Chapter 12: Altercations

Harry choked on his tea (tea, it seemed, was universal) and gasped as the hot liquid burnt his throat. He coughed and spluttered, waving a hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to assuage the burn.

"W-what?" He managed to get out through it all.

The Queen placed her own cup of tea down very delicately and stared at his waving hand. Harry froze mid-wave, hand dropping back to his lap. He ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth and grimaced.

After he had collected himself, his grandmother pursed her lips at him. "I will not have this conversation if you insist on acting like a human."

Harry had by now concluded that calling an elf a 'human' was rather like calling a pureblood supremacist a mudblood. He nearly rolled his eyes and caught himself at the last second. "What do you mean betrothed?" he demanded...politely.

"Exactly what it implies. We should begin selecting appropriate matches," she responded calmly, observing the top of her tea as it rippled gently, an invisible breeze cooling it.

Harry felt something cold settle in his gut. "Betrothed, like marriage betrothed?"

"Yes."
He licked his lips, staring. Surely she wasn't being serious. "I'm only sixteen!" he spluttered. And I'm not betrothing myself to anyone! he added in his head.

She stared at him cooly. "Yes, I am well aware. Cease that ungainly stuttering. You will not be immediately betrothed, but we should begin narrowing down candidates. It could take some time."

Harry relaxed only marginally. To sooth the cold pit of worry in his stomach, he took a sip of hot tea. "Time?"

"Time to determine the suitability of each potential candidate, and then afterwards, time enough to narrow down the selection. It should take many years."

"Years!" He repeated, mouth dropping open.

His grandmother looked at him sharply. "Close your mouth, you are not a fish."

Harry's jaw clicked shut but he couldn't help his look of shock. Just when he thought this realm couldn't get any stranger...

She continued on as if she hadn't just reprimanded him. "I think we should start looking at prospects within a century of your age, until after you reach adulthood, then, if no one suitable has presented themselves, we may look even further. I want you to have a good match by the time you are two hundred, betrothed by three hundred, and married before you are five hundred." The queen paused to take a sip of tea and so missed the way Harry's mouth dropped open again at the absurd time-line she was concocting. Engaged for two hundred years? Spend two hundred years trying to find a girl-friend? Was she mad?

Her Majesty continued, "Remember, your future wife will be Queen, therefore she will need to be well suited for ruling. She will need to be vigorously tested, and then undergo training. The sooner we can find a match, the sooner she can begin training."

Harry felt dazed. Hearing his grandmother speak about his near immortal future in such a flippant manner really drove home that fact that he was going to live for thousands of years. His sixteen years of life was barely a drop in the ocean. His grandmother was talking about spending two hundred years alone just sorting through prospective brides.

Speaking of prospective brides - he thought, for an insane moment, of bringing up the idea of a human girlfriend. However, considering how Aunt Petunia, their own daughter, had been summarily banished for marrying Vernon, he wasn't going to destroy his chances of ever getting back to Hogwarts by mentioning it. The queen would likely throw a fit.

He did wonder what she would do, though, if he ended up falling for someone back in England. Would she banish him as well? What about needing two people to keep the wards around the lands running?

Of course, this was all assuming that Aunt Petunia could come up with a convincing reason to send Harry back to Hogwarts. As far as he knew, his grandparents had no idea he had a crazy Dark Lord out for his blood. He doubted telling them would convince them it would be a good idea to leave Elwýn. Maybe if he promised not to get himself into any life or death situations this year?

Then again, it wasn't like he went looking for trouble. Trouble usually found him.

The queen set her tea cup down on the small wooden side-table and folded her hands in her lap. The resulting pose struck him as a predator in wait and Harry eyed her warily, wondering what new or additional horror she was about to dump on him."This brings me to my next point; we need to find more suitable companions with which you may...associate."

Harry's eyebrows rose at the awkward pause as she obviously struggled to find a diplomatic way of saying 'be friends'. Because apparently royalty did not have 'friends'. He held in a snort of derision, busying himself by staring into his tea cup at the slowly cooling liquid.

"The House of Caerlin has a son similar in age," his grandmother continued blithely.

Harry was unable to contain his snort this time, and she fell abruptly silent in shock. Her eyes narrowed and Harry raised his chin. He may have to keep his mouth shut about bloody betrothals and...and princely duties, but Merlin be damned he was not going to let her dictate who he could be friends with!

Firmly, he stated, "If you're referring to Déluaë of the Upper House of Caerlin, then I...respectfully refuse to associate with him."

He thought that had been quite diplomatic. His grandmother disagreed. She stared at him with sharp eyes. "You refuse?" she repeated softly.

Harry was no stranger to that particularly dangerous tone of voice. Snape used it often enough when he was about to hand out yet another unjust point deduction or detention. He set his jaw stubbornly. "Déluaë is a bullying brat," he said, as politely as he knew how while still getting his point across.

His grandmother continued to stare at him. Harry shifted in his seat. She had the art of silent disapproval down to an art-form. He cleared his throat. "Er, I mean, he's...not really that pleasant." He paused. "Basically, I don't like him."

Slowly, his grandmother reached up to rub her temple. Harry reigned in his impulse to scowl, instead he waited patiently for her to collect her thoughts. Finally, she said, "Do not think I do not know about your...association with the son and daughter of the Lower House of Noiar."

Harry nearly shrugged, but caught himself at the last second. Remembering his etiquette lessons was getting easier, but the impulses were still there. He drained the last of his tea and set the cup aside. He had the feeling this discussion was about to turn quite nasty. "Yes, they're good people. I like them."

"They are barely nobility. The son cavorts with the Unnamed."

Honestly, he was surprised she was even trying to convince him, rather than simply ordering him not to associate with Meldir and Eruahna anymore. He could only imagine what she would say if she knew he was also friends with Taswa. Probably do that thing Aunt Petunia did when she was about to blow a gasket - go all pinch-mouthed and pale.

He'd been thinking about ways to argue for his friendship with Meldir, and especially Taswa, ever since the Coronation Ceremony. He had expected more opposition than he was currently receiving, but that may have simply been because his grandmother didn't know about Taswa.

He'd prepared arguments for every occasion - admittedly, mostly based off of Hermione's rants about equality and justice. Even if most of what she said sort of washed over him most of the time, he did occasionally listen, and even agree with the things she said. There were some things about the wizarding world that had never really sat right with him, and Hermione had a habit of putting a lot of it into perspective…when he bothered to listen.

He resolved to pay closer attention to her political and social aspirations in the future. Especially now that he was expected to actually one day be in charge of things like that.

Right now sounded like a good time to start putting his Galleons where his mouth was.

"Grandmother…"

The queen's eyes narrowed at the blatant attempt at appealing to their familial connection.

Harry smiled winningly. "When I made my vows, you said I had to mean them, or the Ceremony wouldn't work. You said I had to mean it when I promised to be fair and just and take care of every citizen in Elwýn." He paused to organise his next few words in his head. "I think...I could be a better prince if I could understand the...common people… By associating with only people in the Upper House, how can I say I am being fair and just?" When her expression remained stony, he kept talking, "I've...made some friends, friends who are good people. I know you may not think much of friendship, but...friendship means loyalty and it can save your life-" He cut himself off, remembering suddenly that he was saying too much. If she thought he was in danger in the Wizarding World, he was sure she would never let him return. "That is, I mean, loyalty born of friendship will always be stronger than loyalty born of duty."

"I see," she said, simply.

Harry hesitated. If he mentioned Taswa now…it could go very badly. If he waited and she found out on her own...it could be even worse. He took a deep breath and hoped he wasn't making a colossal mistake. "I mean, blood doesn't dictate your worth or your ability to succeed. There's a girl in Master Melcacrist's class. She's Unnamed, but she's the best fighter in the whole class. If she continues training like she is, I bet she could be one of the best fighters in the whole realm one day, and maybe in the future it might mean the difference between winning and losing a fight because she's there. But only if she's given the opportunity."

The queen hummed something that could have been an agreement or could have simply meant 'continue'. So Harry continued, "And Meldir-lion, of the House of Noiar, he wants to be a Royal Guard. As my friend, I bet he'd be the most dedicated guard in the whole palace."

The queen pursed her lips.

"I'm just saying that...that…" He was out of arguments. He'd exhausted Hermione's rant about equal opportunity.

"You are saying you want to make friends with commoners and nobles with little influence because maybe one day they may be important, although it is just as likely they won't be, whereas those of more influential blood most certainly will be," said his grandmother.

Harry's teeth clenched. That wasn't what he'd been saying at all, but he'd thought he'd made a pretty good argument. He lowered his eyes for a moment, before jerking his eyes back up, before she could reprimand him for talking to the floor. Bluntly, he replied, "And what does it matter who is influential or not? I'm the Crown Prince, so I have everyone's loyalty and support, anyway, right?"

"Which is precisely why your arguments fall flat," she concluded in a dismissive tone.

Harry knew she meant the argument to be over, but he wasn't finished. "No, that's exactly why it shouldn't matter who I decide to spend time with. I should be able to spend time with anyone I want. And I'm not talking about influence, I'm talking about the ability to make a difference. What if one day that girl I was talking about saves my life, but without her there, I would have gotten hurt?"

The queen's eyes widened at his audacity. "You wish to befriend an Unnamed girl?"

Harry's mind raced to continue his point. His thoughts went back to his first year at Hogwarts, when Ron had so bravely sacrificed himself on McGonagall's giant chess board. He couldn't imagine anyone else doing that for him without the kind of friendship he and Ron shared. He blinked, an idea forming. "Well, let's say I'm with a friend and we're suddenly in a bad situation…Would you rather that friend be an Unnamed girl with excellent fighting skills who would leap to my defence without a moment's hesitation, or the son of an Upper House like Déluaë, who would probably think himself too important to risk his life, and instead run and hide?"

"That is what guards are for," the queen pointed out with raised eyebrows.

Harry nearly grumbled. Why exactly couldn't she just accept his (admittedly very stretched) arguments and leave it alone? "Yes," he stressed, "but what if?"

Her mouth pinched like she had no good response. And he knew she didn't, it was why he'd based most of his more compelling arguments on the idea that his safety was more important than his ability to suck up to poncy brats.

Finally, she merely said, "We will discuss this more later, I believe you have lessons shortly."

All in all, Harry decided that conversation could have gone better. He left the room with a smart bow and a churning mind. When he shut the door behind him, he felt like he was shutting the door on his freedom - like he was trapped between a rock and a hard place.

First, he still had the problem of getting back to Hogwarts for the new school year. He wasn't about to just abandon his friends to Voldemort. They'd been there for him so many times, there was no way he could just leave them to fend for themselves.

Second was the way his grandparents were slowly forcing him into the role of the perfect, obedient prince. He understood that they just wanted the best for him, and that he had obligations and had to uphold a certain image...Quenah had only berated him for it a hundred times... but he drew the line at having his friendships dictated.

So far, he'd been good about doing as he was told. He'd followed Aunt Petunia's vaguely threatening instructions and worried about what the king and queen might do to him if he disobeyed. He'd seen their anger and heard their threats, and he knew there was reason to be cautious. But now he was beginning to wonder how their threats could be any worse than being forced to pick future brides and abandon budding friendships.

He wasn't going to deny that part of him felt obligated to do his best to please them, but mostly he just felt stifled.

Suddenly he desperately wished Hermione was there with him - she always knew what to do. But he wasn't Hermione and there was no one who could replace her. All he had was Quenah, who would never dream of putting Harry at odds with his grandparents, Meldir and Taswa, who would probably die before disobeying the Queen and-

That was it, he realised sadly. Three friends. One who wasn't even his age - more like a favourite mentor.

He paced through the corridors of the palace, ignoring the way everyone stopped and bowed their heads at his passing. This had begun the very day after the Ball, and didn't look to be stopping any time soon. Not that it was much different from a typical year at Hogwarts. At least here, in Elwýn, they would never look at him with fear or disgust.

He was supposed to be meeting his etiquette teacher soon, but Harry found himself veering away from the corridor that would take him to his usual classroom. He had no desire to sit through another lecture about how to be a Draco Malfoy clone.

Despite that a niggling little voice told him he was going to regret skipping out on a lesson when his grandparents caught wind of it, Harry changed direction and headed towards the lower levels of the palace. He was always more anonymous down in the lower levels. Not everyone he passed knew his face, and he tried to avoid wearing the Royal Green as much as possible, so sometimes he could be just another teenager down here.

He needed that right now. He needed to not think about the direction his future was taking, or the arguments he knew he was going to have with his grandparents. Especially arguments over going back to Hogwarts.

With the rampant racism (or would it be specism?) the elves displayed towards other magical creatures and humans, there was no way he could convince them that he needed to go back save his human friends by fulfilling a prophecy that said he was the only one who could defeat an evil Dark Lord. On that note, they'd probably never let him see the light of day again if they thought he was going back to Hogwarts to fight Dark Lords.

Harry paused mid-step and scowled at the floor. It wasn't that he wanted to fight Voldemort, but that he had to fight Voldemort. His friends would die if he didn't. Voldemort would win. His parents' deaths would mean…

His thought ground to a halt. His parents' deaths.

Right now, his grandparents laboured under the misapprehension that Voldemort was dead. If he told them that Voldemort was alive… Maybe they'd want revenge and send a whole army!

He started walking again, mind racing. He tried to consider all angles of his plan. If he told them Voldemort was alive...they might send an army, but they also might lock him up and throw away the key. Was it worth letting them know Voldemort was back?

With his mind so preoccupied, Harry wasn't looking where he was going, and nearly ran into someone. There was a sudden gasp and he looked up just in time to avoid collision.

The elf was of indeterminate age, dressed in tans, and he took in Harry's gold-trimmed burgundy shirt and dark blue britches with wide eyes. A few jewels winked slyly from the collars and cuffs. Harry had just been having tea with the queen, after all.

The elf quickly bowed and managed to gasp out an apology over the sound of his rough breathing. When Harry looked closer he could see the trickles of sweat in the man's brow and the way his dark brown hair clung to his forehead.

He stepped quickly to the side. "Carry on," he said, watching curiously as the man nodded in relief and all but ran off, an elongated pouch at his side bouncing with every large stride.

Intrigued by the encounter, Harry forgot about his previous ire, and pondered what could have had the elf in such a rush. He rarely saw the people of Elwýn hurrying anywhere. They had all the time in the world to get things done.

Had something happened? Some kind of emergency?

He almost turned around and went back up to the upper palace, but stayed his course at the last second. Instead, he headed for the stables. When he wanted to think or be alone at Hogwarts, he would visit Hedwig in the Owlery. Hedwig wasn't here, but Ardú, his horse, was a good companion, and a good listener.

Harry would swear on his life that all magical animals, whether owls or horses, were far more intelligent than their mundane counterparts. Ardú was no exception.

Ardú had been moved to the royal stables after Harry had claimed him. These stables were separated from the training fields by a private courtyard guarded by Royal Guards in green. Harry didn't even break his stride as he approached the entrance.

They bowed to him as he passed.

Ardú was quite pleased with his new accommodations; his stall now twice as large, his hay far more sweet, and his tack soft and supple. He was dotted on by buimúl stablehands night and day. Harry would be surprised if a speck of dust ever touched the deep blue-black of his flanks ever again.

Stopping by one of the storage rooms, he picked up a handful of treats before he let himself into Ardú's stall.

"Hey, you," he murmured, stroking the horse's velvety black nose. Ardú snorted softly and bumped his hand, searching for treats. "Oh, I see, you just want the treats." He smirked and hid his hand behind his back. Ardú offered him an unimpressed snort, and craned his long neck, hooking his chin over Harry's shoulder and nosing down his back. Harry was nearly knocked off his feet from the sudden weight.

Laughing, he pushed the great beast off of him. "Okay, okay!" He held out his hand, palm up, treats evident. When Ardú went straight for them, plucking them gingerly out of his hand with gentle nibbles, he shook his head. "Greedy guts."

Ardú shot him another look.

He stood there petting Ardú's mane for a few minutes more, thinking of nothing except the feel of the soft hair and warm nose under his fingers and the smell of sweet hay and light horse sweat.

The soft tread of footsteps interrupted the silence, and Harry went to peer over the edge of the wooden stall door. The stablehand froze mid-step and immediately fell into a bow, which looked all the more difficult while holding onto a tray of cleaning and brushing supplies.

Harry grimaced. "Carry on," he sighed.

The stablehand rose and ducked his head as he headed for the closest stall. His grandmother's white mare poked her head over the stall door and snorted into the elf's hair.

Harry watched for a moment before Ardú became impatient and nipped the back of his shirt for attention. He turned and stared at the large black stallion for a moment before coming to an abrupt decision. Maybe it was a bit foolish of him, but riding was the closest thing to flying he could do here (he could only imagine the horrified looks on his grandparents' faces if he pulled out his Firebolt and took to the air). He needed that clarity of mind that came with a good adrenaline rush and mindless exercise.

"Stablehand!" he called, striding back to the door. He heard the sound of clanging before the elf rushed out of the white mare's stall and into a bow. Harry unlatched the gate and slipped past it. "Where is Ardú's tack?"

The elf quickly straightened. "I will bring it, Your Royal Highness." Then he hurried off.

It only took ten minutes to brush Ardú down, pick his hooves, and tack him up. Harry was delegated to the wall, where he was forced to watch as the stablehand went through the motions with an efficiency born of long practice. Eventually, the elf bowed and held out the reins, not even questioning whether or not Harry was even allowed to be taking his horse on a joy ride without supervision.

The perks of being Crown Prince, he thought wryly.

He swung himself into the saddle, Ardú's ears perking at the idea of exercise. He began to prance in place, warming up his muscles. "Walk first," Harry warned the animal sternly, knowing how Ardú could get overly enthusiastic.

Ardú whickered, stomped a hoof, but otherwise settled into a sedate walking gait.

Of course, once they left the stables, he heard the faint sounds of wood clashing and shouting, and realised that Master Melcacrist was holding one of his classes.

He guided Ardú away from the noise, heading for the practice field furthest from the training rings.

Riding was still new to him, but as the weeks passed he had been growing steadily more comfortable with the rhythm of the horse's gait beneath him. It reminded him an awful lot of riding Buckbeak, just...on the ground. He felt Ardú's hooves pound the grass beneath them and let his mind be filled with nothing but the thought of the wind buffering his face and the shift of muscle beneath his legs.

The ride took him around the curve of the palace's outer walls. He stuck close to the edge of the forest until he came upon a large dirt road leading into the trees. Ardú clopped to a halt at Harry's urging and he peered down the length of the road. It disappeared into the distance, where it snaked a left further into the trees. If he had memorised his maps correctly, this road would lead to the city of Calathmaloth, barely an hour's ride away.

It was so very tempting, standing at the edge of that road, unable to follow it, but suddenly wanting to. He wanted to know what an elvish city was like. Even better, he would probably be so much more anonymous there.

Ardú took a delicate step towards the forest, as if sensing his rider's desire. Or maybe Harry was telegraphing just enough for the horse to know which direction he wanted to go.

He twisted his head and stared towards the Palace walls. Where the road exited the forest and met the walls, two guard towers rested. While Harry could not exactly see inside, he had no doubt they were manned. Right now there were probably guards watching him, just waiting for him to step a toe out of line and immediately contact his grandparents.

Harry scowled to himself, even as he turned Ardú's nose and pointed it back in the direction of the stables. Perhaps, one day he could visit the great city of Calathmaloth without a platoon of Royal Guards breathing down his neck, but that day was not today.

As he trotted back in the direction he'd come, he tried to re-capture the feeling of freedom he'd had just moments ago, before he'd been so rudely reminded that the palace was a very large, very fancy sort of prison. Unfortunately, even urging Ardú into a light canter couldn't take his mind back to that moment of contentment.

Eventually, the faint sounds of wood crashing on wood and metal ringing on metal once again reached his ears, as he drew alongside the stables and training yards. They twitched slightly, straining further to pick up more sounds coming from Melcacrist's usual practice courtyard. No doubt Meldir and Taswa were out there right now with Melcacrist, beating on one another with practice swords.

The thought of hitting something repeatedly with a wooden sword was suddenly quite appealing. Maybe he could work out some of his frustration through a good work out and the opportunity to 'kill' someone.

Whoever said violence was not the answer clearly had no idea what they were talking about.

Making a split-second decision, he guided Ardú's nose towards the sounds and the stallion obediently carried him closer. They rounded the corner of the stables, stepping into a patch of bright sunlight. He blinked, raising one hand to shield his eyes from the sudden influx of light, and he finally spotted the group of students hanging off the fenced in fighting square, jeering and shouting as Taswa and her opponent, an older elf girl whose name he didn't know, battled it out. As he drew closer to the arena, his sensitive elvin ears caught a fair amount of the insults and realised that they were insulting her parentage and her unprivileged background. It sparked a tinge of anger in him that he had to squash back down - after all, they were likely doing it on Master Melcacrist's orders.

And yet, he couldn't help but feel that some of them sounded a little too gleeful as they shouted insults. Like they were enjoying it a bit too much.

But nothing fazed Taswa. He watched, impressed, as she systematically took apart her opponent until the other girl was sprawled on the ground, panting, her sword five feet away in the dust. The jeering died down and there was silence except for Taswa and the girl's harsh breathing.

"Good!" bellowed Melcacrist, peeling off from the fence and prowling close to the two. Harry took the opportunity to search for Meldir, finally spotting his friend near the other end of the crowd, in the back, hands hooked into his waistband.

He urged Ardú closer to the far side of the fence, and dismounted easily, tying up the reins and hooking them over the back of Ardú's neck so they wouldn't get caught in anything. Ardú seemed more than happy to immediately circle around to a patch of lush green grass and start grazing. Soon, heads began to turn and stare at his approach, as he made a beeline for his friend.

Melcacrist had his back to him, and continued speaking in a no-nonsense tone, "If you were paying attention like you were supposed to be, you'll have noticed what Iyara did wrong. Who can tell me? Pay attention! What the blazes are you all staring at?" The class parted until Harry, standing like a deer caught in the headlights, had a clear view of Melcacrist's angry face. "Ah, interrupting my class yet again, Your Highness?" The elf asked sarcastically, but not cruelly.

Harry shrugged, holding out his empty hands sheepishly.

Master Melcacrist grunted. "Well then, since everyone seems not to be able to take their eyes off of you, you can be my next victim. Get in here."

Perfect, Harry thought, striding through the parted students and hopping the chest-high fence with graceful ease. He grabbed one of the practice swords from their wooden stand along the way.

"You!" barked Melcacrist, pointing at Iyara sitting on the ground, "Get running, and don't stop until the next match is over!"

Iyara leapt to her feet, suddenly miraculously recovered (Harry well knew that Melcacrist was damn good motivation for nearly any kind of exhaustion), and sprinted for the fence, leaping over it in a single motion that would have turned any Olympic athlete green with envy, and jogging off, occasionally peering over her shoulder. Harry swivelled his head back around and regarded Taswa. His friend barely looked winded.

He swallowed.

"You'll be sparring Taswa," announced Melcacrist unnecessarily.

Harry cracked a hesitant grin. "Don't beat me up too badly, okay?"

Taswa looked momentarily startled. For a moment, she looked lost, like she might throw down her sword and declare defeat in the face of having to fight (and likely best) the Crown Prince, but then her eyes narrowed and her chin lowered in determination and it was Harry's turn to shift nervously on his feet. That is, until Melcacrist chuckled darkly and suddenly the whole class tensed up. When Melcacrist was happy, that generally meant someone was about to get hurt - or worse.

"I've changed my mind. Araëmel, you do not have nearly enough experience to spar with Taswa right now-" Harry's shoulders began to relax until they caught Melcacrist's next words, "however I've been told you're a magical genius, a complete natural. So why don't we even the playing field? I allow you to use your magic in any way you can during the fight and let's see if it manages to boost your fighting skills enough to take on my best. Understood?"

Harry exchanged wide-eyed glances with Taswa. "Yes, sir."

Use his magic? How? Harry racked his brains and then it came to him. He'd had lessons on the theory of this already—powerful elf warriors, the elite of the elite (Meldir's dream job) used the application of air manipulation, Gwý, to enhance their movements and become almost superhuman during a fight. They could leap metres into the air, move faster, have stronger blows, as well as even use it to knock out their opponent. The air became like an extension of self and they could use it like an extra limb.

In other words, Harry was going to have to hope his control was good enough to mimic even a fraction of those stories, or he was going to be soundly thrashed.

Though, what Melcacrist had claimed to have heard wasn't far from the truth. After experiencing so many life-or-death situations, Harry had developed a keen instinct and was a quick learner—he had had to be, to survive. His was a talent that was forged in fire, the kind that, when push came to shove, would somehow always come out on top. In similar fashion, it hadn't taken him long to realise how to control his mostly instinctive manipulation of air currents, once he had unlocked the potential.

Elwý, Harry had been taught, always exuded magic. It was the reason why they always looked like their skin was glittering and shining, because the magic was there, just beneath the skin, shining through their pores. The more magic one had, the more they could emit until the magic saturated the very air around them, allowing them to manipulate the air like it was an extension of their very body.

It hadn't taken Harry long to figure out the limitations of this particular talent. If one wanted to manipulate the air further away, they had to extend their field of magic away from their body. This is when power and control entered into the equation. But Harry was no slouch. If he could manage to cast a Patronus powerful enough to banish one hundred Dementors when he was thirteen, then a little thing like exuding excess magic across a great distance was hardly going to present an obstacle to his determination.

Besides, if he learned to control it enough, he could very well use it against Death Eaters, to rip their very wands from their hands—something not even the most powerful anti-summon spell could stop. It could turn the very tide of a duel, especially if he were forced to face off against someone like Bellatrix again, or multiple opponents like at the Ministry.

His magic tutor had cautioned him against over-exerting himself, but to Harry…he had never let a little thing like limitations stop him before, and he wasn't about to let an opportunity to practice in a real duel like this pass him by.

With a new determination filling him, he faced Taswa fully, squaring his shoulders, hefting his sword...and then closed his eyes. For a few moments he blocked out everything around him, instead turning his attention inward, feeling for his magic and coaxing more and more power from the deep well within him. He sometimes wondered if his magic was limitless, as it never ceased to come, flowing like an endless stream.

To elvin eyes the gleam of his skin began to truly glow as his magic saturated his body and the air around him. With his eyes still closed, he pulled his attention away from his own body and felt how his magic spread through the atmosphere, apart from him yet not. He could sense multiple presences to his right, and there was one in front of him. The air filled with his magic caressed both his skin and hers and he felt it when they both moved.

He never even heard Melcacrist murmur, "Begin," only felt it when Taswa suddenly sprung, her own paltry magic clashing with his own as she cut a swath through the space between them. He didn't even have to open his eyes until the last second, once he felt her move in to strike. He twisted to the side, bringing up his sword to parry hers as he braced himself for impact.

The blow jarred his shoulder and they leapt away from each other, Harry more gracefully than ever as the air saturated with his magic moved to steady his landing. Taswa eyed him with surprise, lips pursing in a small oh of awe. Then her expression hardened and she came at him again.

They fell into a rhythm. Taswa would attack and Harry would feel out her moves and block. If she attempted something he didn't think he could catch, he would simply dodge out of the way and wait for her to try again. She grew frustrated, and if the muttering to the sidelines was any indication, so too was the rest of the class.

She attacked with sudden vigour and despite everything, he was hard pressed to stop her. His magic flared and wind rose up around him in a swirl, rebuffing her violently. She flipped, natural elvish grace lending her cat reflexes, and landed in a partial crouch, hand still clenched tightly around her sword.

Harry realised then that had he not had his magic to protect him, he would have ended up on the floor nursing a violent bruise. He needed to do something more than stay on the defence, and quickly, before she came up with a way to sneak past his abilities.

He wouldn't be able to overpower her with his current, mediocre sword fighting skills, which meant he would have to use his magic somehow. Quickly, before she could recover enough to leap at him again, he brought up his left hand and twisted it. Wind swirled violently, whipping around his hair and clothes and only an enforced grip on his sword prevented him from losing it. Sometimes he didn't know his own magical strength.

Taswa gave a cry as she was pushed back and abandoned any attack plan in favour of shielding her eyes from the abrasive sand that was swirling up in small whirlwinds between them. Then, he watched in apprehension as they began to grow and grow and grow.

Somehow, he doubted Taswa was going to find an opening now. But neither could he. There was a violent barrier between them of his own making. He'd heard of certain kinds of magic taking on a life of their own, before, but he hadn't ever imagined it could be like this.

The wind tugged viciously at him. It tried to rip his hair off and shred his clothes. Harry might be safe from Taswa's sword, but he was currently in danger from the tornado his magic had spun into being. He turned his attention inwards. His concentration broke several times. The wind fought him—he had whipped it into a shape it was loathe to relinquish, but with a steely will, he managed to push it back and his clothes settled down. He was now in the eye of the storm, protected, while everyone else was busy trying to shield themselves from the flying sand. Harry thought he glimpsed a magical barrier spread across one of the fences, keeping the winds contained inside the arena.

None of this helped Taswa.

As long as his magic continued to feed the air, he realised the tornado would continue to grow. He called his magic back, pressing it as close to his skin as he could, and without its fuel, the tornado began to die down, sand settled back on the ground and filling in the deep gouges the tornados had created in the dirt. Taswa straightened from her crouch and eyed him warily. Harry released his magic again and braced himself and bent his knees, ready to spring away if she attacked.

It suddenly occurred to him that he could just bat her away with a gust of air. It was sort of cheating, but Melcacrist had said he could use his magic any way he wanted—and Harry was nothing if not inventive and very very good at improvising.

Some would call it impulsive—Harry liked to call it instinct.

Taswa circled him slowly, feet stepping carefully and eyes narrowed. She faked a lunge, but Harry reacted instinctively, cutting upward with his sword, the winds he'd readied around it lashing out and knocking her away. She rolled and sprung to her feet, panting.

Harry lunged, taking his first offensive step, and tried to disarm her to end the match. His attempts were too clumsy though and she almost disarmed him with her riposte. He leapt back and pushed her away with a heavy gust of wind. The manipulation, now that he was growing familiar with it, was becoming more like instinct.

He wondered what else he could do. His mind cast around, searching the depths of his memory for some inspiration. His lack of focus nearly had him on the ground when Taswa took another swipe at him. She was fast - too fast - and he pushed off the ground, directing a burst of strong air pressure under his feet and almost panicking when it sent him shooting through the air faster than he had anticipated. Instinctively, he tried to control his landing. He fell to one knee after a shaky stumble, but he didn't land on his head, or his arse.

"Stay put!" yelled Taswa, red-faced and clearly very irritated.

Harry straightened from his crouch and smirked. "And let you disarm me? I think not."

The muscles in Taswa's face twitched and she swiped at the air in a huff, running at him. Harry, anticipating a head-on attack, was taken completely off-guard when she twisted her body in a move that he would have been impossible in a human and brought her sword up from below. Her wooden blade caught his guard and not even an enforced grip could keep a hold on it. His sword went flying, landing with a thump in the dust behind Taswa where he couldn't get to it.

Taswa brought her sword up again, aiming for his throat, a move that, if she managed to touch his skin, would end the match. He ducked, rolled and sprang back up several feet away. Fortunately, Taswa hadn't pressed her advantage, choosing to instead level her sword at him and ask, "Do you yield?"

Harry's lips twisted slightly, "No."

"No?" she repeated incredulously.

"No," he repeated calmly, already concentrating on the sword behind her. The distance was a challenge, but not too far that he couldn't reach it. It rose from the ground; unsteady, until he managed a much firmer grip on it. Taswa didn't seem aware of the danger behind her—she was still busy trying to figure out why he wasn't yielding.

"You have no weapon. I have disarmed you, you cannot possibly win now," she argued, taking an aggressive step forward.

Harry tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed in concentration. He turned his body so that his right arm was hidden from view, and swept it up, like he was still grasping his weapon. The physical familiarity helped guide his magic to do the same and the sword steadied in the air. Across the arena, he could see the other students watching with wide eyes, mouths open but silent as they watched with rapt attention.

Harry cast about for something to further distract Taswa, something to make her falter, lose her courage.

"The thing you need to learn about me," he said when he had the sword in position, "is that I never give up. You shouldn't underestimate me. My enemies always underestimate me when they think I'm down, and that's usually when I strike and take them out."

The information was enough to make Taswa falter for a few moments, and that was when he struck. His arm came up and around, still holding an invisible sword and the sword in the air behind her mimicked his movements. It bore down on her with frightening speed, no long limited to how fast Harry himself could move.

Perhaps it was the speed, or maybe the shock of what he just said, but she couldn't respond fast enough as she whirled to face the threat, arm coming up. He knew she would manage to defend herself, but he thought he might have been able to disarm her anyway. Instead, he had put too much magical force into the blow and there was a sickening crunch as his sword fell on her wrist. Her arm went slack, sword tumbling from limp fingers.

Harry froze in shock for a moment, staring at the odd position of her wrist, and then all his concentration broke and his own sword dropped to lie next to hers in the dirt. He darted forward in concern as she hunched over her wrist, a pinched look on her face. When their eyes met a strange expression passed over her face and Harry halted, suddenly unsure.

Melcacrist took that time to stride forward, the barrier separating the students from the fight winking out of existence.

"Let me see," he demanded immediately, reaching for Taswa's wrist. She forced herself to straighten and held it out, obedient and silent, and his hand hovered above it gently. "Hm, it's broken. You will need to go see a healer."

"I'll take her," Harry blurted out quickly, feeling increasingly awful at what he had done. He had wanted to win, but not that badly. He hadn't meant the blow to be so hard. Apparently, even he underestimated himself.

Melcacrist rounded on him with an unreadable expression. He stared at Harry for a good moment before finally uttering, "You won this match. Very good."

"I hurt Taswa," he snapped angrily.

Melcacrist raised a brow, his long, pointed ear moving back and up with it in an expression that Harry couldn't quite read. "Accidents happen. There is always chance of injury when learning how to fight. It is a simple break, she will be fixed easily."

"I'll go with her," he reiterated stubbornly, eyes daring the older elf to try and stop him.

"Very well," said Melcacrist.

Harry sidled up to Taswa and bit his lip, hovering next to her uncertainly. Clutching just above her broken wrist with her other hand, she brushed past Harry, expression set, mouth pinched in pain but still not uttering a word.

"Araëmel." Melcacrist's voice stopped him from following for a second and he turned uncertainly. "You've been in battle?"

Harry froze, eyes widening, and he realised that everyone had heard him speak when he had been trying to catch Taswa off guard. He swallowed. "I..."

Did those confrontations with Voldemort really count? The Department of Mysteries had been a battle, but mostly between the Order and the Death Eaters. Could Harry really say he'd been in battle? As a soldier?

He ducked his head, fringe shading his eyes.

"I see," said Melcacrist slowly, as if the elf could read his thoughts. "Well, you will have to learn to moderate your blows. This is practice, not life or death."

Harry flushed slightly, realising what his teacher said was true. "Yes, sir."

"Go now," murmured Melcacrist, still looking at him oddly.

Harry, glad to escape, quickly hurried after Taswa. As he hopped over the fence, the other students quickly scurried away from him, wary expressions plastered across their faces. He ignored them and quickened his pace, catching up with his friend as she reached the entrance to the stables that would take them back up to the palace.

Taswa paused briefly, darting a glance at him, before stepped inside.

"I'm not angry at you," she said suddenly, once he had followed her inside, causing Harry to look at her in surprise. "I'm angry at myself for being caught off guard like that. I should have remembered what you are capable of and not taken you so lightly." Her voice darkened with real anger. "I was such a fool, now Master Melcacrist will not look on me so favourably. All he will see was overconfidence and incompetence."

"But I had an advantage over you," Harry muttered, worrying at his lip guiltily.

"But I am the better fighter. If I ever hope to be a great warrior, then I will have to learn to compensate for my disadvantages. I failed at that spectacularly today."

Harry hesitated and then said, "Not to brag or anything, but my magic has always been pretty powerful and I've always been good at getting out of tight spots or danger." He paused and scratched at an ear sheepishly as she slanted a look at him. "I know I said not to underestimate me, but I think I even underestimated myself. I didn't really know I could do half those things until I did them!"

Taswa stopped walking and he quickly halted before he could bump into her. She turned and stared at him. "You mean you did all that for the first time?"

Harry shrugged and nodded.

"How is that possible? I have seen those techniques from watching the Royal Guards train, and I had never expected you to be able to use them. I admit I was taken off guard. But I had assumed you had trained with them."

Harry looked at her strangely, though inside he was reeling. Those were the techniques of the Royal Guard? He'd just come up with them on the fly! "How could I have? I've only been here a scant two months. I've barely even begun to learn anything, especially fighting. It was all instinct and improvisation."

Taswa shook her head slowly, eyes wide, but mouth turning up in a smile. "I don't believe you. You are so powerful. It is no wonder you are our Prince. I think you will be the greatest king since Caladharan himself."

Harry felt himself go red. Fortunately, Taswa didn't comment any further. He trailed after her, feeling his neck still burn.

Greatest king since Caladharan himself? That was a hefty compliment. He tried to bat down the blush even as his mind reeled. Of course he had to be special here as well. He couldn't even just be any old Crown Prince, he had to go and be a ridiculously powerful Crown Prince.

Harry let out a small, ironic laugh. Of course. It figured.

He only hoped there wasn't a new prophecy involved, because wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake?

AN: There are less changes to this chapter than I would have liked. I actually had this completely re-written, before I scrapped it and went back to the original, since the direction it was beginning to take would have thrown off the rest of the timeline I had planned. So, we'll stick with the old version, just cleaned up a little stylistically. Hopefully, this will allow me to move forward with the real changes I have planned over the next few chapters!

Also, this way you all don't have to wait even longer for the next chapter. Do point out any glaring errors or anything though!

Update: Apparently, I just passed 100k words on this thing and we're only at chapter 12...How on earth did that happen?

Posted: 19 November, 2016
Updated: 19 November, 2016