Part I: Difficult Lessons

March 27, 1995

"Are we sure this won't break the tournament rules?" Remus asks for the third time, earning an eye roll from me and a smile from Albus.

It is Albus who deigns to allay the man's worries while grinning at me behind his beard. Don't ask me how I can tell it is a mocking grin. After thirteen years, I learnt how to read his beard movements. "I'm sure Harry's upcoming humiliation at an old man's wand wouldn't count as cheating. Don't you agree, Harry?"

The snickers coming from the other side of the room where Sirius and Flitwick are having a quiet conversation with Mr Delacour and Fleur is easy to ignore by turning my back to them. "I'll refer to your decades and decades and decades and many more decades of expertise, Sir. I just hope your heart can still handle the excitement."

"Good, because I think he deserves a good arse kicking," Remus tells Albus, ignoring me as he joins the amused group at the stands surrounding the platform in the auditorium.

"He's bitter because he's having a hard time doing so lately," I stage whisper to Albus from behind my hand.

"I'm sure," Albus drawls before drawing his wand and nodding at me. "Go ahead, Harry."

I accept his offer of firing the first spell and start with a charm of my own, causing a wave of paint to fly at the older man, hoping to blind him. Said older man answers with a powerful banishing charm that slows the wave enough for him to manipulate the paint into a large ball that hovers a few feet off the ground.

Of course, I'm not foolish enough to wait for Albus so I use the time to transfigure a desk into a large shield and cast protection spells on it, a move that is becoming a usual for me since I first used in my first duel against Fleur. One different thing I do is allowing the shield to hover a foot above me, out of the line of fire for now but ready to intercept any spells in case I get overwhelmed.

Albus' first offensive move is to send the ball of paint in my direction at an astonishing speed, accompanied by two disarming charms on both sides. A shielding charm protects me from the paint as the disarming charms whip past my ears, and as soon as the paint hits, I rapid-fire two consecutive stunners and summon another desk from behind me before throwing myself on the ground and rolling over a few feet.

It's a good thing I do because, by the time I stand, the desk is reduced to splinters that shoot down on where I stood thanks to an expertly manipulated banishment charm.

My admiration of the magic almost costs me; a hex missing my head by an inch; the smell of burnt hair is enough to tell me how close I came to losing the duel. I take the message to heart and cast a strong shield just in time to stop a body bind in its tracks, followed by a stunner, a cutting hex and a full-body bind, each spell letting out thumping sounds as they hit the shields I conjure. With each spell, my shields waver, barely holding on against the onslaught as Albus keeps casting at full burn with a spell leaving his wand every two seconds.

Okay, Potter, think! What can you do against someone whose spell-casting is as fast as Flitwick's spells themselves flying twice as fast and with the power to put down three men? Illusions and other visual magic never work against Albus, not even my best ones, so that's out of the question. Direct hexes and curses don't even faze the man, and he is a master of Transfiguration who could undo any transfiguration I cast with nary a thought. Then what?

I know acting without a plan wouldn't get me anywhere but Albus' continued assault on my shield makes it hard to concentrate and forces me to cast shield after shield, especially when he adds flavour to his attack with conjured dogs. With my defence wavering, I bend under a blasting hex and slash at one of the cute puppies with a whip of fire before using the whip as a lasso to throw the animal back at its creator. Two blasting curses take care of the other two before I conjure a dozen birds to join the burnt puppy to his destination.

Albus grins and relaxes his shoulders, his wand held loose in his hand, parallel to his body. When the animals reach a few feet of him, he makes an overhead spiralling motion with his wand before bringing the wand down in an overstated slash, causing a dome of ice to materialise in front of him, trapping all the animals with ice. A flick of his wand vanishes most of the ice, leaving only the animals behind, all of them buried in cubes of ice.

I blink in surprise at the rapid approach of large ice-cubes. With nary a thought, my shield lands in front of me and I barricade myself behind it after casting a magnification charm to ensure bigger cover. The cold coffins hit my shield with enough velocity to drive it a foot back and me with it, but the shield stays strong, allowing me to charge a few spells in relative safety.

With the thirteenth gong of my shield—that's the number of frozen animals—I raise it a few feet and cast seven pre-charged spells: a modified sensory charm to put my opponent off-balance; a wide area stunner that would, perchance, daze him; three blasting hexes around him to keep in pinned down; a pressure spell has everything in its path flying wildly; and an overcharged stunner. All in all, a spread of spells that would put any dueller in defensive.

Not surprisingly when one is against a man of his power, as soon as I open the way by lifting my shield, Albus smirks and his wand turns to a blur; I do the logical thing and the moment the last spell leave my wand: I jump to my left with no care to where I would land, casting a shie-

I sit up groggily, wondering why I am lying on the ground before the last few minutes rush back and I groan. "It's so unfair." I look up to see Albus smiling down at me, looking pleased with himself. "Did you even stumble, at least?"

"What?" he asks in a high volume, though not high enough to be convincing. His twinkling eyes prove my theory that my impressive offensive set didn't even faze him, further. "I seem to have lost my hearing in my old age."

"Must be the rotting brain cells," I mumble under my breath and rise to my feet, walking past Albus and giving him the cold shoulder. "I guess that's that. Why don't you stop laughing, Fleur, so we can see if you'll do any better against your father?" I grumble once I get close enough to the stands to hear the laughter at my expense.

She gives me a smile and when I reach her side, a kiss on the cheek. "You did well."

"Yes, quite the performance, Mr Potter," Flitwick agrees, his head bobbing up and down. "Your shield was even more impressive than the last time and you had a good plan with your prepared set."

I throw myself to a chair and accept the water bottle Sirius offers me with an appreciative nod before smiling at the diminutive man. "Thank you, Professor, but that it didn't work proves it wasn't a good plan."

"It's Dumbledore, Kiddo." Sirius throws an arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. "He always has a better plan."

"Stupid Grandmaster and his stupid plans," I mumble petulantly and take a sip of water to cool off. Honestly, I wasn't expecting a victory, I'm not that arrogant, but I hoped I could at least make him sweat before losing.

I look up to find Mr Delacour looking at me weirdly before he shakes himself out of whatever he was thinking and nods at me. "Your teacher is right, Mr Potter. Don't let your defeat dishearten you."

"Thank you, Sir."

Silence descends but before long, Albus breaks it as he strolls near the group, his words making me wonder how he could have heard us past the silencing charm still in effect, "I have to agree with Filius: your final spread was good. Your only mistake was rushing to attack without a strategy." Albus looks at me over his glasses, a gentle smile on his face as he plays with his beard. "Even your bursts of brilliance won't help against a man with my experience."

"Yes, yes. I know," I grouse and continue in my best imitation of Albus, "Without a set goal, your victories will never last." I put on an innocent smile as Sirius snickers next to me. "The thing is, in a duel, the goal is to win. To put your opponent down for the count. We both know it is out of the realm of possibilities for now, if not forever, against you. What goal could I have when defeat is certain?"

Albus clasps his hands behind his back and gives me his patented over-the-glasses look. "It's like Muggles say: Rome wasn't built in a day," he says, as vague and puzzling as ever.

"While I'm sure that's a good advise," I say irritably, "I don't see how it helps me."

Thankfully, Flitwick comes to my aid, only after snickering at the confusion and irritation that must be obvious on my face. "I think what Albus is hinting at is, you need to be patient when you fight against someone better than you. Don't just try to rush into the end. Analyse your opponent's strengths and weaknesses and establish achievable objectives that will wear down your opponent and put you in a position to win."

I sigh and nod at the small man before grinning at the girl sitting on the armrest of my chair. "I'll do that but for now, I want to see if Fleur can do what I can't and defeat her old man."

Mr Delacour scoffs at me, glaring good-naturedly. "I resent that description."

"And I resent being called an arsehole, but that doesn't change reality," I answer airily before furrowing my brows. "Wait, that didn't sound right."

"Come, Father," Fleur says as she stands after snickering at my joke. "Let's show these Englishmen how it is done."

Two weeks. That's how long it took for Fleur to go from 'joining these lessons because they would help with the tournament and in case she finds herself in trouble' to 'this is fun,' and the difference couldn't be more obvious. I must have mentioned it many times before but Fleur has two settings: the cool and aloof girl who couldn't care less about what she's doing and what's going on around her, and the passionate girl who will claw her way to her goal with a burning passion.

Since that first duel I won, duelling became a passion for her and any time I get to watch her, I find myself breathless and awed, not to mention holding a personal flag-raising ceremony- wink, wink.

Lecherous jokes aside, today, she's twice as fiery and it isn't difficult to see why as she pulls every spell and trick in her repertoire against her father, even scoring few hits and cuts. And before you assume anything, I can tell Mr Delacour isn't holding anything back other than keeping his list of spells clean. Hell, he doesn't even bat an eye before banishing Fleur at a wall in a speed that has me wincing.

And Fleur… Oh, Merlin, she's something else. She bounces off the wall, a spell leaving her wand even before she hits the ground and rolls over before casting a weak banishing charm on the ground to get to her feet faster.

And that little trick is the evidence of her new found passion with duelling. In Spain, I watched her fight against experienced duellers and she did well, playing it safe. Now, she takes risks she wouldn't before, coming up with tricks she wouldn't if she didn't have a burning desire to prove herself to her father.

Honestly, she fights with a zeal that leaves me disappointed when Mr Delacour finally pins her down and drops her with a spell to the stomach that steals all the air from her lungs, making it impossible for her to defend against the disarming charm that follows.

She slaps the ground in disappointment before rising to her knees with shaky hands, taking deep breaths while I walk over to her in a brisk pace to help her up. "You okay?"

She nods, her chest moving up and down as she leans on my shoulder, hiding her red cheeks on the crook my neck. "I hate losing," she whispers through her teeth.

"You've only been training for two weeks, Miss Delacour," Flitwick consoles kindly. "If you had won, I'd question Mr Delacour's competence as Head Auror."

"Indeed," Mr Delacour agrees with a nod and a strong voice. "Your technique requires further refinement but you'd make a good auror with minimal training."

Fleur's head shoots up at the praise and she stands taller, only her pink cheeks betraying her pleasure at hearing the pride in her father's voice.

"It's safe to say you'll do great in the duelling portion," Mr Delacour continues without any sign of acknowledgement of her daughter's reaction. "I expect nothing else," he warns, the smile on his lips turning his words from demanding to teasing.

"Don't worry, Father," Fleur says, giving me a dangerous smile. "I promised a good arse-kicking to Harry, here, and I have no intention of breaking my word."

I bite my cheek to stop the inappropriate response that comes to my mind. "I just love how vivid your imagination is," I coo instead, beaming at the blond beauty.

"And I love your delusions, darling," Fleur deadpans, barely managing to stop smiling, her lips twitching.

"Ohh! A lover's quarrel," Sirius butts in with a large, mischievous smile on his face, nudging the straight-faced Head Auror next to him. "I think some betting is in order."

"Oh? What did you have in mind, Mr Black?" Mr Delacour asks with a glint in his eyes.

"Isn't there a rule about law enforcement agents making illegal bets?" I ask, not that I'm opposed to the idea.

"Aw! Are you scared of a little bet?" Fleur teases, messing up my hair to further irritate me.

"No," I answer easily. "I just don't want your father to get upset with me for beating you."

"There are rumours about Black Family Library," Mr Delacour says idly, not at all subtle.

"What do you offer in return?" Sirius asks without a wait, not opposed to losing a few books he wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.

"That's irrelevant," Fleur butts in, sashaying out of the auditorium, stopping at the sill and looking over her shoulder at me with confident eyes. "I will win."

Oh, boy. It seems our duel has become serious.

-HP-

"April 3, 1995

"Shit!"

I jump to left, a sickly yellow curse whizzing by my ear, making my stomach protest the wrongness it exudes. Before I could say another word or turn offensive, another curse flies at me, this one a dark blue. I really need to brush up on my dark magic knowledge. Not knowing what I'm up against has been a constant irritant in my duels against the man, forcing me to rely on shielding or dodging even when parrying would be a better opinion if I had the knowledge of the magic.

Knowing I can't just keep dodging, I cast a reflective shielding charm, hoping I can surprise my opponent with a quick counterattack. The shield stops the curse in its tracks but it sputters out with a whine before it can reach its maker. That's okay though because I am ready to show what I'm capable of so I summon every piece of wood and metal from the stands of the auditorium and banish them to opponents without a care for his well being.

Dozens of pieces blur past me on their way to their target, most stopping when they hit the shield in front of the man. The few that get past the shield as it flickers miss their target, the wooden pieces breaking apart against the stone wall while the metals leave tiny gouges on it. With a sly smile on my lips, I conjure three wooden spears and banish them in a straight line, only a foot between each spear just in case my opponent thinks about dodging and add a disarming charm to their tail.

This is the most I am enjoying myself during a duel other than my loss against Flitwick in Spain and my duel win Fleur, and it's not because I get to hurt Snape. No, Sir, that idea does not make me smile. Not at all.

Meh. Who am I kidding? I love the widening of his eyes when he sees the spears flying at him the moment his shield sputters out.

But that's not the only reason I enjoy myself whenever we duel. With Sirius and Remus, and even with Flitwick and Albus, the duels don't feel… authentic. With them, there is no sense of danger, no fear of pain because they instinctively hold back. Snape, on the other hand, has no compunctions about causing me pain and that sense of danger gets my blood pumping in a way nothing else can.

I think I am becoming an adrenaline junky, which isn't a bad thing by itself, but considering how much trouble I get in without searching for it, I can see many more scars in my future. And when you add to that my natural curiosity… Oh, well.

Evidence of Snape's apathy about causing me pain comes a moment after he blasts away the spears and leans slightly to his left to avoid my disarming charm; when he hisses, "Crucio."

The shield I instinctively cast doesn't even slow the angry red curse and the unforgivable slams into my chest, throwing me off my feet and onto the ground. The slight pain lasts only a single moment before it's gone, leaving me confused as I fall to my knees, panting. My lungs burn as I heave for breath, unable to get any into my lungs no matter how much I try.

I try to calm my mind and body, whispering to myself I'm okay but it doesn't work. Not even Sirius' hand on my shoulder helps as he kneels in front of me, holding me up. I look up from my hands to Sirius but his face is contorted. All I can see is his moving mouth but I can't hear a word he says over the sound of my racing heart. "I'm okay," I whisper once again, trying to mean it and trying to make Sirius hear me even though I can't hear myself.

After watching Sirius' mouth for a long time, I give up on any meaningful communication so I push him off to give myself a breathing room and fall on my arse, my legs refusing to work. I don't know how long I sit at the centre of the large platform of the auditorium, hugging my legs with sweaty hands as I try to make sense of what's happening.

Someone, at some point, pushes my head back and holds a vial with soft blue liquid against my lips. The cold, sweet potion works to calm me even as I drink, my heart finally slowing down and my hearing returning to normal.

I look up to see Sirius and Snape side by side, Sirius looking down at me with worry and Snape with cool indifference. I would laugh at the absurdity of their shared worry but I don't have it in me to laugh just yet.

And yes, that's how Snape looks when worried. I have spent three years in the potion master's classroom and have invoked many emotions on the man so I can somewhat read him and it is easy for me to see his worry with his lips pressed together in a single line and eyes widened, albeit by a small margin.

"I'm okay," I repeat, this time meaning it.

Sirius' eyes roam all over my face before he turns to Snape and pushes the thin man with a hard shove. "What the heck was that, Snivellus?! Casting Cruciatus on Harry?"

Ah, there goes the camaraderie.

After he stumbles and regains his balance, Snape turns to the other man with a narrow-eyed glare and hisses with a voice dripping with venom, "Do you think the Dark Lord will cast tickling charms if Potter ever faces him, Black? No, he will cast unforgivable curses and other dark magic, faster and more terrible than anything I can throw. And if Potter isn't ready for it, he will die before he can peep a complaint."

I stand, my legs still shaky and put a hand on Sirius' shoulder when he makes to speak. "He's right. This is why I asked for his help. I need to be ready for anything and the shield I cast against an unforgivable proved just how much I still need to learn." With the calming draught in effect, I focus my attention on the reason for my earlier confusion and throw a glance at Snape. "What I'm wondering is, why didn't the torture curse hurt? Even the one cast by the non-corporeal hallucination of myself had more kick to it."

"What is the first caveat of Dark Magic, Potter?" Snape asks in his classroom tone. His nostrils flare in annoyance when I give him a blank look. "Oh, for the love of- Tell me you at least know what Dark Magic is?"

"Any magic that has the sole purpose of hurting or dominating others," I answer easily.

The hooked-nosed teacher sighs and throws me a baleful glare. "That's such a Potter way of looking at it." I open my mouth to remind him of my last name but he doesn't allow me. "Dark Magic, in essence, is about power, not pain. But because magic demands a price, usually paid through pain and blood of others at the expense of one's own morality," he explains.

"That doesn't explain why your curse hurt less than the others," I point out.

"If you would wait for me to explain, instead of interrupting me like a child," he drawls with a typical glare. He waits a moment to ensure I stay silent before continuing, "Unlike most magic, Dark Magic depend heavily on desire. For a wizard to cast a successful disembowelling curse, he must desire his target feel incredible pain and die slowly, and that desire has to be the main driving force behind your casting. Otherwise, all it would do is give the enemy a need to visit a bathroom or maybe a painful case of diarrhoea but nothing more."

He slowly walks across the platform as he continues with his hands clasped behind his back, "That is doubly so with Darkest of Dark Magic, like the Unforgivable Three. Unlike disembowelling curse, hatred isn't enough to cast a cruciatus curse. You must want your opponent to suffer, not because you are mad at them, not because you are angry or upset or because you want revenge."

He whirls around and gives me a hard look. "Those emotions would work but be ineffective. No, to cast an unforgivable curse requires the caster to have no regard for his target, to see them as nothing more than a bug to be stepped on or an obstacle to be destroyed."

"That sounds…" I start but can't find the word to describe what I feel, and frankly, I don't want to feel it, let alone describe it.

"And what does it say about you, Snape, that you are so fascinated with Dark Magic?" Sirius asks, his face whiter than ever, an understandable reaction from a man who grew up with a family who loved their Dark Arts and perhaps even used such despicable magic as tools to discipline their children.

Snape shrugs, showing no care for Sirius' words other than a slight tightening of his jaw muscles. "That I'm not a good person? I think the tattoo on my arm proves that better than my fascination with the art. I've never claimed to be a saint."

"You said hatred would work but be ineffective. What does that mean?" I ask reluctantly, returning to the subject at hand before either man could lose themselves in each other's eyes. The sexual tension between them is palpable.

Okay, not really. And don't worry, I know better than to make that joke aloud with these two.

Snape glares at Sirius for a few more seconds before turning his dark, beady eyes to me and taking a few steps across the platform. "It means I could cast cruciatus at your degenerate godfather but his suffering would be short, and compared to a real cruciatus, it would be mild. Not because I don't hate him but because I'm not a sociopath." Another short glare at Sirius follows the explanation. "I doubt there are more than a handful of witches or wizards in Britain who could throw an unforgivable at a whim and without sufficient hatred for their target. There is a reason Bellatrix Lestrange is such a feared witch, and why people freaked out so much when Death Eaters showed up after the World Cup final."

"He's right," Sirius agrees, reluctance to admit dripping from his tone. "Even Grindelwald had trouble casting unforgivable curses sometimes."

A disbelieving snort escapes me as I look at Sirius with a raised eyebrow and cross my arms. "Yes, Gellert Grindelwald, the man who burned down a village to build himself a stronghold, is an okay guy, really. Just a bit misunderstood," I drawl dryly. "Only—what?—three thousand people died that day, including over two hundred children."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he denies vehemently, shaking his head. "I mean not even Grindelwald, as screwed up as he was, was as crazy as my delightful cousin. Just as evil, if not more, but not as crazy."

I tilt my head from side to side before nodding my acceptance of such a possibility. "I guess I can believe that," I say before turning at Snape with an accusing finger pointed at him. "You know what I just realised?" I ask and answer my own question after a small pause, "You don't hate me!"

Snape snorts at the same time as Sirius, both turning serious and glaring at each other a moment later. Their attempts at killing each other by their eyes alone—or something much more carnal that I will not think about—is broken by my snickering, causing both men to turn their gazes at me. It is the hooked-nose man who speaks, "I assure you, Potter, I hate you very much."

"Na-ah," I disagree respectfully, a large grin on my face. "Your cruciatus didn't hurt at all which means you don't hate me. Just admit it."

My grin gets even wider as the man's lips twitch, though to my disappointment he keeps his face indifferent. "Never," he denies, refusing to give verbal confirmation. His cheerful demeanour, if you could call his cool stoicism that, disappears as he takes a step towards me. "Tell me something, Potter. If my curse didn't hurt you as your claims of my undying love for you indicates, why did you have such a severe reaction?"

I flush in embarrassment at the reminder of my little freak-out, pointedly ignoring both men's inquisitive gazes as I shrug nonchalantly. "I don't know. You are the expert on Dark Magic. You tell me."

"That's why you gave Harry a calming draught," Sirius whispers in understanding.

"Indeed," Snape drawls, giving the other man a victorious look. "We must beat that reaction out of you if you want to survive in a fight against any dark wizard, let alone the Dark Lord."

"I know." I scratch an itch at the back of my neck irritably before smiling cheekily at the man. "But how are we going to do that when you can't cast the curse at me because I'm, like, your favourite person in the world, ever?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure I can muster enough hatred to cause you pain, Potter," he spats, conveying enough dislike at my last name to make me believe him.

"We should leave that for after the duelling portion of the tournament," Sirius says, crossing his arms. "And I still have my doubts about the usefulness of torturing you to get you used to it."

"As much as it pains me to say, Black is right: we should wait until after the tournament."

"Just admit it, Professor," I continue to tease. "You don't hate me."

His nostrils flaring, Snape whirls around and walks swiftly to the door of the classroom, ignoring my teasing. "I will see you in two weeks, Mr Potter."

"Don't worry, Sir. I don't hate you too," I yell after him, not at all put off by his response.

He stops over the threshold, one hand resting on the door frame. "And that proves your ignorance."

Hell, that wasn't ominous at all.

"What do you think he meant by it?" I ask after a moment to digest.

"It's Snape," Sirius answers with an uncaring shrug like it explains everything.

"I guess."

-HP-

April 5, 1995

"What's that?"

"Mm?" I answer, not processing the question because of my focus on the diary in my hand, fascinated by both the subject and the handwriting of the author. That I have read this diary twice before in the last three years doesn't even faze me anymore. And no quips from Ron about my Hermione-esque behaviour can change that because this diary is one of my most prized possessions. It means more than any painting or invisibility cloak could ever mean.

Hell, there are very gross things written in the diary, yet that I can read my mother's diary is a pleasure I can't put into words. I could live without knowing my father's questionable fetishes but still…

When you are an orphan and if you are lucky enough to know your parents' friends, you often hear vain descriptions of your parents that include words like brilliant, brave, good, handsome, beautiful and many others. I crave those descriptions but reading my mother's words, her worries and things that made her smile is a gift I wouldn't give up for the world. Because no matter how many stories I listen about my parents, they lack the depth that made them who they truly are.

For example, none of the stories Sirius and Remus told me about my parents mentioned Lily Potter cursing James Potter so bad, he had to stay over-night in St Mungo's Hospital. Yes, I think my mother may have been a functioning psychopath. Oh, don't be so judgemental; she was pregnant and my father forgot to buy strawberries… in January... in the middle of a snowstorm… even though my mother asked for blueberries, not strawberries…

Whatever. He had it coming.

Hearing my mother was a brilliant woman is one thing, but reading her ideas as they form and as she works on them is a marvel, and truthfully, brilliant is the word to describe her.

"Harry?" Fleur tries, again, to get my attention and fails while I murmur myself as I read an interesting section of her theories on just how much could be accomplished with sacrificial rituals.

That section was written in February, over five months before I was born. Her research and theories had nothing to do with my minus-five-months-old arse, they had yet to have any bearing in reality. As she wrote these sentences, she did not yet know they would be her death and my salvation.

"Harry!"

I finally look up, only to see Fleur glaring at me with irritation. "Did you say something, Love?"

She huffs and throws her hair back. "You've been reading that notebook non-stop for the last two days," she whines, her lips pursed adorably.

I don't even try to stop the amused smile that forms on my lips. "Aw. Are you jealous of a diary?"

The slap to the back of my head is sudden and not at all gentle. I consider complaining for a moment but decide against it, knowing I deserved that. "No," she lies with pink cheeks and a small smile. "Whose diary is it?"

"My mother's," I whisper, still unable to hide my awe at the existence of such a holy artefact and point at the barely readable title: 'I Think I'm a Genius by Lily Evans Potter.' "She charmed this little never-ending notebook when she was thirteen. It stopped working when she was fifteen but she fixed it."

"That's impressive," my girlfriend comments, leaning on my shoulder to read with me.

I shake my head with a smile, eager to brag about my mother like always. "She theorised and perfected a way to stop a killing curse, something Albus Dumbledore wasn't able to replicate. Calling her impressive is like saying dementors suck."

She snickers at the comparison as she plays with my hair. This is something she's been doing for the last week: playing with my hair. Not that I'm complaining or anything. On the contrary, I love it when she does so, but it irritates me that I don't know the significance. "You mentioned that before. How did she do that exactly?"

"I still don't understand it," I confess, turning my body slightly so she can read the slightly worn out notebook easier. "I've read this thing twice and tried to make sense of the ritual but for the life of me, I can't make sense of it. Though honestly, rituals aren't something I'm knowledgeable about."

"Then look at it from a different angle," she suggests with a shrug. "That's what I do when I struggle with a spell or a transfiguration technique, or even a potion. I try to think of whatever it is I am stuck as an enchantment and work through how I would cast it. Transfiguration, charms, rituals; they are just classifications we came up with to understand Magic better. They are not exactly interchangeable concepts, but they are also not mutually exclusive."

That… makes sense and makes me feel like an idiot. Not because I couldn't figure out my mother's brilliant cure to death, no. Even Albus failed to do so, in a sense. What gets to me is, I never thought to use such a simple technique to work through a problem. "Okay, then. How would you create this 'enchantment?' The known parameters are: the price is the caster's life, the goal is the saving another's and you know who the attempted murderer will be. There are other ingredients she used but let's not complicate the mental exercise with details like necessary ingredients yet."

She tilts her head, so she's looking up at me and gives me a puzzled look. "You know I can't come up with such an advanced enchantment on the go, right? No one can. Such magic would require months of research, rolls and rolls of parchment worth of calculations, countless trials and a ridiculous number of migraine-inducing theory-sessions."

I chuckle at how true that is, as evidenced by Albus' fifteen feet long notes on the subject, half of which is gibberish. "I know. I don't expect you to cure death as we laze about, I just want to understand your process better."

She lifts her head off my shoulder and turns her whole body so we are sitting face to face. "Okay, this would be an object-based protective enchantment as opposed to a conceptualised enchantment to ensure a better chance of succeeding. And you are the object. It is also unrealised magic, so she'd need to create either a ridiculously long chant in an ancient language or a rune-set, if not both, to further define the intent of the magic."

I nod along as she talks until the last sentence, at which point, I stop her with a raised finger. "If it was a rune-set, I'd be riddled with associated scars."

She points a finger at my head. "What about the one on your forehead?"

"No pictures before that Halloween shows a scar on my body and we know she initialised the ritual a year prior. That's dozens of pictures, even some naked ones."

"First, I want to see those pictures," she says with a small smile, earning a chuckle from me, before her eyes close. She's stumped for a few seconds, biting her lower lip, before her face brightens, and the difference is so obvious, I can almost see a light-bulb going off in her head.

"Blood runes. Witches' blood has immense magical potential and considering the price of this magic, it makes sense if she used her own blood to define the purpose. Especially because you are her son, her blood."

"She mentioned in her notes that blood could add weight to a sacrificial ritual," I agree reluctantly. "It would also explain why Albus initially insisted I live with my maternal aunt. Petunia is of the same blood as my mother and could theoretically keep the magic going even after my mother's death."

She nods excitedly, reminding me of Hermione whenever the studious girl figures out a solution to a puzzle. "It would also explain why the killing curse, known for not leaving a mark on the target, left a mark on you. Your mother must have used 'Sowilo*' as the key for the runic script she devised. The killing curse was the activation of the script so it got burned into your forehead at the realisation of the magic."

"That… makes too much sense. But how did she tie her death to my survival? Like, how would that process work? Especially when you consider she initialised the Magic a year before her death that marked the finalisation."

She returns to biting her lip but this time, no light-bulb goes off, her shoulders dropping instead. "I have no idea. You can compartmentalise an enchantment at certain points where the magic can stay passive without dissolving away for a time until the next part is ready. But even then, you'll have a set amount of time before the magic deteriorates. Your mother had no way of knowing when Voldemort would attack so she did not know when the ritual would be finalised."

I drum my fingers on the backrest next to where her shoulder rests as I think. There are many questions surrounding my parents' death and while I have theories on some of them, some have always left me baffled. Their choice on the secret keeper, for example. Sirius claims it was his idea to choose Pettigrew instead of him, and I can believe that. He's the type of Gryffindor to put himself out there as a false bait to be tortured and killed.

The thing is, it makes no sense for anyone who knows the mechanics of Fidelius Charm to use such a convoluted tactic. A secret-keeper can't divulge the secret involuntarily or under any duress. It means Sirius couldn't divulge the secret even if Tom tortured him for hours on end. Sirius didn't know, so I understand why he would come up with the idea to use himself as a decoy, but my mother most likely knew. And she was closer to Sirius than Remus and Pettigrew, and trusted him the most.

"Unless she had a vague idea when Tom would attack?" I offer reluctantly, massaging my forehead, afraid of potential truths this may lead to.

She frowns. "How?"

"I think she may have allowed for Pettigrew to be the secret keeper even though she knew of his betrayal. Otherwise, her choice makes no sense. She was always closest with Sirius out of all my father's friends, was friends with Sirius even before she and my father were dating. She never liked Pettigrew much if her diary is to be believed."

I let out a frustrated breath, looking into her eyes with my pleading ones, begging her to refute my morbid theory. "So why would she agree to use Pettigrew as the secret keeper and Sirius as a bait when she knew Sirius couldn't betray them involuntarily and knew Sirius would never betray them? Unless it was a way for her to control when Tom attacked?"

We sit in silent contemplation for a long time as I try to work through my theory, as distasteful as the idea of my mother sacrificing my father for me is. I let out a deep breath as I get lost in another mystery. "The only reason she would do that is if Tom was targeting me specifically—if she knew, for certain, he would try to kill me, instead of just leaving me be." I tilt my head as the vague memory of that night comes to my mind. "He did tell her to step aside so he could kill me. I never questioned why he would do that."

I think I need to talk to Albus.

-Flowers for Your Grave-

Part II: Dueling Day 1

April 15, 1995

"No hard feelings, right, Cedric?"

The blonde boy shakes his head from across the pitch. "You sound confident in your victory."

I puff up my chest and scoff at him, talking in a pompous tone, "Well, I am Harry Potter. It's not like I will lose a duel to a student."

"If you are ready, gentlemen," the arbitrator cuts in, a Dutchman whose name I still don't know. Cedric and I both nod, so the man puts a distance between himself and us before nodding at both of us. "Bow."

We follow the etiquette and bow to each other before whirling around and taking seven steps each. The judge nods one last time to show his acceptance before declaring in a strong voice, "You may begin."

Being the gentleman I am, I keep my wand steady by my side and let Cedric take the first offensive action. The pretty boy does so with an odd, multicoloured spell that looks harmless though and makes me question the validity of his relationship with Cho, not that I have anything against that other than the possible duplicity.

Whatever. Not my place to comment.

The odd spell is easy to dodge by moving a few inches to my right and casting a simple stunner before levitating a ten-inch wide lump of earth. A simple transfiguration spell turns the lump into two thin but sturdy disks with razor-sharp edges.

I pass the control of the magic on the disks to my left, wandless hand and let my now standard shields hover an inch above the ground, parallel to it. This is something Flitwick suggested as a defensive method because how easy wandless levitation is, and I try, whenever I get the chance, to improve splitting my focus. This way, I could call upon them in a moment's notice.

Oh, please. I know I am awesome. No need to praise me.

Anyway, Cedric's shield stops my stunner with ease, not that I hoped for anything else, and he snaps a blasting hex to the ground I'm standing on, followed by a disarming charm to my right and a stunner to my left.

Eh, a smart move for an amateur but the simplicity of his opening scheme feels like a personal insult and for a moment I consider ending the duel right away but... I should do the magnanimous thing and cure him of this idea that such a simple tactic could ever work without embarrassing him, right?

Instead of worrying about the approaching spells, I take two steps back and cast disillusionment charms at my disks and a banishing charm in front of me as Cedric's blasting hex throws a wave of dirt my way.

The dirt changes directions within moments and with a circular wave of my wand, all the pieces of dirt merge into a head-sized stone likeness of the blonde boy's face. Cedric has little trouble vanishing the stone, the small smile on his face telling me he recognised my work. Still, I can't have him assume throwing a stone is my only move so I snap three other stunners his way, forcing him to stay on defensive and without the option to dodge.

It would be easy to finish the duel now by raining down stunners or disarming charms but that would be such a cheap way to win, wouldn't it? Not to mention boring. So, with a small smile, I draw an overhead circle and slash my wand down before turning a full circle. "Homolutus, consequor meus auctoritas."

Albus showed me this trick last year—November, I think. It creates simple golems, easy to destroy but quick on their feet if you know what you are doing. When Albus did it, he created fifteen golems of ten feet in height.

The first time I successfully cast this magic was in last July and it was… underwhelming. Still, two five inch soldiers were better than none and they freaked the fuck out Remus who still refuses to admit he shrieked like a girl.

This time, all my five soldiers are four feet tall. My smile widening, I wink at wide-eyed Cedric and send the little buggers his way. As my loyal subjects run at full speed—which is as fast as an athletic turtle—towards their target, I transfigure their bodies to stone so they don't crumble before reaching the blonde boy.

Cedric turns out to have more than a few brain cells—which isn't really a surprise—and casts a wide area banishing charm to draw my soldiers away from him before destroying one with an exploding hex. As he turns his attention to the other four, I create two illusions of myself a foot on my either side and disillusion myself.

By the time the blonde takes care of the foot soldiers, I am five feet to his left, sitting on the ground with a smile, and when he looks up to see two of my copies, I barely cast a silencing dome around me before falling victim to my laughter at his expression of tired resignation. "Oh, come on!" he cries, making me shake with mirth on the ground.

My two copies answer the boy with identical shrugs and wide smiles. A brilliant idea comes and I cast a messenger bird and send it to Cedric after disillusioning it too. I am getting tired but having far too much fun to consider finishing the duel while the older boy is distracted.

The now-invisible bird circles the boy as it whispers, "On your left, on your right. I'm everywhere, fear my might," before dissolving into the air.

Cedric whirls around but finds nothing but air all around him as I do my best to stay marginally still to not give away my position. He huffs in irritation and conjures up a wind that drags up dust clouds as they pass my copies. Knowing my illusions are about to betray their… illusion-ness?—that doesn't sound right but you get the point—I crouch up and run behind the boy before sitting back down with a silencing spell covering me.

As soon as he realises I'm not one of the two copies he sees, he whirls around once again but can't find me, especially as I stay immobile.

He must realise that because instead of allowing the mystery of where I am to dishearten him, he casts at a furious pace, sending spell after a spell in every which direction, hoping to draw me out of hiding. Honestly, it is not a bad tactic but the only thing it accomplishes is tiring him. I let him continue for a few minutes before standing up slowly. Only when his casting slows, I whisper from behind him, "Over here."

Just as he turns around, a simple disarming charm ends the duel. I can't help snicker uncontrollably while Cedric glares at me with a grudgingly small smile. "No hard feelings, right, Cedric?"

"Cheeky bastard," he grumbles before gently punching me in the shoulder. "You could have just ended the duel instead of humiliating me."

"Maybe, but who am I to deny all these," I sweep my hand towards the Quidditch stands above us, "delightful people some quality entertainment?"

"Whatever."

Reaching the champions' stand with a quick stroll, I wave past Poppy and throw myself next to my girlfriend before landing a sloppy kiss on her cheek. She glares at me half-heartedly and cleans the drool I left behind with the sleeve of her shirt while Aimee grins at me and gives me a thumbs up. "That was great," the always cheerful girl exclaims.

"I know," I say with a shrug. "I keep telling you: I'm awesome."

"That's true," Fleur agrees, surprising me. My surprise is not because I doubt her respect for me but she usually prefers to burst my bubble of ego, not feed it. "But that only means I'm even more awesome."

"You still believe you can beat me?" I ask as I put my hand around her shoulder, a smug smirk on my face.

She rests her head on my shoulder and smiles up at me. "Believe? No. I know it."

"Yet you haven't won a single duel against me."

"I plan to use that frustration to fuel my rage."

"Do you find it odd that everyone has fantasies about kicking your arse, Potter?" Cedric asks as he sits next to me, an easy grin on his lips.

"Aw. I'm honoured to hear you fantasise about me under the cover of darkness, Ced, but I'm afraid my heart belongs to someone else."

"And that's why so many people want to watch you get your arse kicked," Cedric points out, not at all put off by the heartbreaking news. He's quick to get over me, I guess. The pretty boy turns to Aimee with an easy smile that most likely drives Cho crazy. "Are you ready for your duel, Aimee?"

Aimee shrugs. "No. I'm not good at duelling, not that I want to be."

Before we can continue our conversation, Bagman's voice echoes around the stadium, "The arbitrator has returned to the pitch and is calling for the next duel which will pit Beauxbaton's Aimee Beaufort against Durmstrang's Britt Henningsen.

Aimee stands and after the usual good wishes from the three of us, follows the shorter and portly girl down the stairs and to the pitch, or duelling pit as it is called for the day.

"I advise against allowing Miss Henningsen's standings in the tournament fool you. She is one of Europe's best young duellers, best known for her precision and offensive style," Bagman continues to ramble from above us. "The champions are in place and after a quick word with the arbitrator, they each walk ten steps.

After they bow, the Serbian girl opens the duel by snapping a quick set and the duel becomes more of a cat-and-mouse game than any sport between two equals. When Aimee said she isn't good at duelling, she wasn't lying, apparently. She does try to attack a few times Britt allows her to, but the duel is over quickly and the only reason it lasts longer than a minute is that Aimee is fast on her feet.

"Well," I begin as the arbitrator returns Aimee's wand to her. "I guess that's another win guaranteed."

Fleur jabs a finger to my right, always ready to jump to her friend's defence. "Not with that attitude. Aimee may not be the best dueller out there but she's smart."

"Of that, I have no doubt," I answer before changing the subject. "Are you ready to kick some arse?"

"Our duel is not until late in the afternoon, love," is the cheeky reply by Fleur as she disentangles herself. "But yes, I am ready."

It takes fifteen minutes for the arbitrator to, once again, return to the pitch and calls for Victor and Fleur. After a quick good luck kiss from me, Fleur joins the Bulgarian boy down on the dirt and takes her place while I ignore Bagman's commentary on what to expect from the champions, with his support of the Quidditch star barely hidden.

I move to the edge of my seat, interested in this duel more than the one before and that's when I notice the excitement around the stadium for the first time. People all around the stadium are shouting their support to the duellers, waving flags with the crests of the three schools.

Drawing my wand, I conjure two flags myself, one with Hogwarts' crest and one with Beauxbaton's, and give the Hogwarts one to Cedric.

After a quick bow, the duel between the French beauty and Bulgarian Quidditch star begins with Krum making the first move, not at all surprising when you consider his confidence in everything he does and directness of every action he takes. He's not one to shy from a challenge, preferring to go head first into everything.

His opening spell—one which I can't identify by the colour alone because of the distance—flies an inch away from Fleur's ear as the girl tilts her head slightly, supremely confident about the success of the movement. She does not stand idly, responding with a quick spell of her own, a white beam streaking towards her opponent even as she moves from his location, casting another spell.

Two duellers continue on the same vein for a few minutes, neither scoring any hits and neither giving any sign of slowing down or changing tactics. Both have similar duelling styles, relying on the excellent control they have over their own bodies but while Fleur keeps her movements small and efficient, Victor's movements are larger and complete to reduce muscle strain.

Still, with neither side showing any signs of tiring, one of them has to change things up if they want to win and it is Victor who does so by changing his offensive style to casting two consecutive blasting curses at the ground around Fleur.

My girl, being the brilliant girl she is, takes the change in stride, taking two steps forward while casting rapid fire hexes at the Bulgarian. Victor dodges the first two, the speed of Fleur's spells making it difficult for him to attack, but has to shield against the continuing onslaught.

Fleur is quick to take advantage of the situation by raining down spell after a spell, casting every fourth or fifth spell at the ground around her opponent. After three minutes of non-stop casting, she slows down, her chest moving up and down rapidly because of the exertion.

Victor, not realising the danger, attempts to dodge the next hex but falls victim to the uneven ground under his feet and stumbles into Fleur's curse. His hair explodes out of his scalp in waves and entangles around his neck, causing him flush as he tries to suck in air and fights his unrelenting hair off.

A simple disarming charm by Fleur ends the match and a finishing charm returns Victor's hair to his normal state.

I am, of course, on my feet, yelling my support and appreciation of a good strategy to my girlfriend as she shakes Victor's hand on her way to the stand I'm standing on.

Victor is an odd guy. I've heard him speak four—maybe five sentences if you don't count the Yule Ball, and while he appears cold and sullen, he maintains dignity even when he loses. Even Hermione spoke highly of the boy's sense of fair play, which is as high approval as you can get. I respect that a lot and his reaction to his defeat just now raises my respect for the boy up a nudge.

As I follow the two duellers while they walk and talk, I consider Victor's style and consider my options against him.

While I want to win the duel and even put on a show, I don't want to reveal too much. If we ever face, my best weapon against him is the element of surprise and frankly, if I have to use every trick in my arsenal against a student, what chance do I have against Tom?

No, misdirection is the name of the game.

My plotting is interrupted by my girlfriend who joins my side after a quick check in with Poppy. I give her a sloppy kiss and a congratulatory hug after nodding at Victor. "That was great, love."

"Thank you," she replies.

It is then that my stomach protests the indignity of going without food for a few hours, especially after spending so much energy to cast various illusions, maintained a continuous control for over five minutes over two flying disks while creating a small golem army.

Smiling at Fleur and Aimee's giggles, and Cedric's large grin, I scratch my chin. "I have a feeling you are all hungry so why don't we head to Great Hall so you could eat."

We stroll to the castle proper, picking up a crowd of friends on the way, including Cedric's friends and Cho, and sit down at the Hufflepuff table for a change. It is a crowd larger than I am used to but for a change; I enjoy it and the various conversations we have both along the way and during lunch.

As we eat, I observe the surrounding people, something I have done little, of late, both because of my aversion to public attention when I'm not doing anything worthwhile and because of my disconnect with my peers because of my training schedule. I am surprised to discover I missed just hanging out with people.

I observe as Ron and Hermione snap at each other, their body languages speaking of tension that has nothing to do with the subject they are arguing over. Ron speaks softer than usual and Hermione's frown is on the verge of a smile. His words are chosen more carefully, even logically while Hermione's have lost some of their nagging quality.

I knew they were getting along better but I didn't know they both decided to make an actual effort.

Ginny is resting her head on Neville's shoulder with Neville's arm draped around her, neither looking uncomfortable showing off their relationship. Hell, if anything, Neville is sitting straighter, more confident and Ginny has lost her boyish act.

She's doing wonders for that guy and he for her.

Cedric… That boy is something else. He is, as I said before, a social butterfly, conversing with everyone around him even while paying special attention to his girlfriend. He has a way of keeping the people around him happy and interested with fascinating ease.

That's not to say I am awkward in large crowds or anything but unlike me, Cedric is genuine about his interest in what everyone around him says and his friends can sense his interest. The only people whose lives I find myself genuinely interested in are my closest friends.

Honestly, I may joke around and yes, he's not the most magically talented guy around but he's a great guy and someone I hope I can call a friend, even if not a close one. A kind and fun guy like him is a rarity.

My observations are cut short when someone taps me on the back and I turn around to see the twins, back from their exile, looking tense. "A word, Potter?"

I consider them for a few moments, imagining the tortures Mrs Weasley came up with, before nodding and stand to follow them. Fleur puts a hand on my arm before I leave, silently offering to come with me but I refuse with a shake of my head. Whatever the twins want, they are careful to look as non-threatening as possible, even abashed. I follow the duo outside the hall and to an empty room, probably an old classroom that went out of use when the number of students dropped at the turn of the century.

The door closes behind me with a click as I put my back against a wall and wait for the redheads to speak, showing a surprising amount of patience as they struggle with what they intend to say.

"Look, we never intended to you to get hurt with that potion," one of them begins.

"It was supposed to make you hallucinate whatever a boggart would turn into for you."

"And we don't know what you saw but we swear we didn't think that would happen."

"So, we are sorry. Not for pranking you—because you deserved that—but for not being more careful with our prank."

"You didn't deserve that."

I stay silent, making them sweat as they wait for an acknowledgement of their apology. They sound genuine instead of forced, I'll give them that, and frankly, I don't have it in me to stay mad at the morons after nearly two months. But that doesn't mean I'll go easy on them, knowing I have them on the back foot.

"I appreciate your words, boys, but words are meaningless. How can I be sure you mean what you say?" I know it's low but… well, what's a better way to mend our relationship than by a small harmless prank. "In ancient times, when someone apologised to someone they hurt, they would offer them a gift to show they mean it."

The twins turn to each other and nod after a short, silent conversation that leaves me envious of the talent and how close they are with each other. But all that flies out the window when one boy takes out a special piece of parchment that makes my eyes widen as I snatch it out of whoever's hands.

"Are you fucking serious?! You have the original!" I don't wait for them to respond, whispering at the worn out parchment with excitement obvious in my voice, "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

Ink spreads around the parchment and I can't help take a deep breath as I caress the words written in my father's handwriting.

When I asked for a boon, I was planning on messing with the twins for a while before giving it back. But this… I can't give this parchment up. It's the original Marauder's Map, for crying out loud.

"How?" the twins ask at the same time, bringing me out of my embarrassingly emotional moment.

I don't answer; I don't look away from the treasure in my hand. I reach into my robe's left pocket and pull out my map—improved version of the original that has much, much less sentimental value—and hold it out for the twins to take. "The password is 'Open Sesame.'"

"What? How?"

"James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew: Prongs, Padfoot, Moony, Wormtail," is my succinct explanation. "Keep it. I made improvements over the original."

"What improvements?" When I don't answer, still watching my father's name with unholy attention, one of them puts a hand on my shoulder. "Potter, you okay?"

Shaken out of my weird state, I turn to the boys and smile. "I'll let you figure out the improvements yourself. And for what it's worth, apology accepted and all that rot. Just stop messing with me. You are Ron and Ginny's brothers and I love your family. I don't like fighting a Weasley, no matter how obnoxious you two can get."

"Oi!"

"I thought we were making peace," one says, a small grin on their faces to show they aren't actually offended.

I shrug with a small grin of my own before opening the door to return to the group I left behind. "I have to go, gentle… well, men. I still have a Bulgarian arse to kick."

Our return to the table is quick and is met with cheers, especially by the other two Weasleys who seem glad the tension between me and some members of their family is resolved. The only cold welcome comes from Fleur who watches the twins with narrow eyes but a squeeze on her shoulder from me calms her down, and I'd be lying if I say her protective streak doesn't put a smile on my face.

Our group doesn't stay on the table after my return and Fleur and I take a stroll around the lake while others do whatever they do when I'm not around.

It is a delightful spring day today with the sun warming the air to a comfortable degree, a rarity for Scotland to be sure. So, it isn't surprising I have a serene smile on my face as I enjoy the way sun shines off of my girlfriend's silvery hair, creating an odd halo around her head that reminds me of old depictions of angels.

Fleur notices my distraction after a few minutes and changes directions, dragging me to an empty clearing for a delightful make-out session. You would think after spending almost every waking moment together for the last two months, the physical part of our relationship would slow down but I can't get enough. Neither can Fleur because she starts these make-out sessions as often as I do.

One part of me fears what would happen if our relationship doesn't work out because she sure is twisting my expectations of what relationships between teenagers include.

Then again, I wouldn't give our relationship up, nor change anything about it, for the world. I love her and love how expressive she is with her body, and I have no doubt she feels the same way.

I am a lucky, lucky man.

-HP-

The second round of duels opens with a match between Fleur and Aimee that ends within three minutes; Aimee showing effort but not talent once again. I honestly find her lack of ire at losing baffling but who am I to judge?

I walk down to the pit after a good luck kiss from both girls and a pat on the back from Cedric and take my place on the pit, waiting for the arbitrator to start the duel. Victor stands fifty feet across me with an impressive poker face, his back ramrod straight and shoulders squared in a show of confidence. If I was anyone else, it might work to intimidate the poor fellow but from watching his performance against Fleur, I know I can defeat him.

"Bow."

My opponent and I bow to each other, neither of us taking our eyes off the other in an odd version of chicken until the arbitrator gives us leave to begin.

Victor attacks immediately and with much more vehemence than his efforts against Fleur, several spells flying at me. With a wave of my wand and a whispered incantation, two walls materialise from the sandy ground and are destroyed by Victor's spells immediately.

I conjure a wind storm that lifts the sand from destroyed wall to drop the visibility after dodging a blindly shot curse and transfigure pieces of ground into seven large, highly elastic boards. Levitating the boards into place is easy but gives Victor enough time to stop my sand storm with a freezing charm so I disillusion them to keep my game plan a secret.

My opponent destroys the thin sheet of ice he created with an exploding curse before banishing the resulting shards my way but a fire whip ends the threat. Victor takes advantage of my focus on the ice shards by going on offensive, speed casting several low-level hexes and jinxes to keep me on my toes and test my defences. Dodging the first few, I parry the rest to test my reflexes in an uncontrolled environment for a change.

Parrying a spell means casting a tiny shield at the tip of your wand, a technique that takes almost no effort and allows for a quick counter-attack. The only downside is a single mistake means a certain hit, and it takes quick reflexes. It's a relatively new skill but I am becoming adept at it after spending hours and hours suffering minor injuries under Flitwick's supervision. Hell, the jeers I suffered probably helped more than any advice Flitwick and Sirius offered.

Victor's speed is impressive but compared to Flitwick, he's an amateur so I get bored in no time and 'a bored Potter is a dangerous Potter,' as Minerva likes to say. Considering my options, I decide to change things up and imitate Fleur's technique of 'dodge and cast'. My first two spells miss their target, but soon enough, the duel turns into one not unlike Fleur's duel against the Bulgarian across the pitch.

I start my attack with spells I can fire quickly: disarming charms and stunning spells, but as soon as I have more than a few seconds, I let loose three birds. Victor has no trouble destroying the small creatures but his distraction is all I need to cast a flashing spell to blind him before disillusioning myself, spell taking hold almost before I finish the incantation.

As accomplished as I am at disillusionment charm, I am not as proficient as to turn completely invisible while moving so I follow it by conjuring smoke as a… well, a smoke screen. With my invisibility ensured, I run as fast as I can towards the board closest to the ground I disillusioned a few minutes ago and jump on it, bouncing from it to the board closest. I bounce from one board to a different board until I stop at the last one that has me thirty feet above Victor.

A quick glance down tells me Victor has dealt with the smoke and is trying to locate me by conjuring a large circle of fire around him that grows as it moves away from the boy. It is a smart tactic and would probably work if I was on the ground. With a grin, I drop the disillusionment charm to let the spectators see me before casting three stunners down. He sees the spells coming at him at the last second and dodges to his left but not far enough to dodge all of them.

With a slowing charm on the tip of my tongue and wand, I jump from my perch and land on the ground softly before awakening my downed opponent a moment after the arbitrator calls the duel.

Victor, showing his sense of fairness, walks the small distance between us. "Good duel, Potter," he growls in broken English, though I think it's his regular form of speaking, and shakes my hand.

"Thanks," I say with a grin as I shake his hand back. "You put on a good show too."

"Not good enough," he says with a shake of his head and leaves.

I shrug and follow the boy. Fleur looks up from her conversation with Aimee and welcomes me with a warm smile when I reach the top, and I can't help return her smile with a crooked one of my own, hopelessly in love.

I throw myself next to my girlfriend before accepting the water bottle she holds out.

I am so glad for all the training Sirius and Remus have been pushing on me this year. If not for that, I would be a shapeless goo on the ground, unable to move, but somehow they beat stamina into my skinny arse.

That's not to say other champions are tired; they are doing fine, but that's because none of them even attempted to use magic as complicated as I used. They are smart enough to know their limits and pace themselves.

Hell, even Sirius and Remus have improved themselves since the start of the year. Hell, Remus has six-packs now and I do not know what to do with such information. I bet several seventh-year girls have crushes on him, not that I can blame them when the only other conceivable option for those likely to crush on a teacher is Snape.

Hm. That's a good subject to tease the newest professor of the school, methinks.

It isn't long before the pitch is back to optimal conditions and the arbitrator returns for Cedric's duel against Britt.

I wish Cedric good luck as he passes by, and sit up on my seat to watch the duel. Britt is an unknown, and not in the sense I don't know what to expect from her in a duel. No, something about that girl, about the shine in her eyes whenever I see her that irks me though I have no idea what. My senses are tingling and I can't help worry something is up.

Hey, now! It's not paranoia when they are out to get you.

Cedric loses the duel in five minutes but that's not surprising with the Serbian girl's reputation. No, what's surprising is the savagery she shows in her attacks and her obvious drive to injure the Hufflepuff as much as she can before the duel ends. I think Cedric understands that as well because it is him that ends the duel by throwing his wand on the ground and yields.

His yielding doesn't stop the Serbian from casting one last bone-breaking curse though, much to the displeasure of everyone watching. Even Victor looks disturbed, and that boy shows so little emotions, a robot would call him on it.

Yes, something is definitely going on because that wasn't a normal duel and her actions would see her banned from every duelling circuit there is.

With the mood affected by Cedric's injuries that will take all night to heal according to Poppy, we spend the free hour we have until the next round sitting by the lake; the conversation stilled. Honestly, that duel reminded me of the fight I had with the Weasley trio, and Cedric's broken hip, left hand and the cuts and bruises on other parts of his body prove it.

An hour later, we return to the Quidditch stadium for the third and the day's last round of duels, the sun already well on its way down.

The first duel of the round is between Victor and his schoolmate and it's a straightforward one where the girl tries to act like she's doing all she can while losing. It's an act that fools no one and Victor's glare at the girl afterwards would be funny if it wasn't because of such a despicable action.

Karkaroff must really want to win if he ordered her student to throw one duel and play extra dirty in the other one. And no, I have no doubt the dirty bastard is behind Serbian girl's actions, not that I don't still consider her a bug I shall crush under my boot.

When the arbitrator returns after a short time, Fleur and I take our places across from each other for our duel. The lack of any banter and the tension feels odd as bantering has become a form of flirting for us ever since that first duel but I shake it off, focusing on trying to sense what Fleur has planned for me.

Oh, I know she has something up her sleeve; she has been using tactics from the same playbook for over two weeks know, lulling me into a false sense of superiority but, for the life of me, I can't figure out her plan.

"Ready?" the arbitrator asks, bringing me out of my musings, and getting a nod from both of us, commands us to begin.

I open the duel with the handshake chain, changing things up from my previous duels today by attacking right away, hoping to keep Fleur off guard. Fleur dodges the spells but does not attack, holding her wand limply by her side.

What are you planning, my love?

Honestly, I know I am the better dueller but duelling is about strategy as much as power and skill and Fleur is not that far behind me in terms of skill for me to have any sense of assurance of a victory. And not knowing what she has in store is driving me nuts.

What? I am a naturally curious guy and she has become a central part of my life lately. You can't blame me for my desire to know what goes on in that incredible brain of hers.

Her lack of offensive action is enough for me to know she wants me to continue attacking so I do the opposite, drawing up stone walls from the ground to use for cover and shield throughout the duel. She still doesn't attack, even when I give an opening the size my ego and by the time my patience runs out, the pitch has become a small maze.

Glaring at Fleur's smug smirk, and in irritation at the slight pain building in my head, I raise my wand to call a golem army, my frustration feeding into the magic enough to cause my soldiers to form bigger, looking far more menacing than the cute troublemakers I used against Cedric. I sigh in disappointment when Fleur destroys what took me nearly a minute to create, in half that time with a whip of fire she controls with awe-inspiring expertise.

Dammit! The golems Albus created were so damn sturdy.

Still, she finally used magic and I take advantage of the change in status quo by banishing towards her the two large balls I readied a few minutes ago. The maze around us serves another purpose: limiting her movements so I can trap her and she must realise because instead of dodging the projectiles, she sends pressurised water from her wand that digs into the ground.

It takes me a moment to realise her goal and I smile in appreciation of her quick thinking while the balls follow the paths she created.

Okay, perhaps my smile is not only in appreciation because as soon as I understand her plan to deal with the projectiles, I have a counter-plan ready.

She turns with a smug smile once the balls are past her but a mirroring grin on my lips causes her smile to drop, and rightly so. A simple summoning charm has the balls flying back and I follow up with two rapid-cast disarming charms.

She must have sensed the balls because she drops low with a shield in front of her, the balls missing her by inches and one of my disarming charms dissipating against her shield while the other misses her completely. Her quick reflexes may be enough to deal with my initial attack but now I have an advantage, I will use it and I do that by sending a ball of fire in her direction followed by a freezing charm.

Two spells of the opposite nature slam against a green shield that looks like some kind of metal—magic I haven't seen used before—breaking it with a loud crack, leaving behind only green vapour that prevents me from seeing anything behind them.

I ignore my surprise and run behind a low wall I transfigured before to regroup, rubbing my temples to quell the now-full blown headache. And why are my ears buzzing?

Okay, Potter, think. I need to come up with a winning strategy before this untimely headache costs me the duel.

Fleur is staying oddly passive so far, letting me attack with impunity. Why? To draw me to attack, letting my guard down? Perhaps, but she knows I can be unrelenting when I attack and unlike her or Victor, I can last while the disrupted pitch would make it harder for her to defend. She's bound to make a mistake before I let my guard down if that's her plan and she knows it.

She's careful with the magic she uses. She could have dealt with the golems, balls and elements I used easily with various charms but she used physical objects instead. Why? Banishing charms, shielding charms would have been easier and wouldn't put her at a disadvantage.

Ugh! This is maddening.

My nostrils flaring in anger at my inability to figure out her plan, I cast a disillusionment charm on myself. If she intends to defend, I must be more forceful and faster with my attacks and cutting down the distance would help along a great deal.

With several walls around the pitch, I have no need for any other cover so I stay crouched down as I run from behind one wall to another and another, reducing the distance between us while keeping an eye on my target. Fleur is standing where she started the duel, an irritatingly calm smile on her lips as her goddamn blue eyes roam every inch of the pitch in a vain attempt to spot me.

I am quick to cross the distance between us even though I have to zigzag around the pitch to use the walls as a cover to stay hidden. A small smile forms in my face as I make my way behind a wall on her left, twenty feet away but before I can, a magical build up has me throwing myself forward. Rolling up to my feet, I am forced to shield against a dark grey spell that slams against my shield with a gong, leaving me shocked.

How the hell did she know where I was? She didn't glance in my direction once.

Another spell whips my way, showcasing her aim and forcing me to shield yet again and she doesn't let up even after that, her spells gaining intensity and forcing me to run the last few feet to the wall I had planned to use as my base to flank her before. I throw myself behind the wall, breathing deeply as my adrenaline soars and spells wheeze past my ears.

What the hell is happening? How the hell is what's happening? I… What?

I have had enough experience with magic that affects one's mind this year to know something is affecting my thought process but for the life of me, I can't figure out what. I have consumed no potions and that vapour from whatever her shield was didn't even reach me. She hasn't hit me with any spells. So what?

Okay, whatever it is, I know it's there so I'll just have to focus and hell, this is precisely what Occlumency is for.

Deep breaths. This is just a duel and winning isn't everything. I have to let the instincts my teachers have been instilling in me take over. Instincts, yes. I am good with doing random shit and still succeeding. Hell, stabbing a diary with a snake's fang was over-the-top random yet it worked and that arrow that killed Barty Jr resulted from my instincts so it's not without precedent.

But both those actions ended in death. Well, if you could call what happened to that ghost version of Tom dying. Either way, this is Fleur I am up against. I can't let anything happen to her. Minor injuries in a duel are unavoidable but even the thought of her getting seriously hurt is physically painful.

No. Instincts won't do. I can't risk it.

What to do? What to do?

I can lose?

Hell, why am I so goddamn determined to win, anyway? This is just a simple duel for a tournament I didn't even want to be in. Doing my best is one thing; and yes, I want to win, but this duel won't change the general outcome. All it will cost me is five points. I can live with that. I am already ahead and if I win the next two duels, I'll probably stay ahead.

Decision made, I stand up with no sign of the crisis that had my heart beating in my chest at a furious pace, and take a step out of the cover of the wall before making a show of throwing away my wand, the self-satisfied smile and shinning eyes of Fleur making me chuckle. Whatever she did, she deserved this win. While I could continue and perhaps even win, victory is suspect either way and I have no qualms with admitting when I am beaten.

Especially when I am beaten by such a gorgeous figure, and frankly, the satisfaction in her face is enough reason for me to lose by itself.

"Delacour wins," the arbitrator announces and I summon my wand back, not taking my eyes off Fleur as she dispels whatever magic that won her the duel.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, the pain behind my temples easing and my mind once again working at full capacity. The arms wrapping around me has me opening my eyes to a view I am growing to love more and more every day, even when I doubt I could love it more. Before she can speak, I do, "An enchantment?"

She grins and nods, "A compulsion intermixed with a Turn-Away line."

"Ah. One has me wanting to look at you while the other makes me look away, causing my brain to go haywire." I smile at her inequity and wrap my arms around her waist, drawing her closer and breathing in her intoxicating smell. "What about authority? I thought only the headmaster could cast enchantments over a school property?"

Her eyebrows raise and drop, a motion so adorable and self-satisfied, I can't help kiss her before she answers.

"You are right but for the purposes of the duel, this pitch is for duellers to do as they wish. It is a not actually a magical contract, but it is an agreement that gives a small wiggle room. I doubt anything powerful or long-lasting would take hold but my enchantment was simple enough to work."

Damn, that's ingenious.

"That makes sense," I say, nodding along with her explanation, and stop her when she tries to turn around to leave, ignoring the ministry workers entering the field to fix it. "One last question. How did you know where I was? There is no way you saw me."

"Oh?" she says with a raised eyebrow. "I thought that was the purpose of the human-revealing spell. You know, to reveal hidden humans."

I cringe at my stupidity and sigh. "Yes, yes. I forgot that spell worked on disillusionment charm, but can you blame me? You are the first one to use it against me in a duel."

"No, I'm not," she disagrees as she disentangles herself from me before dragging me towards the champions' stand. "Professor Flitwick uses it all the time; he just isn't obvious about it."

"Really?" Now, that's a surprise. The man showed no sign of ever using it. "I wonder why he'd let me run around disillusioned instead of warning me against over-reliance?"

Fleur shrugs her ignorance, skipping alongside me. "I won," she exclaims when I look at her questioningly. "That means I won our bet and Father won his."

I chuckle at the out-of-character behaviour. "I had no idea beating me was such a big deal for you."

"I think you are forgetting what our bet was about," she points out, not troubled by my soaring ego at her reaction to winning. "You will be my slave for the next weekend."

"Slave is such an ugly word."

"That was the deal. I win, you do whatever I want for a weekend."

"Yes," I agree with a nod. "I'm not trying to wiggle out of our deal. I dislike the word."

She grins and shrugs with no care. "What would you call it then?"

"An average weekend."

-Flowers for Your Grave-

Part III: Duelling Day 2

April 16, 1995

This is it. If I win this duel, I can get ahead of Harry in the tournament. I doubt Diggory can put up a real challenge with the injuries he suffered against the girl standing fifty feet from me. But that's the thing, the heartless girl in front of me is an accomplished dueller already, far more so than me, and the smile on her lips tells me she has something similar in mind for me.

Let's get one thing straight: I'm not scared. Fleur Delacour does not fear facing a cruel girl.

But I have a healthy respect for my opponents talents and the awareness of her questionable methods, something which can be an advantage for her. I will still win.

No, the question is how much will winning cost me and how much will it hurt?

The arbitrator moves in between us, turning from her to me before repeating the motion. "Ready? Bow."

Neither of us do. After yesterday's show, I have no respect for the monster in front of me and she dropped her act completely.

The arbitrator, an Italian man of considerable stature, considers us carefully, turning from me to the other girl before nodding his reluctant acceptance of the broken tradition. "I want to see a clean duel. I will not hesitate to end it early if any of you steps a single foot outside the line," he warns us though we all know at whom the words are aimed. He puts a distance between himself and us and gives my opponent a hard look. "You may begin."

The girl—I refuse to utter her name, for a wild thing like her doesn't deserve the honour of recognition—begins the duel by attacking, not a surprise. The chain of spells flying at me are of the dark variety, aimed at causing pain more than incapacitation, again, not a surprise.

If Harry's theory is correct—something I am doubtful of, I don't know why—then Karkaroff must really want to win this tournament more than he fears potential backlash. More importantly, if Harry's theory is correct, it is a crime to let that man walk around pretending to be an educator. I really hope he's wrong.

But I digress. Dodging the spells is an easy prospect, something I should remember to thank Professor Flitwick for. I respond with a simple jinx, focusing my attention on creating a similar set of area enchantments to the one I used against Harry.

With my opponent's experience and talent in duelling, setting traps and enchantments are my best bet to win this thing, and unlike the one I previously used, this set is complicated but powerful.

The first thing you should know about enchantments of any kind is the term authority. When you want to cast an enchantment on an object or an area, you must have ownership of or a claim to your target. In other words—and words most used by the experts—you have to have authority over your target area.

The Hogwarts castle, grounds and school fall under the authority of Headmaster, which means normally I would need explicit permission from him before I can cast an enchantment over any part of the school. But in this case, like yesterday, I have a wiggle room because this is a duel.

The technical definition of a duel is, a magical fight between two magic users under a set of agreed conditions. Those conditions include the ability to use anything in the duelling arena as we wish, and because the master of the grounds agreed to the rules, he gave us permission to do as we wish within the bounds of the rules.

Dumbledore's authority over the castle still stands, and he has the authority to call off the duel and undo any magic we cast upon an area. That means whatever I do will stay weak and in some cases, won't take hold.

By using simple jinxes to keep my opponent unaware of my intentions, I still have the time and focus to create a banishing line. A banishing line does what the title suggests and is used in animal reserves, most notably, the European Dragon Reserve, to keep them confined.

It's an easy piece of magic, especially as my line is only a few dozen feet long so by the time my opponent sends a second chain of even darker curses, a twenty-feet invisible line is set fifteen feet in front of me.

With the increased speed and intensity with which the other girl attacks, I am forced to dodge repeatedly and after the first few curses, to put up a shield against two curses that would have me armless and choking on my blood. Talk about a disarming curse.

As soon as the blood spitting curse dissipates against my shield, I conjure a large fireball, something that comes easy to me and send it flying at my opponent. I follow that with a chain Harry and Flitwick created two weeks ago and named 'the Check Mate.' It's a long chain that took me more than a few hours to learn and even more to become somewhat proficient at.

A ball of water, a disarming charm, another ball of water, two freezing spells and a special derivation of a banishing charm that somehow works on spells and adds speed to them leaves my wand. The last part of the chain are three conjured birds that will explode in a violent flash as soon as it contacts a solid object or a piece of magic, one of Harry's creations.

With my opponent occupied by the chain I cast, I have the opportunity to set a few more traps and I do so as soon as I get back up to my feet. With an understanding of the other girl's plan, it isn't hard to come up with a reasonable strategy to win the duel.

The first order of business is a weak compulsion charm on a disillusioned stone on my side of the banishing line to draw her to the line. I will increase the strength of the compulsion throughout the duel to keep my opponent unaware of the outside influence.

By the time I set the compulsion and hide the stone, my opponent has dealt with 'the check mate' and is back on offence. The bone breaker that flies at me is easy to dodge, as is the next two curses, but the volume of curses she casts means I soon have to rely more and more on shields.

Her experience becomes increasingly obvious over the next five minutes as the speed of her casting increases, and I find myself hard pressed to stop the curses, unable to feed to the compulsion.

With my options limited, I take a few steps back to draw her closer to the banishment line but the uneven ground causes me to lose my balance. A cutting curse grazes my left elbow, drawing a hiss from me and some blood but I find my balance quickly after dodging a blasting hex.

I consider casting a quick healing charm but the pain is easy to ignore and the location of the cut has no effect on my performance so I let it be. Instead, I use the tiny window of opportunity as I dodge another cutting curse to strengthen the compulsion.

But my opponent has wizened up to my methods and a blasting hex has me thrown ten feet back. I come to a rolling stop and cast a shield as soon as I gather my wits; the shield forming just in time to stop a pain curse.

That's when the other girl and I make eye contact and it isn't hard to know I won't be getting up soon from the cruel glint in her eyes and the smug smirk she supports. I don't even defend against the kaleidoscope of curses coming; none that would end the duel; all aimed to hurt.

No, I put everything I have to strengthening the compulsion, my only chance at winning at this point.

A moment later, two curses slam into me: a pain curse that is still legal for reasons I can't understand and a cutting curse that digs into my thigh almost to the bone, and I let out a scream at the worst pain I ever felt.

The pain curse stops almost immediately but the deep gash on my left thigh has me crying out in pain. I won't lie and say throwing my wand and yielding doesn't cross my mind but as I watch the victoriously grinning girl's movements, I know I can still win.

Another pain curse slams into me, earning another scream from me, and it doesn't stop after a moment this time; the thing swaggering towards me has no intention of stopping it. Even as I scream, I keep an eye on the girl, wishing the pain away and willing her to hurry the remaining ten feet but she doesn't.

Instead, she stops moving and intensifies the curse holding me in its grasps, my scream turning hoarse because of the abuse heaped on my throat. She slightly turns, still not letting up, and grins at a random direction.

It takes me a few seconds—that feel like dozen minutes—to realise she's grinning at Harry, either to anger him into making a mistake in his duel against her in a few hours or just to fuck with him. Either way, it's a big mistake.

She makes her second mistake by stopping the curse and returning to her slow walk, arrogance dripping from her in every step.

I try to breathe but the blood in my mouth has me choking, forcing me to spit out a glob of blood as I force myself up to my knees, my hands shaking with the effort.

She laughs—actually laughs!—at how weak and pathetic I must look. "I have to say, I didn't expect you to last this long, princess."

I pat the ground next to me and palm my wand, ignoring the pain rushing through every nerve in my arms at the motion and the spasms rocking through my body at the effort that takes me to even kneel. Five feet.

"Your boyfriend looks worried, wouldn't you agree?" Her eyes widen as her smile turns even bigger. "Well, you would if you could see him, I'm sure."

She laughs at her own joke but her laughter is cut short when she blasts back and as soon as she's off her feet; I raise my wand and shoot a disarming charm as I fall. I must admit, it is due to luck more than talent that my disarming charm slams into her mid-flight and separates her from her wand.

A moment later I cry out in pain once again as my thigh protests my movements, a copious amount of blood flowing out of the wound and making me feel light-headed. My vision darkens and I fight to stay conscious. I don't have the presence of mind to know why I should but instincts tell me it is better to stay awake.

An unknowable amount of time later, Madam Pomfrey kneels next to me, her wand already in motion. She forces a red potion down my throat and I realise it is blood replenishing potion once the potion works. My chest rising and lowering at an alarming rate, I try to think back to what I've learnt in the introductory health class to keep my mind from the pain in my leg as the dedicated nurse examines my injured limb.

Harry arrives a second later, his teeth clenched, eyes burning with anger, and drops next to me, taking my hand immediately. He gives me a small smile that resembles a grimace more. "That was impressive, Love."

I snort, a spit of blood flying out of my mouth and land on the boy's cheek, right next to his mouth. "Sorry."

He gives me half a smile and licks the blood off his cheek. "There, gone."

Madam Pomfrey must have cast a medical knitting charm because my leg muscles tense, earning a grimace from me though it could easily be attributed to disgust that must be otherwise clear on my expression, aimed at Harry's action. I hiss through my teeth before chuckling at the small, fake grin on Harry's face. "You are disgusting."

He opens his mouth but is interrupted by a throat clearing and I look up to see a redhead that looks familiar but I can't place.

Must be another Weasley, is the first thought to cross my mind. Dear lord, how many of them are there? Are they planning to conquer the world through the sheer number of bodies they have?

"What is it, Percy?" Harry asks to the redhead.

The red head ignores Harry, his eyes on the nurse working on my leg. "You need to leave the pitch so the workers can fix it."

Harry stands up and steps into the redhead's space, making the other boy take a step back. "They will work once Fleur is good enough to move and not a moment earlier."

"But-"

"I don't care," Harry interrupts. "Her health is more important than the expediency of your work, Percy."

"Right," the boy mumbles and turns around to leave but stops mid-step. "Professor Dumbledore said he's looking into who the man is," he mumbles under his breath, looking at no one, and hurries away.

Harry stays standing for a moment and though I can't see his face, it's obvious he's plotting something from the micro-movements of his jaw. He does that whenever he thinks about something, his jaw moving left and right randomly.

He shakes, literally, out of his thoughts and returns down to my side.

"What is it? Who was he talking about?"

Harry chuckles at me but before he can answer, Madam Pomfrey interrupts by holding another vial of potion to my lips. "This should help with the tremors. You have no nerve damage but your leg will take a day to return to health and the cut in your elbow has slight infection. I'll need to whip up an antiseptic potion for that but that can wait until after dinner."

I nod with a silly smile. I don't know what was the last potion she gave me but I have an odd urge to giggle. "Thanks, Madam Pomfrey."

The nurse nods and leaves as Harry gives me a knowing smile. "From one to moon, how high are you right now?"

That breaks my resolve to not giggle. "I feel fine," I lie, drawing out the last syllable for a few seconds before collapsing back to giggles.

"I'm sure," Harry deadpans before lifting me up to a bridal carry, making me woozy.

"Is this your way of proposing?"

That joke earns me a single raised eyebrow, and a contained smile. "I feel I'm just a tad too young to marry, don't you think? So are you, for that matter."

"Huff."

"You aren't supposed to say 'huff.' Huffing would suffice."

I fight the smile that forces itself onto my lips and slap him on the chest, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "Fine, Mr Know-It-All."

"Nah, Hermione and I are just friends."

What? "What?"

Harry snorts and shakes his head as we reach the stairs leading up to the stands. "Never mind."

You know, I just now realised I don't know why Harry's carrying me. I consider objecting to being treated like an invalid but decide against it. It feels nice and frankly, I kind of enjoy the concern he has for me and the show of affection. He carries me to the top, struggling all the way, he even stumbles but not a sound of regret comes out of his mouth.

It feels good to be loved and cared for.

Aimee is upon me as soon as we reach the top, asking questions faster than I can answer though Harry does as soon as Aimee gives him an opening. Only now I realise she hasn't come to my side to check up on me and I can't help wonder why. Not that I'm offended, I'm sure she has a reason.

"I was with Madam Maxime while she chewed out the arbitrator," she explains when I look at her questioningly and with no need to verbalise my question. "He said he made a judgement call to let it continue."

That doesn't sound right. He himself said he would call the duel if one of us goes overboard.

It is Harry who explains as he gently places me on a seat, his expression anything but gentle. "He was about to stop the duel but then you took your wand back into your hand so he let the duel play out to give you a winning chance. If he stopped the duel, you would have lost because the bitch broke no rules, technically."

"Well, that's good then," I say, massaging my leg, the nerve potion's effect on my mind lessening by the minute. "I would hate to lose to that thing due to a technicality."

It is then the arbitrator returns to the pitch, calling for Harry and Aimee for their duel. Both turn with questioning eyes, making me roll mine and shoo them off. They leave, but only after Harry makes Cedric sit near me with a promise to take good care of me.

Well, that's just insulting. "I'm not a baby! I can take care of myself."

Cedric grins at me though the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I don't think they care." My only response is a huff—not the word, the action. "Are you okay?" Cedric asks when I drift off for a moment as I watch Harry take his place opposite of Aimee.

"Yes, just worried about Harry."

Cedric snorts, this time giving me a real smile. "I don't mean to put Aimee down or anything but I have a feeling Harry can win this duel with little effort on his part."

"That's not it," I say with a shake of my head. "I'm worried about what he will do to the bitch. Henningsen, not the Aimee," I explain before stopping. How much I can tell Cedric? Harry says he's a good guy, and I have to agree. I shrug and trust my instinct on this one. "Yesterday, after your duel, he was furious. He was already planning on teaching her a lesson. Now… I don't know what he'll do but I know some of what he's capable of when he feels angry or vulnerable, and trust me, that's a scary scene."

With Madame Maxime's blessing, I have been joining Harry on his every training session, missing my own classes to prepare for the duels. With Professor Flitwick, Sirius and Remus, he's his usual chipper and enthusiastic self, training hard but also having fun. With Professor Snape, he transforms into someone else and it isn't because Snape is a cold teacher.

No, I've witnessed their interactions before and while their relationship isn't the healthiest there is, they have a sense of rapport. But in his duels against Snape, Harry has been frighteningly intense, stopping at nothing to stop the other man from scoring a hit against him. He would attack with no thought to how much damage he could cause if a fifth of his spells made it past the hook-nosed teacher's defences, just to keep the other man from attacking.

That wouldn't be much of a problem if Harry didn't have one of the most creative minds I have ever seen. The things he comes up with on the spot can be incredible and he's normally a joy to watch with when he's in the mood but against Snape…

I don't know what's going on between them and why Harry has been so tense but something is wrong.

It is difficult, not being able to help him but after the second time he rebuffed my attempt to open the subject, I decided it is wiser to let it be for now.

"You may begin," I hear the arbitrator say and focus my attention at the duel.

Harry must feel impatient because he's all over Aimee in an instant, casting three separate handshake chains one after the other. Aimee tries her best and makes it to the third chain but a body bind slips past her defence and a follow up disarming charm ends the duel within a minute.

The next duel, and the last one before the two-hours break, is between Cedric and Victor. The Bulgarian wins the duel while Aimee, Harry and I watch in tense silence. Harry has a way of making everyone around him feel what he feels.

I hope he doesn't do something he'll regret.

-FD-

"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to the last round of duels," Bagman announces in an excited voice as Harry and the bitch-that-shall-not-be-named take their places across from each other. I honestly understand Harry's dislike of the former Quidditch star now. The man has no social grace and no understanding of propriety.

The stadium is silent, unlike the other duels. The spectators—consisting mostly of Englishmen and women—knows this is a payback duel. The number of students who told, almost ordered even, Harry to show 'the bitch' what happens when you tickle a sleeping dragon, was ridiculous.

I doubt even Harry expected the sudden level of support he has for the duel ahead, even from people who were formerly antagonistic towards him. I may have underestimated Cedric's popularity or the students' home pride.

Either way, Bagman's enthusiastic announcements finds no recipient as the arbitrator takes his place between the two duellers. Contrary to the previous duel, he orders no restraint to either side, perhaps knowing how pointless it would be. He doesn't even tell either side to bow instead moving away from them after both nods their readiness.

"You may begin."

Harry once again opens the duel but this time, he opens it with a flash: a dragon made of fire, similar the one he conjured when we first arrived at the castle, flying at the Serbian girl. The fiery-dragon flies at an incredible speed, barely giving the girl the time to cast an icy shield that melts but is enough to keep her sweating but unharmed.

No, what harms her is the flying kick Harry follows the dragon with after running behind the fiery conjuration and using it to mask his movements. Blood sprouts from the girl's nose, broken I would guess, and the watching crowd shows their appreciation of the brutal attack even though it is decidedly non-magical.

As soon as he lands back, Harry is back up again, punching the girl on her broken nose, a crunching sound reaching to the stand I'm on. He doesn't stop and doesn't look to have any intention of stopping as he continues to pummel the girl's face, each hit earning blood.

The girl falls to the ground after the fifth punch, shaking her wand hand from the shoulder, her hand moving stiff. She's shuffling back as she shakes her hand and if I'm being honest with myself, the fear in her face gives me a sick satisfaction. My confusion about why she's shaking her wand hand lasts until she raises her right arm and slams it to the ground as if it's a club.

Remember when I said Harry can be terrifyingly creative when he's in a particular mindset? He must have cast a sticking charm, a localised binding hex and a silencing charm because the girl is trying to drop her wand so the arbitrator would call the duel.

Harry follows the girl with slow steps, his calm anger making the other girl shake as she struggles to put distance between her and the danger. When he reaches her, he grabs her by the hair and drags her up before punching her in the stomach.

The duel, if you could call the beating down Harry gives to the girl a duel, continues in the same vein for the next ten minutes, the Italian arbitrator following both participants—hah! The bitch hasn't even cast a single spell on Harry yet—closely, his hand hovering above the wand holster tied to his belt, itching to end this travesty. But it only ends after Harry feels satisfied and when he snatches the other girl's wand out of her stiff hand, smiles at the girl and snaps it in half.

Yes, I don't feel ashamed to admit it: Harry scares me sometimes.