Troll: 30. It’s time to D-D-D-DUEL!

Chapter 30: It’s time to D-D-D-DUEL!

Blaise Zabini
Hogwarts, Great Britain

Saturday morning, I allowed myself a light breakfast before visiting Madam Pomfrey. I was physically fine, but she still insisted on a regular examination anyway.

After that, I opted to ignore the quidditch game. No matter who won, it wasn’t any of my business. I could go, pretend I gave a damn and used it as a networking opportunity in which I had a captive audience, but that sounded like a disgusting waste of a perfectly good Saturday. So, I opted to visit Minerva in the owlery, trolled Violet a bit, then spent the rest of the day enjoying myself around the castle.

Hogwarts was practically deserted. The wide open hallways felt so much more spacious with no one else around. It was an incredible feeling, at once eerie and liberating. Rather than run atop the Room of Requirement’s best approximation of an aircraft carrier, I opted to go for a jog through the abandoned hallways.

“No running in the halls!” I heard Filch holler. I was on the fourth floor and hadn’t seen anyone until now. Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Filch didn’t exactly seem like a sports fan.

“No one else is here” I laughed as I jogged past.

“No running in the halls!”

“Make me!”

So saying, I scooted my butt onto the railings and slid down the stairs to the third floor. I wouldn’t go to the corridor-that-must-not-be-entered, but the rest of it was fair game. Playing tag with Filch wasn’t what I had in mind today, but I was happy to test my improving stamina.

Then, halfway to the stairway to the second floor, I lowered myself into a soccer slide, just in time to avoid a pie flying for my head. Peeves had never been one to miss out on excitement and quidditch days must have been rather boring for the poltergeist, what with him not being allowed on the pitch during game days. Naturally, he’d been drawn to the only other excitement available.

“Snaksie shouldn’t run in the halls,” Peeves cackled as he chased me with a floating arsenal of fruit tarts and meat pies.

I shook my head with rueful amusement. The poltergeist was still a little sore about not being able to hit me at all. I should have expected him to take any chance available for a second crack at me.

It didn’t help of course. Filch wasn’t exactly in good physical shape, not that he would have helped Peeves anyhow. I ducked and weaved through a hail of pastries, laughing all the while. Some of the pastries splattered against paintings, causing a whole round of curses, some likely not uttered since Shakespeare’s time.

Would I lose points for this? Possibly.

Did I care? No, no I didn’t.

I happily spent the morning running around like an idiot. It was nice being young again, the near-boundless energy of a fourteen year old wasn’t something I realized I’d missed, but was now happy to have again. 

And when I finally got tired, I sprinted out into the courtyard and for the whomping willow. A bit of precognition allowed me to avoid the willow’s heavy but sluggish swing before tapping the knot at its base and disappearing into the secret passage.

Filch and Peeves wandered aimlessly around the yard and Black Lake, but could not figure out how I’d managed to disappear near the ornery willow. There I stayed, catching my breath until the two gave up the chase.

After that, I spent the rest of the day in the Room of Requirement, practicing my spells and occlumency. I wouldn’t be testing my mental shields against a dementor anytime soon, but I was at least confident I had the best defenses of anyone in my year.

X

Dinner was awkward. Slytherin was in a naturally celebratory mood. People I barely knew kept thumping my back like I had a fish bone stuck in my throat. It was annoying.

More importantly, it meant someone on the quidditch team blabbed. A quick glance towards the other tables confirmed my suspicions. The other two houses looked upset, but Gryffindor especially looked about ready to go to war. I knew with a glance that I’d made an enemy for life in Oliver Wood.

That didn’t bother me as much as the look on Violet’s face. Her face was a mix of stormy wrath and genuine hurt. It was, after all, the first time I’d acted against her, however indirectly. I doubted she truly hated me, not after what I’d done for Sirius, but she was downright peeved.

She saw flying as an act of freedom and associated her position on her house team with a sense of belonging that she’d never had as a child. However insignificant the game was, it meant something to her, something she accomplished by her own merits. I’d have to make it up to her.

“Later,” I mouthed silently.

I then turned back to my own house, specifically the three idiots I’d struck the deal with. lI’d thought “Keep your mouths shut,” had been explicit enough, but obviously not. Adrian, the only one of the three I considered worth a damn, gave me an apologetic shrug before shooting a sullen glance towards his captain, then his seeker.

I could connect the dots. Someone, probably Terence, talked about the “cunning deal” he had with me that let him be the star player today. Marcus Flint, being the braindead imbecile that he was, rubbed it in Oliver’s face, leading to the current situation.

“Higgs. You’ve caused a lot of negative attention to be directed my way,” I said, voice frosty. “Your silence was expected.”

“That was Flint,” he said defensively.

“I’m sure it was. I’m sure Flint is a braindead moron. But he was not under contract with me; you were. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, causing this situation.”

“Yeah? So what are you going to do about it, firstie?”

“Simple. I will cease all dealings with the Slytherin quidditch team until remuneration is paid by you in full.”

“Now, hold on, Zabini,” Pucey tried to interject. “Let’s be reasonable. Higgs screwed up; that’s no reason to punish all of us.”

“Of course there is. You have benefited together. It stands to reason that you will be penalized together. If not, you can get Higgs to pay up,” I told him flatly.

I was committing a faux pas of my own. Typically, negotiations were handled in private. It didn’t matter what was at stake. From entire magical bloodlines to a single chocolate frog card, it was understood that real Slytherins handled our business amongst ourselves. Spectators were for Hufflepuffs.

And yet, Terence was the MVP, the star of the evening. He’d been happy to bask in the limelight of our house’s appreciation, and to drag me front and center alongside him. If I wanted to send the message that deals with me ought to be honored, then I needed to use the attention he had as the medium. Everyone needed to know what was happening, and why.

“Fine, Zabini. What’ll it cost him?” Adrian asked. He led his year and was willing to pile on the social pressure. “If you’re worried about Wood trying something, we’ve got your back.”

“It’s more likely to be the twins,” I told him. “But no, I’m not afraid of their retribution. I am annoyed at the disruption this has had on my plans. This has not only ruined my relationship with those in Gryffindor I was cultivating as useful contacts, it has undoubtedly poisoned the well with the other two houses as well.”

“And the price?”

“A grimoire on the subject of divination that I have not seen before, paid out of Higgs’ pocket.”

“That’s horseshit!” said boy cried. A grimoire was not simply a book with spells written inside, but a book enchanted to assist the reader in related subject. More than one person winced at my price; no one needed to be told how much one could cost, especially for a niche subject like divination.

“Is it? Because Potter is indisputably the better flyer between you.”

“You weren’t even there.”

“Because I did not need to be. Anyone care to claim otherwise? Was Higgs really the next Wronski? Or did Potter nearly catch up regardless of the advantage he had?” I waited three seconds for the silence to settle. “I thought so. You can acquire a grimoire for me and I shall consider our debt paid. Until then, I will no longer assist the team. As it is, I’ll have to spend a great deal of time mending the bridges your carelessness undoubtedly burned.”

“You should have secured your contracts with magic,” Cheryl Dupree said from further away. “It doesn’t have to be an unbreakable vow; there are other options.”

“A simple thing like this did not require it,” I said. “I had assumed all involved were smart enough to keep their mouths shut. Seeing how that is not the case, I will have to use Higgs to make a point: Magically binding or not, I expect my contracts to be honored.”

“I would be open to teaching you about those methods, so these things don’t happen in the future.”

“Perhaps. I’m sure we can work something out. In the meantime, Higgs, you have my terms.”

I stood and began to walk away.

I’d tainted his night thoroughly. Now, he wasn’t the seeker who decisively won the game for Slytherin, he was the fool who threw away an incalculable advantage because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Quidditch wins were nice, but being known for stupidity in a house full of self-declared masterminds was ruinous. That was why Marcus, despite being captain, didn’t lead his year.

Of course, this hurt my reputation as well. I appeared uncooperative and overly dogmatic, even unreasonable when it came to remuneration. Advice for a quidditch game was in no way worth a grimoire, even the cheapest possible option.

But that was okay. Some of them could read between the lines. I wasn’t charging Terence for the advice, I was punishing him for complicating my plans. And as for those who couldn’t, well, coming off as an unreasonable hardass wasn’t the worst possible thing if I wanted people to honor their contracts.

“We’re dueling,” I heard behind me. “You win, and you get your grimoire. I win, and you answer any questions about quidditch for as long as I attend Hogwarts.”

I smiled. Since he couldn’t be seen as the reason our house lost an advantage, he had to resolve this as soon as possible. And since he had no intention of buying me a grimoire, this was his only other option. Slytherin valued tradition. Naturally, dueling to resolve disagreements was one such time-honored tradition.

I turned around to see him smiling smugly at me. There were similar pressures on my end. I’d been wronged, but no magic bound our agreement so there was no way for me to actually enforce the compensation I’d demanded of him. Naturally, after talking all this shit, I had to accept the duel.

He had me. He was a third year. Obviously, he could beat a firstie who hadn’t even gone through his first semester yet. He was so eager to set the stage for me.

Perfect.

I hid my smile and nodded. “As you wish. Our duel will have to wait until tomorrow morning, however.”

“Scared? Do you think this is a test? Are going to cram for it?” Higgs mocked.

“No, it’s my bedtime. You called for a duel and I accepted. It’s only right that I set the time, and I say tomorrow morning. Let’s say nine.”

“Fine, whatever. Firsties should shut up and do what they’re told. I’ll teach you your place.”

“Lovely. Now if you’ll excuse me, my bed calls.”

X

The common room was full, a first for a Sunday morning. This was the best possible scenario for me. Not only was there no ambiguity about why I was stepping onto the field today, I was fully refreshed from yesterday’s training.

That was more important for me than for Terence, even if he’d exerted himself during yesterday’s game. With Somnolent fucking me over, I couldn’t duel in the evening so close to my bedtime. It was something I’d need to correct sooner or later, preferably before people could take advantage of my flaws.

“Zabini,” Theodore greeted as I entered the common room. I’d had one of the house elves bring me my breakfast in bed, all the better to do some last minute scrying.

Somewhere along the line, this little duel began to be seen as a chance for us firsties to prove ourselves. If I won, Theo would look good by association. It’d also soothe his ego a bit, knowing he was being outshined by someone who could beat third years in a straight duel.

On the other hand, he very much did not like me. Seeing me humbled would tickle him pink on any other day. He genuinely looked like he didn’t know who to root for so I made the choice for him.

I pulled out a small pouch of galleons. “Bet on me, won’t you? Oh, and bet that Higgs can’t even touch me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s my money. Where’s the risk?”

“Thirty percent,” he said, as shrewd as ever. “You can’t bet because you’re competing.”

“Parkinson would be happy to do it for me. Twenty.”

“Parkinson would get led around by the nose. Twenty-eight.”

I chuckled and let him have it. “Fine, you win. Twenty-eight percent of my winnings.”

I left him to it and headed down into the dueling pit. It was an exact replica of ones used in professional dueling circuits. Hogwarts had a few professional duelists over the years, with Professor Flitwick being the most accomplished, but Antonin Dolohov was a close second. According to stories, he got his start in this very pit.

Terence was already waiting for me. He looked confident, with a cocksure grin and his wand already in hand. He had every reason to be. By his estimate, even if I studied out of class, I probably hadn’t had time to learn more than the basic stunner, if that, since I got to Hogwarts.

“Couldn’t even show your face over breakfast. Nerves, Zabini?” he taunted.

“You talk too much, Higgs. Rules?” I asked, cane tapping impatiently. “Professional standard? Anything goes?”

“Anything goes.”

“Suit yourself.”

The male seventh year prefect was to be our judge. He didn’t look all that happy to be here. He held out a hand for silence.

“Hold on. You’re a firstie, Zabini. Anything goes means just that,” he said. “You can do anything short of the Unforgivables. You can use whatever spells you want or cross the center line. That favors the wizard with the largest spell repertoire and that’s not you.”

I nodded agreeably, leaning on my cane. Fewer restrictions didn’t favor Terence as much as people assumed. “I understand. I prefer it.”

“You sure? I’m trying to save you some pain here.”

“I appreciate it, but this is fine, really.”

“Fine, whatever. Wands.” We both presented our wands to the judge. In professional circuits, it was to prevent outside tampering. Here, it was a simple formality. “Alright, you lot. This is the first honor duel of the year, and for a bloody stupid reason. Don’t waste my time. Don’t do anything illegal. Ready?”

“Yes,” we chorused.

“Greet your opponent.” We bowed, another formality. Matches in the house weren’t usually this formal, but then again, there were no stakes beyond practice either. “Good. Begin!”

“Stupefy,” Terence barked. He was fairly quick on the draw. It seemed like he practiced that spell regularly, though the fact that he still needed the full wand movement told me he was no master.

I leaned out of the way. No one had bothered to take my cane from me. They probably thought taking the cane from the cripple would be too much. Well, it wasn’t as though dueling brackets with magical weapons didn't exist, but they tended to be separate from wanded combat.

They were also far less popular, generally being seen as too weighted in favor of the wealthier participant due to customized equipment. Or maybe European wizards were armchair-duelists and preferred magic they could criticize with some familiarity. I was pretty sure other parts of the world favored a more freeform style of dueling.

Terence kept casting but to no avail. After two months of consistent practice, I could keep up the Sight for far longer. My stamina had improved in every regard. And just as important, my magic had begun to “flavor” itself with divination for lack of a better word. It was as though my magic was a white canvas, and constant practice had allowed it to draw on my natural affinity to dye it in the proper shade.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Terence snarled.

I shrugged before doing a little spin and a flourish to avoid another spell. “Why not? Your aim is horrible. I’m afraid I’d be more likely to get hit if I moved.”

“This is a magical duel, Zabini! You can’t just stand there!”

“Never interrupt your enemy when he’s making a fool of himself. If it wasn’t obvious, divination is my magic of choice.”

“Fuck you! Incendio!” he shouted.

A gout of fire erupted from his wand in a wide cone. It was a good, if rudimentary plan. The easiest way to deal with an agile opponent was simply to make dodging impossible.

Terence didn’t think much further beyond that. I’d already seen that he’d rely on two elemental spells, incendio and glacius, before stepping foot here. I also knew that with his temperament, he’d go for the direct damage spell over one designed to hamper my mobility.

Unfortunately, he was not a first year. My yearmates knew a single, immutable truth about me that was almost as intrinsic to me as my divination: I sucked sweaty nutsack at herbology.

Incendio was a part of the first year curriculum. It was also, thanks to my Black Thumb, the spell I had inordinate amounts of practice with. After the second time I’d almost set the greenhouse on fire, Professor Sprout called me aside after class and ordered me to look up the flame-freezing charm.

It was a part of the curriculum as well, though reserved for the next semester as countering an existing charm was considered more difficult than simply avoiding it. That said, it was a charm I’d mastered as a natural consequence of my greenhouse escapades.

It was a famous spell, not because of its power or usefulness, but because it was used to troll muggles during the witch burnings of the Medieval Age. There was a witch, Wendelin the Weird, who enjoyed the spell so much that she allowed herself to be caught and “burned” at least forty-seven times, all in different disguises. She traveled all across Europe, just to fuck with the local inquisition.

My wand spun clockwise before rising up to tap my own nose. “Refrigero ignis.” The torrent of fire became a toasty warmth. It felt wonderful, like I’d seated myself next to a fireplace with a mug of steaming Irish hot chocolate in hand. There was also a slight, ticklish sensation that almost made me giggle.

As the fire died, I offered Terence a jaunty wave. “Yo.”

“Stupefy. Stupefy. Incendio. Expelliarmus. Diffindo!” he chanted. Two stunners, another fire cone, a disarming charm, and a wide area slash.

I swayed side to side, dodging the first two, and ignored the fire spell entirely. The disarming charm came faster, but I ducked beneath that as well. The cutting charm was trickier, if only because I was already stooped.

I did not know how to cast a protego. Unfortunate, but it was a part of the sixth year DADA curriculum, partially for its difficulty, partially for its cost.

The protego was seen as a difficult spell, not just because it was tricky, but because it directly pitted the caster’s shield against the magic of their opponent. Many students picked it up before it was officially taught, but that wouldn’t fix my stamina in the moment. Even had I known the spell, I wouldn’t have been able to match a third year like Terence more than two or three times.

So, I didn’t. I instead raised my cane with one hand and tapped it with my wand. “Duro.”

The hardening charm took effect immediately. My cane, made of sturdy wood, suddenly became as hard as steel. The diffindo charm was never meant to be some kind of lightsaber or anime sword-beam. It was more like a kitchen knife than an ax, far removed from being able to cut thick wood.

I brought my cane forward so the cobra head pointed towards him. “Congratulations, Higgs. You pulled two spells from me. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Fuck off, Zabini. You haven’t even touched me,” he spat.

“So I haven’t. Let’s fix that, then. Bombarda maxima!” I shouted, thrusting my wand forward.

His eyes widened in shock and he reacted impulsively. “Protego!”

A thin, shimmering shield formed in front of him. It was barely corporeal and wouldn’t likely hold up against even my diffindo, but it was there. He’d probably read ahead; I wondered if he had any interest in dueling.

And yet, nothing emerged from my wand. I winked at him and took a step forward. A titter of laughter filled the audience. “Come on, Higgs. I’m a first year. I don’t even know that spell.” 

“You think this is a joke?” he demanded, face turning red.

“I do.” I took another step.

More spells came my way but I gave up all pretense of needing my cane. Instead, I leisurely began to walk towards him. There was no need for advanced tactics or spellcasting. The only magic I truly wanted to showcase to my housemates was my Sight. And for that, the fewer spells I cast in response, the better.

The distance between us decreased. I crossed the center line into his side of the pit. Bit by bit, I could see the pressure mounting on his shoulders. He was beginning to flag, his magic running low after so much casting. Meanwhile, I was completely fresh, utterly untouched by anything he’d tried so far.

He looked at me desperately, then at my cane. “Wingardium leviosa!”

I of course avoided that, too. The trouble with magic, I’d found, was that most spells traveled in straight lines. They weren’t solid, so they weren’t even affected by wind. With such perfect lines from point A to point B, how could I fail to predict them?

I’d heard that true masters could make their spells curve in the air. That level of competition would test my Sight to the limit, but Terence was not it.

Finally, only two steps away from him, I held my cane like a rapier and lunged. My right foot stomped the dirt as my right hand lanced out with my body weight behind the blow. With textbook fencing technique, or my best approximation of it, I stabbed him in the throat.

The cane was no rapier. It had no point to pierce with. However, it did have a foot, with small, metal-capped spikes that had been magically treated for durability so they wouldn’t be ground away by friction. I’d imagine getting stabbed with my cane was not unlike getting punted with soccer cleats. Not strictly deadly, but far more painful than one might expect.

Terence choked. He clutched at his Adam’s apple, casting completely forgotten for the moment. I took the chance and clubbed him over the head with it.

He brought his left arm to block and began to swing wildly. He was barely paying attention to his spells now, relying on first year knockback jinxes for their speed as he tried to backpedal quickly.

I whistled cheerfully as I batted aside what few spells were on target. Really, this was no different than the time I spent parrying water balloons with Peeves. No, the flying poltergeist was a much greater challenge.

My own strikes were far more accurate. I trusted in the durability charm I’d just put on my cane and continued to beat him with it. An overhead swing caught him on his right collarbone, resulting in a loud, snapping noise that made me wince in sympathy. Still, I continued on. Another sharp swing had him coughing up a mouthful of blood and several chipped teeth.

This wasn’t really about Terence anymore. This was about sending a message to my house: You will respect my contracts. I don’t need magic to kick your ass.

After one more swing, I paused for a moment.

“Yield,” I commanded.

“Fuck you,” he spat, scurrying back.

I didn’t let him get far. The moment he began to move, I dashed forward and cracked his knee with my cane, sending him sprawling to the ground. I aimed my cane above his face and paused before bringing it down, message clear.

“I… I yield,” he muttered, defeated.

The seventh year prefect stepped between us expectantly. I bowed and took a step back, yielding the floor to him.

“This honor duel is over. Zabini is victorious,” he said simply. He looked mostly bored with the proceedings. When he looked at me, there was some derision there, probably because I fought “like a muggle,” but also some respect, for winning effortlessly. “Got anything to say, Zabini?”

I nodded and addressed Higgs.

“You will give me my grimoire by next Sunday. I don’t much care how you do it.” Then, louder so everyone could hear, “My contracts are not magically binding. I do not believe that is necessary for simple matters. However, I expect them to be followed to the best of your ability.

“The lack of a magically binding contract means you are free to act as you please. But please remember: I, too, am free to seek compensation in whichever way I choose.”

My piece said, I reached down and pulled out a handkerchief from Terence’s breast pocket. I wiped the blood off my cane and tossed it back. The old me, Corbin, felt a little bad for what I’d done to what was effectively a boy in my eyes, but I quashed the feeling.

He’d be fine; he’d likely taken much worse from the bludgers during quidditch practice. A few broken teeth, a concussion, and a broken collarbone were nothing. At most, he’d need his collarbone and teeth regrown, which was the work of a few days with the right potion and Madam Pomfrey’s expert care.

More importantly, I had bridges to mend.

Author’s Note

I did say I’d be leaning on tropes. One of those was the tricked out common room, with a dueling pit, potions, lab, etc.

JKR said that wizards attending Uagadou (African school) have a section of their curriculum dedicated to wandless magic. I’m expanding on that and saying that wands are popular in Europe and former colonies, but traditional mages in each region may have their own mediums.

This means that as far as I’m concerned, onmyoji, American Indian shamans, magic kung fu, and Indian rishi exist somewhere. Wands are convenient for standardized spell use, but they’re not the only option. It makes sense then that the international dueling scene reflects that with different brackets.

The flame-freezing charm has no official incantation. In accordance with JKR’s proud tradition of butchering Latin, I’m going with refrigero ignis, “to chill fire” according to Google Translate.

It’s weird, isn’t it, how injuries are perceived in stories. Terence just tried to roast a first year alive, but that was just a first year spell. Meanwhile, Blaise beat him half to death with a stick and it appears more brutal.

In other news, pseudo-haki is bullshit unfair.