Christmas, Part III

"And remind me Ollivander why, pray tell, did you wake me up at this hour?" Snape's snide sneer takes on a slight sleepy slur as he steps onto the platform in the middle of the dueling room. Snow clings to the bottom of the tall windows as white light hops over the hurdle and swarms into the room. The light from the fresh falling snow made the large dishes of fire and fireplace feel redundant.

'Just fire a spell at me,' I write, in the biggest font I can, to him as I take my mask off and stand on the other side of the platform.

"You overestimate the size of your words and how much I care to read them," Snape snipes, his abrupt early meeting with me seems to have sharpened his tongue. Impatience, and excitement, leaps to the steering wheel of my brain as I put my wand out of my boot; taking a Mana bead out of a pleat of my skirt at the same time.

Siphoning the Mana bead, I lead it to my soul and immediately close myself off to Mana as it latches on. Heat, strong life blasting out of the tip of my wand, how the flames dance, I let every aspect of this spell fill my mind. Barely a moment passes as, with the flick of my wand, three Fire-making Spells spit out the tip of it. The orange sparks of power cut through the air as they make their way to Snape.

Even with the element of surprise and his brain begging for more sleep, he's still a wizard worthy of being called professor. By the time the third Fire-making Spell starts to glow from the tip of my wand, he already realized what was happening. When they passed the halfway mark, his wand was already in his hand. And when they finally made their way to him, a wall of water was waiting.

The smoke from the third blast of fire didn't even have time to dissipate as Snape's instinct took over. Rather than the wall of water simply falling to the ground, Snape's wand movements become more of a dance as the water curves up, spins around Snape, and blasts in my direction.

Forgetting that this isn't a real duel, I curse myself for not knowing a cooling spell as the pressurized water quickly closes the distance between us. Drawing more energy from the bead, I take it to my soul, cut myself from Mana, and focus on the spell; the feeling of being repelled off it, the strain that hits when a flow of energy hits.

Slashing the air with my wand, I stop the movement as my wand lands directly in front of me, meeting the jet of water head-on. The energy seems to condense in the air as a curved shield blocks the blast of water. The water meets the shield with such force that as it's pulled apart, it splatters against the walls, floor, and even ceiling. I struggle to keep my footing as the jetstream pushes me back slightly.

Light snow continued to wiz by the window as the only sound in the room was the pounding of my heart. Having to siphon for Mana, cast spells nonverbally, strategies, and constantly close and open myself to Mana all at the same time takes it out of you. Looking at Snape, instead of seeing a man as tired as I, he continues to stand dignified with shock radiating through his face.

"I owe Babbling five Sickles, " Snape smirks, trying to hide his surprise. Knowing how exhausted I was, he closes the distance between us.

'Congrats, you're the first teacher to successfully teach a student while betting against them,' I write, finally able to catch my breath.

***

Christmas cheer rode through the chill that wafted through the magical castle. Aside from the dungeons, most rooms left their candles unlit, for the light reflecting off the snow could fully light any room with a window.

Well, you could certainly feel the Christmas spirit in the Ravenclaw common room. Having the most students staying back, the common room stood packed with students merrily studying for exams in silence. There were the few who huddled merrily around a fireplace, showing each other their Christmas gifts. Sitting next to a window, my eyes wander away from the pages of my Journal and to the scenery outside.

Windows in the Ravenclaw Tower, like all parts of the tower, aren't normal. Sometimes the window would show the view from outside, as a window should. But occasionally you'd have an hour where you'd get the view of a window facing the courtyard or a fifth-floor window looking over the quidditch field.

This is one such event. Peering out the window, beautifully soft snowflakes dance in the wind, only to be smashed by a snowball being playfully hurled from one Weasley to another. I wonder what it's like to be given a handmade sweater from your mother? Wishful sadness carries my gaze until my eyes spot a green-eyed, black-haired, boy a part of the Weasley snowball fight, even outfitted with a sweater of his own.

Jealous anger slaps me for a moment as it takes control of my legs and carries me to another window. Calming myself, I use my worries to distract myself from Jealousy. Potter did come up to me the other day. It was purely for academic purposes but he still came to me.

I do feel slightly bad for not telling him about my run-in at that trapped hallway or how to find out who Nicolas Flamel is, but even if I did I don't think a bunch of kids should meddle in the affairs of adults. Especially considering they think Snape is trying to steal the magical item.

Someone is trying to steal it, but it isn't Snape. Why would he let a troll inside Hogwarts only to later help one of the people who were almost killed by the troll? Maybe- stop it! Still have a lot I have to do, and theorizing about something that doesn't concern me won't help.

Although I figured out non-verbal magic, I'm not out of the woods yet. I still need to improve my reflexes, wand movement, and learn more spells. The excitement over a new task doesn't fill me as much as it normally does.

Even after I get my reflexes to the levels of professionals, completely refine my wand movement, and learn every spell in the book, it won't matter. I'll still be one step behind. The method I currently use to cast spells is needed for me not to have the Mana of a tadpole. It's the best method I have available but it doesn't solve everything. The process is very complex, very taxing, and wouldn't be reliable in a non-controlled setting. That isn't even the worst of it, it's too long. Even if I practice to the point where every other issue goes away, my spells will always be after my opponent.

I could theoretically keep myself open to Mana while I'm casting non-verbally to not be snuck up on. Even then I wouldn't have enough focus to syphon Mana and cast non-verbally; it's just impossible for the human brain. The Mana potion is no longer just for my need not to depend on others, it's my only option to be a competent wizard; my only option so the walls of Azkaban aren't my only protection against her.

The panic attack that was building dies down as tapping on the window shakes my attention. This window being normal, I'm able to open it and allow Serg to get in. Rather than an affectionate rub or anything of the sort, he simply drops the note on the table and takes off.

It was at this moment, staring down at a letter from Dumbledore, that I realized my greatest mistake. I forgot to get Serg a Christmas present.

***

As the sun lowered, the Castle quickly fell into darkness as the once unneeded candles now flicker with glee. Even after an entire day, the feeling of holiday glee was still as present as the magic that clung to every floorboard.

You could still smell the remnants of the Christmas feast even from up in the Headmaster's Tower.

"You said your Father taught you how to play?" Dumbledore asks as he strokes his beard, carefully deciding his next move. While he ponders his next move, I allow my eyes to wander. Sick of looking out windows, I turn my gaze to the third level of the Headmaster's Tower.

*Yes, why do you ask?* I question, happy to be able to sign someone again.

"Because either he's grown as a player since I've played him, or he was going easy on this old man," His deep blue eyes twinkled as he said it, clipping his sentence as he moved his knight.

*So you know my father?* I prompted him, letting him ramble while my hands were preoccupied moving a piece.

"Every wizard in Europe knows Ollivander," Dumbledore smirks as I eliminate twelve possibilities. Taking my eyes off the board for a second, I simply give him a look. Chuckling in response, I turned my attention back to the board, "Yes, I did know your Father. In fact, I'd say we were friends once upon a time."

*Like Nicolas Flamel?* I ask, trapping his last bishop as this chess match turns into one both of the mind and the mouth.

"I wouldn't go that far. But I do suppose they are similar to each other, both friends of my past," the whiff of an old man looking back on his past comes out of his mouth as he sees the trap and starts making moves to take my own.

Hoping I haven't been reading him wrong all game, I call his bluff, "I wouldn't say too far in the past, considering you've gone to great lengths to protect something dear to him."

Wishing Father played some poker with me, I stare directly into his eyes and give him a knowing look as we begin to trade pieces. One after another, our pieces trade as we both try to make moves to ensnare the other in check.

"If any student found out about the stone it would be you. I should have told you about it in the first place for a fresh perspective." Dumbledore concedes, tipping the king over himself.