Dumbledore felt wronged. They bickered, yet somehow he was the one getting hurt. It was not as if he did not want to hire good teachers. The good ones had long since been used up, what exactly was he supposed to do?
"I too look forward to everyone's wonderful performances." Dumbledore could only offer an awkward yet polite smile.
Frank's smile was openly contemptuous, though he did not mock out loud. After a few lessons he had sized up most Hogwarts students. Frankly... judged by Ilvermorny standards, they were one or even two years behind and could only scrape by. He wanted to laugh.
This was the world's top school?
Give ninety percent of the credit to Dumbledore, twenty percent to the Heads of House, and the students still owed ten percent back. If the full mark was one hundred, most Hogwarts students scored in the ninety somethings.
He almost regretted that the interschool dueling tournament had been scheduled for next year. If it were held now, a single summer would be enough for Hogwarts to fall from its pedestal and leave Dumbledore and his faculty red faced.
Of course... Frank looked toward Tom, who was chatting and laughing with Daphne.
Remove that unfavorable factor first...
"What are you staring at, Frank?" Rouse sneered. "Do not tell me you are afraid of Riddle. I understand your worry. With him around, Ilvermorny can forget about winning a championship in this lifetime."
Although he graduated from Ilvermorny, Rouse felt no affection for his alma mater. He too had been bullied there, worse still by teachers, while the school looked away. No wonder he bore a grudge.
Frank snorted and withdrew his gaze, already plotting how to remove Tom Riddle within the rules.
...
Eight o'clock.
Nearly the entire school packed the Great Hall. Even students who did not plan to fight wanted to gauge the level of the two visiting schools. The candles overhead burned brighter than usual, casting a hazy glow over the five long tables arranged as always.
The staff had turned out in full, a rare sight. Aside from Dumbledore, whose time at school had grown scarce of late for reasons unknown. Usually Rouse ran the show and arranged the bouts. Today Professor McGonagall took over.
She first introduced the rules to the visiting students, stressing that black magic was forbidden, then yielded the stage for cross school challenges. In principle, you faced your own year. You could challenge up, not down.
"Friendship first, victory second. Do not let the result spoil good manners."
No one was listening to the platitudes. McGonagall stepped to the edge of the stage. "You may begin. Who would like to come up?"
"Professor McGonagall, me!"
Ginny had been coiled like a spring and shot onto the stage the instant McGonagall finished, so fast that the professor blinked at her for two seconds before saying, "Weasley, whom do you challenge?"
"What is the name of Ilvermorny's first year girl?" Ginny looked to Frank. The seven Ilvermorny students stood behind him.
Their first year was a girl too, tan skinned, with Snape grade resting face. Challenging her without even bothering to learn her name was naked contempt. Not waiting for Frank's nod, she marched past him onto the platform and tossed, "Remember me. Vanessa Garcia. What is your name, redhead?"
"You do not need to know, pock mark." Ginny shot back and paced to her mark. "I am in a hurry. Make it quick."
The reek of gunpowder was so strong even a blocked nose could smell it. No one dared blink, afraid of missing something good.
McGonagall frowned inwardly. In her mind Ginny was a talented, lively girl, but unlike the twins she did not start trouble and was a favorite student. Why so prickly today? She said nothing, lowered her wand, and signaled them to begin.
They bowed. Rising from the bow, Vanessa barked a string of hexes, fast enough to launch two spells in a breath. For a first year, that was excellent. If not the strongest of Ilvermorny's first years, she was among the best.
Ginny's answer shocked them more. A light flick of her wand knocked the hexes aside, and while parrying she countered. Bats burst from Vanessa's nostrils and flurried over her face, clawing and scratching.
The girl burst into tears, shrieked, and flung away her wand. McGonagall moved at once. The bats unraveled into black smoke, but even with her speed, Vanessa's face was crisscrossed with cuts. Blood smeared everywhere. It looked dreadful.
"Poppy!"
Madam Pomfrey sprinted onto the platform, yanked Vanessa away with brisk efficiency, grumbling about the dangers of dueling as she worked. The first year kept clutching at her face. Madam Pomfrey snapped, "Touch that one more time and the scars will be permanent. Do not blame me then."
The girl went still at once.
"Next. Second years!" Ginny called, impatient the moment Vanessa was carried off.
Tom wore a smile. He had already guessed Ginny was venting on his behalf.
Though honestly, was this not the sort of venue where a protagonist like him should be showing off? Somehow he had not had a single chance to shine in public. Malfoy and Ginny kept stealing the stage. Not magical at all.
Clap, clap, clap.
Rouse applauded, eyes sliding to Frank. The meaning was clear. Can you swallow that?
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