Saturday in the Dueling Club always began the same way. Breakfast in the Hall — eating a little extra to have enough strength to last until lunch, and a mug of strong tea, after which our group would head to the third floor, walk down the corridor to the club hall, which in two years would become the forbidden wing. For now, it housed some classrooms and the Dueling Club hall, hidden behind huge doors.
The room was familiar: two wide platforms with cushioning charms around them and protection against stray spells, so the spectators wouldn't get hurt. Besides the platform, there were rows of benches along the walls, where those waiting their turn usually sat, or, by the end of the year, students who enjoyed watching the annual mini-tournaments Professor Flitwick held. Plus, one shouldn't forget the public duels, which pure-bloods had the right to hold, and which also attracted spectators, as school was often boring, and a duel was a spectacular thing.
If not for the Dueling Club and the permission to hold duels, the danger to students would only increase, as everything would simply be hidden. This way, at least it all happened under supervision and with safety regulations.
At the very end of the huge hall was a separate area with targets that repaired themselves after being hit.
The hall was noisy now, as almost all club members had gathered. And although the hall itself was the second largest, right after the Great Hall, during active use of the space — nearly half the size of the Great Hall — it buzzed with the sound of about fifty students hurling various spells at targets and each other.
For now, it was just the murmur of whispers. Professor Flitwick, upon entering, walked to the center and raised his wand — and instantly, all the noise ceased.
"Today," his high voice easily carried under the vaults thanks to magic, "we have dueling sparring. Everyone who wants to step onto the platform and participate, move to the right. Those who prefer practicing basic spell chains today, stand on the left. Some, as they wish, will practice defense and attack, others can go work with the targets."
The students moved to the sides. More than half immediately stepped to the right, including me, Cassius, and Blackmore. The rest, like Avery, distributed themselves among the groups: some went to the targets, some lined up in pairs for practice. This time, they were practicing "exchange" — where one attacks with a spell, the partner defends, and then immediately attacks themselves, and you defend. The faster the role exchange happens, the better. There were also schemes where one practiced one part for several minutes, the other — another, and then they switched. All of this was regulated by the professor based on the year's difficulty level. So, if second-years were practicing "Protego — Stunning Spell," then the older years practiced either more complex spells or chains of simple spells. For instance, you're attacked with a repelling spell, you defend, and then — an attacking chain of specific spells while closing the distance, with any defense allowed.
In general, I admired the professor's ability to monitor both platforms where students were sparring, while also watching those practicing and changing their assignments between training duels. Moreover, he managed to ensure no one was slacking off and to offer advice.
Of course, in this matter, he was assisted, firstly, by seconds, whom he usually appointed from the older students, and secondly, by the head of the dueling club, who was Nymphadora Tonks, familiar to me from the memories of that life. And the more painful it was to understand that she was my own cousin — a first cousin, with whom I didn't communicate because her mother, Aunt Andromeda Black, had married a Muggle-born.
And yet, Nymphadora was so unusual and captivating… With an extremely rare gift and curse simultaneously, she was a natural-born Metamorphmagus. And there is a separate discipline of higher Transfiguration — Metamorphmagic, which, for example, includes Animagus abilities.
Most often, the amazing sixth-year from Hufflepuff, who was an extremely spirited girl, took the form of a young witch with a long, pointed, heart-shaped face and short, spiky hair the color of bright pink bubblegum. But her hair constantly changed color depending on her emotions, as did her facial features, which seemed static but were malleable, like clay.
Her face seemed to shift with strong emotions, but I'm not sure yet, as for some reason she avoided not exactly talking to me, but generally tried not to pay attention to me.
And despite all this, she was one of the best in duels. Probably the strongest duelist among the schoolgirls.
My cousin, whom I decided to get to know for sure, not only played tricks on Filch and had fun no worse than the Weasley twins but also helped Flitwick, both during the Saturday meetings when everyone was required to attend and almost every day after classes when Flitwick wasn't there. And over a month and a half, I noted how hard she tried and, more importantly, how well she managed to keep everything in order. Of course, with the help of a couple of older-year boys and girls.
Following the established tradition, we chose our own sparring partners, and today I had already arranged with Blackmore. Last time, I sparred with Cassius, who, in my estimation, was stronger than me before the summer. That is, before I underwent the two-month training with Krieger. And even though back then, in terms of sheer force and speed of magic, I surpassed the current Cassius, he had gained enough experience and skill over the summer to be on par with Blackmore. Dexter, by the way, also became more impressive over the summer and was now extremely strong for a second-year.
After their very first duel here, a friendly (I hope) rivalry began between them, and since that day, they constantly faced off against each other. But this time, I was supposed to spar with Blackmore, at his request. Well, at least the first sparring session, as we had time for two to several rounds on the platform before lunch — thanks to those who didn't go up. For example, like our Avery, who was currently annihilating his target with something lethal from his personal arsenal of spells.
We simply stood and watched the training duels of others, waiting for our turn, and everything would have been fine, as it was interesting to watch our senior colleagues. But then Burke showed up with his constant friend, Alex Adrian. Burke had a habit of challenging Blackmore to a spar at every opportunity — in a desperate attempt to reclaim the title of winner. But so far, apart from their first unofficial duel, Burke had achieved nothing. I'm telling you: Blackmore became a dueling monster. Well, for his age and if you don't count the modest me.
"Blackmore," he drawled, smirking slightly. "I think it's time for us to check again who holds a wand tighter here, because I remember…"
"You remember how I stomped you twice during one duel?" Blackmore interrupted, not letting him finish. This momentarily took Burke's breath away, and he was about to angrily argue something but didn't have time.
"Oh, I remember that too!" grinned Cassius, standing nearby, needling Burke even more.
"Mind your own business," said Burke's usually silent friend. I could have told him the same thing, but Cassius did it.
For me, it remained only to anger these two even more, though Adrian was calmer than Burke, who belonged more among snakes than lions, if you believe the stereotypes about Slytherin.
"How is it not his business, Riddle? Oh right, he wasn't let into the Dueling Club, so he didn't 'get in.' Strange, since you don't need to be a genius to get at least 'Exceeds Expectations' in Charms. Right, Burke? Adrian?"
My simple tone and seemingly clueless expression were enough for Burke to lunge at me, but he was stopped by a passing fifth-year Gryffindor. And not just any Gryffindor — I knew this brown-haired guy very well indeed.
"Calm down and don't rise to Malfoy's words. Slytherins only know how to use words. Like, for example, their prefect Unsworth, who last time… I don't remember when he gave me a decent fight." The Gryffindor prefect's words touched the conditional honor of our house, and though I tried not to get involved in conflicts with older students yet, this also offended me personally. And the conflict was gathering an audience, meaning I had to raise my social standing in the eyes of the spectators.
The Gryffindor prefect — Jacob Farmus. Really has a feud with our prefect. But I couldn't expect help from our prefect. That bastard would only interfere in extreme cases, even when his literal rival was simply covering for his own charges.
"You, try not to interfere in someone else's conflict, Malfoy!" Farmus spat out each word, trying to add harshness to his voice. He felt powerful facing a second-year.
"And who gave you the right to address me so personally? Or why are you so sure it's none of my business?" I began my monologue, gaining momentum and looking more confidently into his eyes with each word, enunciating every word louder. "In this case, only you interfered, the house prefect, who, without understanding the situation, first insulted my house and then crossed the line of communication with me. Could it be that instead of justice, you simply decided to support your house's side!? Farmus, I'm disappointed in Professor McGonagall's choice. Perhaps the respected professor was unaware of the intricacies of your personal relationship with Slytherin house and your conflict with our prefect, but is that a reason to cast her in a bad light and pick on simple second-years who merely wanted to wait their turn and have a friendly spar? Meanwhile, your charges, apparently, decided for my friend who he should spar with."
"Damn Malfoy…" I heard from someone in the crowd. But while the Gryffindor prefect was trying to figure out how to respond to Professor Flitwick approaching us and simultaneously thinking about what I was saying and how to extricate himself from my trap, where I had simply twisted everything possible, I continued my monologue. The spectators became half of those who had gathered to spar today.
"Is this the very courage inherent in the brave house of Gryffindor? Respected prefect, I hope your display of bravery won't also fall upon our first-years, otherwise I will have to personally receive an apology from you, because, as it turns out, our prefect is not prepared to stand up for us the way you stood up for Mr. Burke and his friend."
I switched to more respectable words, also indirectly jabbing our prefect, as one might even think he wasn't a member of the dueling club. He had simply been observing the conflict the whole time, trying not to interfere to spite me. Again, I don't know why he took a dislike to me.
"You think words taken out of context are enough to paint me in a bad light!? Maybe I should indeed challenge you to a 'friendly' duel, Malfoy!"
Frankly, I didn't expect a fifth-year, and a house prefect at that, to be so easily provoked into emotions. But the conflict was not destined to continue further, because I'm not stupid and had riled up an upper-year student in the presence of not only other students but also Professor Flitwick. The Ravenclaw Head of House was the most neutral among all Heads and hardly made distinctions between houses, unlike McGonagall and Snape.
"I am undoubtedly delighted by such enthusiasm for the art of dueling, but Mr. Farmus, don't you consider the age difference between you and Mr. Malfoy too great?"
"I… I merely wanted to prevent a conflict between the second years of Slytherin and Gryffindor, Professor Flitwick," said the accused with a guilty, beaten-dog expression, finally setting aside his emotions and understanding the mess he was in.
Now he understood the meaning of my words and for whom I had played the victim of injustice. Let this be a lesson to him to know when not to meddle in affairs he knows nothing about. And they entrusted him with being a prefect… though, remembering our current prefect… hmm… what a generation. Hah.
"An interesting method you chose. A fifth-year challenging a second-year to a duel…" said the professor in a calm tone but without his ever-present cheerful smile. After that, the small half-goblin, casting a large shadow, just looked at me, winked, and continued: "Undoubtedly, Mr. Malfoy is intelligent for his years, and he performs well in the field of duels, but it's better to vent your conflict and emotions in a duel with Miss Tonks."
Soon, the cheerful and spirited Tonks and the extremely gloomy Jacob Farmus stepped onto the platform. Farmus had lost 10 points today, and it was Saturday, with no classes. What a loser, in one word.
It would have been different, and perhaps Flitwick wouldn't have intervened, but I'll tell you a secret: I was on extremely good terms with the Ravenclaw Head of House, and he often helped me with spells — from advice on extra reading to help with wandless magic, provided I completed a personal assignment given by the professor by the end of the semester.
Farmus and Tonks ascended the platform. The crowd parted, and silence fell around — that familiar pre-duel silence I knew. Immediately, I recalled duels with Mr. Krieger, when even breathing was heard too clearly, as the brain prepared for the fight. Flitwick drew his wand, outlined the boundaries of the protective charms meant to shield the spectators — us — from stray spells of the two duelists, and said quietly:
"Bow and begin."
Both bowed. Tonks bowed somewhat lazily but with such a wide grin, as if she were about to have fun.
"Incendio Fiera!" Farmus struck first, and from his wand burst a nearly real fireball — a wide, dense mass of hot flame that, by school dueling standards, was already on the verge of what was allowed, as it could kill.
Tonks's double barrier extinguished the full force of the blow at the cost of destruction, but the following enhanced Stunning Spell breached her defense. However, Tonks managed to dodge to the side, as if accidentally tripping, and the shot missed.
"Ooh, almost hit me!" she laughed and immediately threw a powerful Stunning Spell, clearly not Stupefy, but the spell beam looked extremely powerful, and she cast it all non-verbally.
The spell was fast and accurate, but Farmus somehow defended with Protego Duo and fired Stupefy in response. The red beam shot past, grazing the edge of Tonks's cloak, and she theatrically squealed:
"Ow-ow! Almost got me in the heart!"
The hall buzzed with laughter, but at that very moment, she straightened sharply and with tremendous speed hit with a spell chain: Flipendo — Expelliarmus — Petrificus. Everything happened so fast that even Flitwick looked amused. But, of course, a simple spell chain wasn't the end — behind it lay another powerful Stunning Spell, one unfamiliar to me.
It's a pity she often cast non-verbally, though not always, otherwise I would have learned what kind of Stunning Spell that was. However, the very ability to non-verbally replicate some spells is amazing in itself. Even among the students here, not many could non-verbally cast a basic Repelling Jinx or the same Incendio.
Farmus, of course, was no weakling, but his shield flared and couldn't withstand even the first three spells — the Expelliarmus didn't disarm him but knocked him off balance; his wand nearly flew out, and only a powerful step back kept the Gryffindor prefect from falling.
"Seriously?" he hissed, raising another powerful Protego, again spending a lot of energy on its creation and recovery from the last attack. "Alright. Let's do it differently."
And here, a real duel began. Without jokes and smiles. Spells rained down one after another: Impedimenta, moving off the line of attack, a series of blinding Lumos Solem and paralyzing Petrificus coupled with fire charms, which he wielded well.
Tonks, however, moved like a whirlwind. She seemed not even to plan her steps but improvised: sometimes falling to the floor and rolling, sometimes pretending to yawn, then suddenly shooting a precise Expelliarmus, and Farmus barely managed to block it between sending out his own hail of spells, which didn't cause much trouble for his opponent.
If I were in a philosophical mood, I would describe it better than a clash of styles: heavy pressure against chaos and lightness.
At some point, Farmus caught her slowing down and almost pinned her to the edge of the platform. His Stupefy pierced the air, burning the space between them. The crowd held its breath.
But Tonks suddenly dropped to her knees — "tripped" — and the spell flew over her head; then, in the best traditions of Souls-like games, she rolled, struck with a simple Stupefy from below upward, and Farmus, not expecting such an angle, was thrown back, nearly dropping his wand.
"Well, now we're even!" she shouted.
Flitwick clapped his hands, breaking the tension:
"An excellent demonstration match. The winner — Miss Tonks."
The hall erupted in applause and laughter. The Gryffindor prefect, gloomy as a thundercloud, didn't even bow and simply left the platform, while Tonks, beaming, accepted the ovation as if it were not a duel but a comedic play.
That's how duels between upper-year students should look. Because I've seen a couple of utterly shameful matches. And here, cutting and other overly dangerous spells couldn't be used, though what was shown, if desired, could have killed.
But there were also flaws. Krieger taught me how to dodge properly and how not to — you definitely shouldn't "dodge" spells by rolling. We're not in Dark Souls or an action movie, but my cousin had a different opinion. I got the impression that she was either simply playing around, or felt the battlefield too well, hiding it behind a mask of luck and clumsiness, or perhaps a bit of both.