headmaster saw right through his fellow Slytherin.

Nice try Farley, but we both know that you're just bluffing, the hook-nosed professor thought as his lips curled upwards. You're just hoping that Flitwick will remove his shield and expose himself by firing back.

To the headmaster's surprise, however, Flitwick did play into Jake's bluff as he emerged from the smoke. But then he did something most unexpected, whirling his arm in a 180-degree motion and pushing his wand back into his palm before firing his spell.

"FLIPPER!" he shouted, his high tones reaching their lowest point as a red and white spell, resembling the mystery spell that had nearly ripped Jake's head off, sailed towards the lanky professor. Said professor raised his shield in anticipation – only for the spell to sail wide.

Clearly, he's lost his touch, Jake smugly thought as he momentarily laughed.

But that wasn't his moment to waste, for Flitwick had already fired another flipper towards him. Not that Jake cared.

You really can't teach old dogs new tricks, Jake mused, making to cast a pro forma Protego.

However, he was late on the uptake, for this flipper was not only travelling lower, but also faster. Moreover, unlike the previous flipper, which floated towards Jake's chest without gaining much pace, this flipper accelerated rapidly as it arced towards Jake's legs.

Jake gasped.

The previous spell was a decoy!

But before he could act, the flipper barrelled into his legs, sending him cartwheeling forward. The wily wizard thrust his hands forward to save his own skin, but he wasn't the budding Baryshnikov that Bart was, so rather than landing gracefully before pirouetting forward, his arms crumpled before his head slammed into the ground, knocking him out cold.

The impact merely made a soft thump, but it may as well have been a cannon blast, such was its effect upon the stunned audience.

After a moment, the audience finally realised what had happened.

The duel was over…

…and Flitwick had won.

Author's Notes for Chapter Ten

Hope everyone enjoyed their holiday period!

RE Willy: Readers will eventually discover why Lucius would vouch for him.

RE Draco: Canonically, his staying for Christmas was a red herring. His father must have assumed that he was safe from what was attacking Muggleborns, but the Malfoys are a loving family. Loving families like spending more time together, not less. Plus, what if the mystery creature could kill anyone?

Here, he doesn't need to stay because Dumbledore's already gone, and canonically Lucius opened the Chamber of Secrets partially to remove him. Now that he has, Draco doesn't need to stay at Hogwarts to see that nothing goes wrong.

RE Theo: Fanon characterisations vary, from secretive but sympathetic, to utterly psychopathic. In this fic, I've portrayed him as more the former (he congratulated Bart for tricking Draco in Book 1: Chapter 5).

RE Pucey: His blood-status was never made clear, but he was never shown to be pure-blood.

Him being reluctant to foul suggests not only some personal integrity, but that he wasn't raised in the same 'win-at-all-costs' culture as the Death Eater sympathisers around him, making it more likely that 1) he's a cultural outsider in Slytherin and therefore 2) half-blood.

RE Langdon Travers: See 'Bart on the Road'. Also the named Travers (Torquil/Sloan) tend to have unusual but real names, so Langdon is just another.

The Protego shields you from a spell's impact, but whether it protects you from its sound is an open question.

RE Flitwick vs Jake: Jake and Gemma train constantly, whereas Flitwick was not shown to do that in canon.

Ravenclaws are meant to be more creative than Slytherins, so I had Flitwick unfurl a non-canonical spell to finish Jake off.

Simpsons episode references

'Bart the Genius': Bart playing Scrabble with his family

bauers374: Hagrid isn't dead, but yeah I need to insert him in sometime.

James Songbird/Monster King: Thanks.

EDIT (20/1/2023): I made the ending a bit more climactic. In the original ending, the Flipper acted like a stunner, but I thought that was too generic.

EDIT (11/10/2024): 'Chin music' is cricket terminology; 'stunned mullet' is an Australianism - like a 'deer in the headlights'.