Year Two - Chapter Nine

The blood of the earth had to flow. For without it flowing, there could be no salvation for the sinners, no wicked deed would go unrewarded, and no saint would ever open his eyes to bring forth a holy communion with God. I grimaced at the cold biting into my cheeks as I found myself looking at the rosy cheeked, and yet strangely happy, second years that were both my bane, my curse, and my nonredeemable friends.

Megan Jones was wearing a wool hat, and a scarf with the colors of Hufflepuff. Wayne Hopkins was dressed pretty much in the same way, but had a pair of gloves holding on to a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Amanda was wearing the Ravenclaw's colors, and excitedly looked at the pitch where the Gryffindors students had been harassed for at least a good hour by their captain.

Near us, two Gryffindors stood. I recognized them as Hermione and Ron, but since we exchanged nothing more than a friendly wave, there was no need to chat.

We wouldn't see the Gryffindors practice any time soon though, judging by the way the Slytherin squad was coming into the field. Something interesting was soon going to spark up. I watched, with belated amusement, as words were exchanged and Malfoy proudly lifted his chin up at having been made Seeker of the Quidditch team for Slytherin. They had the Nimbus two-thousand-and-one if I wasn't wrong, or perhaps those were Nimbus two-thousand, or something like that. By next year, Harry would have a Firebolt, so the point was moot in remember the broomsticks' brands.

Amanda was of a different opinion. "All Nimbuses? Damn," she hung her head, "I've got an Oakshaft 12-"

"A what?" I asked, glancing at Amanda.

"An Oakshaft 12, from the year of its production, 1912. It's a solid broom! The predecessor made the Atlantic cross, it was an Oakshaft 79-" Amanda began to say, only to be interrupted.

Megan piped in, strangely knowing more about broomsticks than either I or Wayne had given her credit for. "But doesn't that mean it's without the Horton-Keitch's Braking Charm?"

"Well, yes, it's more likely to overshoot, but it's a solid broom capable of withstanding incredibly tough conditions and high winds! You could sail in a hurricane and emerge-"

"Probably dead," I acquiesced, "The broom would be fine though."

"Do you really have to ruin everything?" Amanda pouted. "There are charms to protect the driver." She huffed.

"Then, please do master them and then show us how bravely you faced the forces of nature and won," I dryly answered. Meanwhile, I heard Hermione speak up about Draco's spot in the Quidditch team.

"No one asked for your opinion, you filthy little mudblood." I heard the word, everyone by my side quieted down, and we all looked as one towards Draco, who had just called Hermione a Mudblood to her face.

"Why you!" Ron's chivalry took the spot, and just as easily so too did the curse come off his wand and explode, sending him backwards. I sighed.

Someone's fingers touched by robes' sleeves. "That was just mean." I looked down at Wayne's expression. Why was he looking up towards me? Why were his eyes saying something like 'Isn't she your friend too?' Why was this Hufflepuff looking at me in wonder and waiting for my next action? I rolled my eyes, and snapped my fingers.

As Ron was dragged away by Harry and Hermione towards Hagrid's hut, I merely glanced at the group of Slytherin players, just so I could keep them in my memories. Then, I smiled. "Accio." I whispered.

Draco's eyes widened as he suddenly bent down in half, his face hitting the ground sharply as I let go of the charm having achieved the desired effect. Nothing like delivering a telekinetic ankle-grab to get someone paranoid.

"Let's leave," I said offhandedly, "Guess we won't be seeing anyone play anytime soon."

Amanda looked downtrodden at that prospect, but since the Gryffindors and the Slytherins kept rambling until the professors arrived to break them up, and a discussion then started between professor McGonagall and professor Snape, it was clear the hours of discussing would stretch for quite a while.

Thus, with my Saturday morning wasted, it was pretty clear that my Saturday afternoon would have me have to recover the time wasted.

The Room of Requirements welcomed me with my usual training apparatus, the mannequins twirling lazily across the floors. This time though, I had dueling books to read and master. One of the first key rules to learn was to not flinch.

"Face your opponent, and gaze at his wand. Expert duelists will know by the motions the spell that will be cast," I muttered as I glanced at the spinning mannequin. I reckoned this was the kind of lesson that would require a living opponent. "The most dangerous are those experts who do not require motion, or word, to throw their spells. Be ever ready to deflect, or parry," I looked at the book's chapters, pretty much dealing with differing conditions. "On the grounds of an honorable duel, no permanent damage is expected. Potions and salves should always be at hand, but discomfort and embarrassment are at the order of the day. The duel is called if the wand is lost to the wizard and not recovered within one minute, or ends in the hands of the opponent."

The Expelliarmus spell was pretty much considered a cult classic. The problem with it wasn't that I didn't like it. It was good. It was an ever-green. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred, it was the perfect spell. It would be slower to speak out than a Crucio though. Thus, it needed more practice. The book went into detail. Removing the opponent's fingers, shattering their wrists, silencing them, or even threatening to curse their mother in the stands behind them were apparently all well-known methods of achieving victory.

Thus, one of the first lessons was to ensure one's parents were never watching the matches from somewhere in sight.

"Wizards are either incredibly dumb or hardcore," I muttered shaking my head, "And I'm not even sure which is which."

One could even vanish the opponent's wand, though then they'd have to pay reparations.

"Footwork," I grumbled, glancing at the wizard's shape. I tapped the book, letting it float happily by my side with a Wingardium Leviosa spell. The man in the picture was holding his left hand behind his back, taking a stance with his legs bent and his appearance quite sourly concentrated on the other wizard in front of him. It was similar to fencing, if with the addition that the wand was kept as far in front of someone's body as possible.

"Minimize area of attack, shorten flight of spells to enemy. Pull back wand to gather time to cast counter-spell," I muttered, reading as I went through the motions. The mannequin remained there, twirling happily in place.

"I know this is going to hurt," I muttered, looking at the wizard ducking and bending, weaving past thrown spells and whatnot. "Hey, Room of Requirements...I need something thrown at me at high speed that I can dodge."

Something rattled in the far off distance of the room. I looked over there, and a wooden trunk that hadn't been there before began to rattle.

It opened, and a bludger, dusty and old, floated up as if confused.

It then found me.

I emitted the manliest of screams as it flew for my body, passing straight through the wooden ribs of a mannequin and shattering them into sawdust.

I threw myself to the side, avoiding the first strike. Then, the bludger took a turn, and came right back at me.

Dodging practice would be had...

...and each broken bone would be a firmly set memory of my failures.