The Mastery of Duelling

Bonus Chapter - 100 Stones 

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5 June 1995. Delacourt Manor.

 Breakfast was another turning point for me as Delacourt Senior and Ciaran announced that if I was going to kill the Dark Lord, or at least preserve my own life, I needed to learn combat magic. Jean-Claude took us to the manor's dueling chamber. The girls who tried to follow us were kindly sent by the head of the family to their mother because "their presence would make the men in training think more about women's beauty than about fighting." A giggling Gabrielle and Fleur, who smiled at her father's compliment, allowed Marie to lead herself away to another part of the building.

 The Manor's training room was very different from the Defense Against the Dark Arts training room I'd seen at Hogwarts. It was a large room, with magical torches hanging on the walls, giving off a wavering, mysterious light, huge boulders embedded in the corners of the room, carved with Runes indistinguishable in the gloom, Runes circles on the floor, walls, and ceiling.

 Jean-Claude walked over to one of the boulders, drew his wand, and made an intricate gesture in the air. The Runes on the side of the boulder glowed a faint reddish light, then spread to the other stones and the rune circles on the ceiling and walls. I stared at the mysterious room in mute fascination - I couldn't think of anything more beautiful, except for the Hogwarts that students see for the first time from the lakeside in their first year.

 - Mr Potter, this room is one of the two most important rooms in any family castle or house. And one of the same two containing the most complex and powerful spells. The first room - the heart of the family castle - we won't be needing it any time soon, so you can just forget about it for now, but this room contains complex, multi-layered spells that allow you to use powerful combat spells here without fear of accidentally killing your opponent with a defence-piercing blow. Of course, this does not apply to Unforgivable spells, as well as spells cast by a Dark Lord or Dumbledore-level wizard at the limit of his strength - in this case, the defence will weaken the blow a bit, but the opponent will still be hit. So in the future, as your training progresses and your magical power and abilities grow, keep this fact in mind.

 - For now, I suggest we have a little introductory duel to figure out what needs to be dealt with first. - Ciaran retreated to the far corner of the hall, pulling his wand from his sleeve. Jean-Claude quickly moved away from the possible line of fire, pulling out his wand as well.

 Standing closer to the centre of the hall, I bowed to my opponent - perhaps the only thing I had learned from the lessons of Gilderoy's "dueling skills" fanfare, invincible only in terms of bluster. The auror's return bow was just as clear, and the next moment the simplest Stupefy, filled with energy to the brim, flew towards me. Before I could put up a shield, I was forced to dodge, thanking the heavens for my Quidditch-trained reactions. The next spell smashed into the shield I'd finally put up, but the force of the blow was so great that both spells dissipated and the Petrificus beam sent by the Auror flew over my head, and I finally caught the moment to strike back. Ciaran gracefully evaded my attempt to knock my wand away, and the new Stupefy threw me to the stone slabs. At that moment, I experienced both the benefits of the dueling chamber, keeping me from passing out from the Stunner, and the power of my opponent, who had defeated me without straining, using only the simplest of spells. I rose from the floor with my cheeks burning with shame. To lose so shamefully, with almost no resistance!

 - What can I say..." Ciaran wrinkled his nose slightly. - Considering the legendary incompetence of the Defence teachers at Hogwarts, and the fact that you didn't have the opportunity, like other heirs of noble families, to have private lessons during the holidays... That's not bad.

 - The reaction's pretty good," Jean-Claude, who had been watching our brief duel, encouraged him. - I guess your Quidditch skills are coming through. But your knowledge of spells... Well, we have time to fix that.

 - So our work programme is set..." Ciaran was scribbling something on a sheet of parchment. - The first time we'll deal with basic dueling spells and reaction development. The girls will help us with the reactions - let them practice them too. And then, depending on your success, we'll work with combat magic and non-verbal spells. And then it's not worth guessing - we don't know how much time we'll have. In any case, you won't be back to Hogwarts before a year and a half.

 Ciaran put his wand away, sitting down on a stone ledge that had crawled out of the wall.

 - First, a little theory. I noticed that you were shouting the spell at the top of your voice. That's what most freshmen at the Auror Academy suffer from, though - the louder you shout, the stronger the spell you cast. The power of your magic depends on only one factor - your intention. See for yourself.

 Ciaran pulled out his wand again and quietly but very clearly said:

 - Lumos solem.

 The pale beam of light that came out of his wand dispersed the shadows on the other side of the hall.

 - Now do the same, but with your will, putting your maximum strength into it. Lumos solem.

 The brightest stream of rays illuminated the far corner of the room like a Muggle spotlight.

 - That's the difference. What matters is the intention of the person and the certainty that the spell will work exactly as it should. The only exception, perhaps, is the notorious Avada Kedavra, a forbidden death spell. It requires a fixed amount of power and depends more on the intention to kill, otherwise even the strongest but kindest wizard will fail. Cruciatus, on the other hand, depends not only on the desire to inflict pain, but also on the power invested. But we'll get to the unforgivable spells in a little while. - Catching my surprised look, the auror grinned. - I bet you're just now beginning to realise what we'll be learning in our lessons. I'm not an idealist like Dumbledore, so the division into dark and light magic is not for me. To me, it's better to kill an opponent quickly and efficiently than to rant about how there are spells that can't be used even in the face of mortal danger. Again, it all depends on intent. Not only can pain be inflicted with Cruciatus, but a dozen unbidden light magic spells can be used to kill as well. Now let's work on investing power.

 Obeying the mage's gesture, I raised my wand and tried to create a simple Lumos. A flame of medium strength appeared at the end of my wand.

 - Now close your eyes and try to feel the power flowing through you to light that fire. - The auror casually switched to 'you' in the learning process. - Create and extinguish the light until you feel the difference.

 The auror fell silent, stepping aside. I stood there with my eyes closed, reciting the spells one by one.

 - Lumos," a faint glow at the end of my wand, barely shining through my closed eyelids.

 - Nox, - the light disappears.

 - Lumos, - a flash.

 - Nox, - darkness again.

 - Lumos, - the light is a little brighter, but the difference is almost imperceptible.

 - Nox, - the room is enveloped in gloom.

 - Lumos.

 - Nox.

 - Lumos.

 - Nox.

 - Lumos.

 Slowly, anger flared inside. At myself, unable to understand what the Auror said was the simplest trick, at Ciaran, who was off to the side reading some old manuscript. On Dumbledore, who wants me to kill the Dark Lord, but has taught me nothing, not even as little as I've just learnt.

 - Lumos!!! - the fire at the end of his wand lit up the entire room, but the auror shook his head.

 - Now you shouted the spell again, but that's not what I asked for. Did you feel something when you created the light now?

 - It seemed to me as some tangible breeze came from my hand through the wand.

 - There! And now try to do the same thing quietly, but with your will direct a real hurricane into the wand. Only use Lumos solem, or we'll go blind if you succeed. And don't point your wand at Jean and me-that spell can not only create a beam like a spotlight, but it can also burn out the retinas, which is why it's taught at the Auror Academy.

 Closing my eyes, I tried to replicate the sensation as a hurricane passes into the wand from my hand.

 - Lumos solem.

 - Very good, now see what's left of your spell on the other wall. - Auror looked very pleased.

 As I approached the opposite wall, I saw a clear scorched circle on the stone from my spell.

 - Such a scorched circle means that the mage has a great deal of power invested to the maximum in that spell. That is, you have put all the energy flowing through your body and aura into it now. Over time that amount, your, um, bandwidth as the muggles would say, will increase. But more on that later.

 - Now put less power into this spell, about the same as the last Lumos.

 - Lumos solem. - A rather pale beam illuminated the opposite wall, but nothing like the previous scalding stream happened.

 - This is one of the fundamental skills of a true battle mage. Even the simplest spell, applied in time with the necessary force, can decide the outcome of the battle in your favour. For example, Aguamenti, which is used at school to fill a glass with water or to wash your face if there is no bathtub nearby, can sweep an attacker off his feet with a stream of water if enough force is invested. Lumos Solem - burn out the retina, plus pain shock, a trivial dance spell learnt in first year - causes leg muscles to cramp and acute pain.

 I listened attentively to the auror, amazed at the horizon of new knowledge opening before me.

 - In the end, it all comes down to the intention of the sorcerer.

 - And dark spells? How does intention affect them? - I did not yet fully understand what the auror was trying to tell me.

 - It is for this reason that most dark spells are now banned. Their use is often based on the desire to hurt, to kill. And it's addictive, you know... Aristocrats, who have been studying these spells since childhood, are well aware of the harm of dark magic for humans, and learn to fight the temptation of the dark side of magic, but to wield these spells and enjoy their use, especially against an unprepared opponent - two big differences. The policy of Ministries in all countries to simply ban without explanation all spells of dark magic leads to the fact that most ordinary magicians do not know the reason for such a ban, but willingly buy banned spellbooks, not realising all the possible harm, first of all for themselves.

 - So, knowing about the possible danger of dark spells for the sorcerer, a person can use them in battle without fear?

 - Exactly. Wishing your opponent pain or death, which is part of the aristocrats' training in dueling with dark magic, is one thing. But if you study forbidden spells without understanding this elemental fact - you gradually begin to enjoy other people's pain. That's the difference between a dark mage and a black mage. Dark magician can kill, wishing death to the enemy, black magician - the death of the enemy enjoys, and eventually for him disappears the question of who to kill: a man, a woman, a child. These are the real creatures, unworthy of life. - Auror looked into my wide-open eyes and added. - But there are no such things in the Aurorate, you understand.

 - Now," the Auror stepped half a room away from me. - I'll create a shield, and you try to break through it with Expelliarmus, gradually building up the strength.

 The Auror waved his wand, summoning the usual Protego, which hung between us like a thin golden sheet.

 - Expelliarmus. - A pale red beam flew towards my teacher and dissolved harmlessly into the shield.

 A thin stream of power in my hand: - Expelliarmus. - The beam was already brighter, but just as powerlessly extinguished.

 The stream filled with water, ran faster: - Expelliarmus. - The saturated bright beam moved the shield a couple of steps away, and with a wave of his wand the auror renewed the spell.

 A full-flowing river flowed into my wand: - Expelliarmus. - A thick beam pierced through the brightly flaring defences, and the auror's wand burst from his hand. Ciaran himself did a somersault in the air and landed on his feet, and I remembered again Lockhart's clumsy flight to the nearest wall from Snape's similar spell.

 - That's about what I was talking about. - Ciaran summoned his wand with a wave of his hand, stashing it in his arm scabbard as he went. - The lesson is over for today, my young apprentice. - He smiled, clapping me on the shoulder. - You have a lot of power in you, the main thing is to learn how to control it.

 When I returned to my room and looked at the antique floor clock, I found that it was getting close to dinner time. I took a quick shower, as my clothes smelled of sweat, and changed into clean clothes, discovering that House elf or atelier workers had made a mountain of clothes from my measurements and Henri's calculations, which now clogged my wardrobe. When I heard the sound of a gong inviting the mansion's inhabitants to dinner, I headed downstairs.

 In the corridor, Fleur fluttered out of some alleyway beside me, her bright butterfly of a smile flashing white-toothed, and she took me under her arm and walked beside me as if we were strolling down the street, surrounded by glittering ladies and gentlemen. I involuntarily envied the man whose life would be adorned by this wonderful girl.

Evening of the same day. Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts.

 The summer evening of the Headmaster of the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chairman of the International Confederation of Magicians, Head of the Wizengamot and simply the Great Light Wizard Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore passed very quietly. In the absence of students and most of the teachers, the Headmaster could finally relax, drink his favourite tea and splash a few drops of the Elixir of Life, a gift from Flamel for his hundred and fiftieth birthday. Stroking the phoenix sitting on his lap and sipping small sips of the fragrant tea, the Headmaster enjoyed the rest of the day, slowly reflecting on the results of the year and plans for the near future.

 The fact that Tom had managed to be revived after all was a bad thing. It would have been better if he had remained a useless spirit - a bogeyman for the whole of magical England. Though his revival could be used - Potter would weaken the Lord during the final battle, and the Headmaster would finish him off, gaining the glory of Voldemort's victor, which would be just as well, since the glory of Grindewald's victor was gradually ceasing to work for the cause.

 The old man shook his head, resentful that people had so quickly forgotten the great victory over Grindewald that had drenched all of Europe and parts of Asia in blood. The phoenix moved in the Headmaster's hands, emitting some sort of snarl. Again the relaxed wizard stroked the bird, again sinking into thought.

 Potter must die, that was certain; the Headmaster didn't need any rivals on the political Olympus, and if he defeated the Lord, the boy could easily displace the Light Wizard in all positions, including the Wizengamot, and take his birthright vote on the Council. He needed some training, so that the boy's strength would be enough to duel with the Lord, but not to win. And in general, he, the Headmaster, would be the best person to use the fruits of his fame; the experience of decades of his life would be of much more use to England than the knowledge of an immature boy. So Potter must die.

 But he must die beautifully, so that the death of a national hero would cause resonance in society, panic and hopelessness. And then Albus Dumbledore would once again save the day.

 The main difficulty was the Potters' inheritance... The boy, swamped with relatives, did not want to show signs of attention to young Ginevra Weasley - the only thing the Headmaster mentally cursed the Dursleys for was the boy's complete lack of ideas about what girls were and what they were for. If Potter had been seriously interested in Ginny, an engagement could have been arranged; unfortunately, the guardian had no right to draw up a marriage contract, and after the hero's death, Ginny, and with her the Headmaster, who had great authority with the Weasleys, would receive all the Potters' money. All that remained was to get the insecure teenager drunk on spell potions, for which Molly Weasley had received from the Headmaster a not-insignificant-sized ancient recipe book. Ideally, the ideal would have been to convince Bleck, who had miraculously escaped from Azkaban, to sponsor the Order and Albus's other projects, but... the rebellious wizard had agreed only to insulting one-off handouts, successfully resisting the Headmaster's delicate attempts to get a power of attorney to manage the ancient family's accounts, taking advantage of the fact that Sirius was a wanted criminal and needed a reliable representative.

 M-hmm... Sirius could be a problem too. But to remove one of the strongest wizards, albeit one who has abandoned his family's legacy and has been stripped of some of his family's abilities... The aristocracy would be up in arms if this ancient lineage were to be interrupted, leaving no heirs.

 Albus Dumbledore threw another lemon slice into his mouth and sank into a slight melancholy, caused by the fact that no one understands his desire to make the world a better place, because the great goal before him justifies all means.

 The sad musings of the strongest light mage of the century were interrupted by the fireplace, which rumbled and spat out a fair amount of greasy ashes on the expensive Persian carpet. The headmaster jumped up in his chair and with a wave of his wand saved the delicate pile of the carpet from destruction before looking at the late visitor.

 The shriveled old woman, Arabella, his watcher in Yew Street, looked thoughtful rather than alarmed. But even the mere fact that she was in the Headmaster's office at such a late hour was alarming, and Albus regretfully said goodbye to his dream of sitting in a chair by the fireplace with tea and sweets for the rest of the night.

 - 'I'm sorry to come so late, Albus. But this is a long and not fireside chat. - The old woman, obeying the Headmaster's gesture, sat down in the padded armchair that flew up to her. Another mug and a porcelain teapot also hovered in the air in front of her at the gesture of the wand.

 - What's wrong, Arabella, tell me," Dumbledore decided to nudge the old squib.

 - 'I noticed today that Vernon Dursle, the boy's uncle and Harry's brother, Dudley had changed dramatically. - Arabella Fig sipped her flavoured tea, gathering her thoughts. - They both looked like two beached whales before, and I kept expecting Vernon to have a heart attack or stroke sooner or later because of obesity. And today - they've magically become slim and trim, it can't be the result of Muggle treatment, Muggles take years to achieve such results and there's no guarantee.

- Well maybe the boy got clever and brewed them some kind of potion.....

"- And now he can be prosecuted for violating the secrets of the magical world... Even if these Muggles are part of his family, and they are not subject to this clause of the Statute, but the boy doesn't know about it..."

- That's interesting, Arabella, keep going. - The Headmaster nodded contentedly as another brick to influence Potter stood up in the pyramid of events and actions he had built in his head.

 - Albus, you don't understand, he hates those Muggles, and he hates them deservedly. With all due respect to you, these horrible people are no place for the Boy Who Survived. - The old woman looked at her superior with slight displeasure.

 - Arabella, my dear, you know about the blood protection the child receives from his mother... He should live only with his relatives, and his character will only harden in such conditions, not spoilt, as would happen if I gave him to an aristocratic family.

 - The problem is that Harry hasn't been seen for days, Albus. He's been locked in a cupboard many times before, and I've told you that before.

 - Arabella, please don't start that again," the Headmaster moaned. - Harry's aunt and uncle would never hurt him, except sometimes they're a bit too strict with him.

 - Anyway, Harry hasn't been outside in four days, Albus, so you decide for yourself what that might mean. - The dishevelled, sparrow-like old lady threw the flying powder into the fireplace and went home.

 The headmaster settled more comfortably in his chair, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. In a week or two, when the boy would be pining for his best friends who had suddenly stopped writing to him, an auror would have to be sent to the Dursley house to ascertain that the child might have given away the existence of the magical world by his hasty actions. And another leverage on the Chosen One would be forged. In the meantime, let him rest with his "loving" relatives on Yew.

Same day. Malfoy-Menor.

The gloomy corridors, lit by sparsely hung magical torches, were deserted and silent, with only water dripping from the ceiling. Faint glimmers of light and the sound of footsteps suddenly broke the years-long silence of the deepest underground level in Malfoy-menor.

Lucius Malfoy, carefully keeping a polite, almost servile attention to his interlocutor on his face and in his thoughts, walked ahead of a small procession that was almost impossible to see in the family castle of hereditary aristocrats. Fifteen large men with dumbfounded looks were puffing and panting, dragging various boxes and trunks on their backs.

One of the movers staggered and the trunk on his shoulders began to move away, and Nott, who was walking behind him, snatched up his wand:

- Vingardi..." he began, but there was a loud roar in the corridor.

- No magic! - The Lord's eyes were as clear as a promise to put to death both the careless loader and the aristocrat who had almost spoilt the fragile contents of the crate with a spell.

At the last moment, the loader managed to pick up his burden, preventing the chest from even hitting the stone floor.

- Pull carefully, you fools," the Dark Lord practically hissed at the magically enslaved Muggles as another Imperius-addled loader caught the heavy chest lightly on the doorjamb.

- Lucius-s-s," the reptilian man's heavy gaze made the aristocrat frantically strengthen his mental shields. - I don't know how long I'm going to spend in this dungeon. You will send a man with food and drink to me every day.

- Very well, my lord," Malfoy bowed, his mind twisting in disgust at being equated with servants.

- Don't cringe," surprisingly, Voldemort didn't throw torture curses, though his red eyes flashed with rage. - No magic, much less House elf magic, should be in or near this room.

- 'My lord, may I ask you a question,' Nott senior looked adoringly at his lord, his eyes glittering fanatically.

- Ask," Voldemort replied aloofly, immersed in some thoughts of his own.

- What do you wish to do, my lord? - The man bowed his head in expectation of punishment, but there was none.

- What do I want to do? - The reptilian man's eyes flashed brightly. - Imbecile-Pettigrew couldn't fully perform the revival ritual, he simply didn't have enough s-s-strength.

The wizards bowed low, hiding their facial expressions behind the long hair that had fallen over their eyes, but Voldemort continued.

- 'I do not wish to remain a mixture of s-snake and man.

The heavy, iron-banded door to the deepest dungeon of Malfoy-menor slammed shut, the deadbolt clanking.

The wizards stepped away, wands chasing the stupefied Muggles in front of them. One level up, where it was already much brighter and fresher, Lucius waved his wand and led all of his "wards" into a small hall.

- The Lord didn't say he wanted these alive," Malfoy Sr. said, squeamishly looking at the simple clothes of the Muggles. - AvadaKedavra.

The first body fell softly to the floor. The face of the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time expressed nothing but infinite surprise.

- Avada Kedavra. - The beam from Edmund Nott's wand killed another person.

A moment later it was over, the bodies lying huddled on the floor.

-Sanny! - Malfoy commanded sharply.

The houseboy who had appeared, wrapped in a towel with the Malfoy crest on it, cringed in horror at the sight of so many dead bodies.

- Throw all this rubbish out of here," Lucius hissed. - The apple trees in the orchard have been in need of a good fertiliser for a long time.

The wizards left the room, where the houseboys began to appear and immediately disappear, taking all the evidence of another crime by the revelers out of the room, which in a short time had become a mass grave for those who were now missing in the Muggle world.

- What do you think of all this? - Lucius asked cautiously as they made their way up to the elevated level, settling into chairs by the hotly burning fireplace.

- The lord knows what he's doing," the man stretched out phlegmatically, lighting a cigar.

Malfoy picked up a chest sealed with many deadly charms from the table. Anyone who didn't have a snake-tongued black skull on their hand would immediately die of a disease unknown to almost anyone in England. Anyone who didn't know the password would have been burned in hellfire trying to open the joint creation of Augustus Rookwood and the Lord. But Malfoy knew all the necessary words, carefully and clearly reciting the deactivating trap spells in the proper sequence. Finally yielding to his efforts, the lock clicked open, revealing several scrolls to the wizards' gazes.

- Let's get started... - Malfoy tossed two of the four scrolls to his mate, and the wizards delved into reading the instructions that Voldemort had left for the reborn Order of the Beguiled.