Chapter 104

"Having friends and allies you can trust," Cedric said. "Something that Dark Wizards always lack, which is why they are always defeated."

"A t-true H-Hufflepuff answer," Quirrell said. "I'm s-sure H-Helga h-herself w-would agree w-with you wholeheartedly."

Milo realized that, while Quirrell seemed to be choosing people from the crowd completely at random, a suspiciously large number of them — that is to say, all of them — seemed to be PCs or major NPCs.

"Put Cedric on the List," Milo whispered to Harry. "We'll be seeing more of him, count on it."

"M-Mister P-P-Potter," Quirrell said, "the only w-wizard here to s-survive an encounter w-with Y-Y-You-Know-Who. W-what w-would you say is the s-s-secret to your s-success?"

Harry, almost alone among the Hogwarts students, hadn't raised his hand.

"Um," he said. "Well, I mean, I don't really know. So... I would have to say luck. A million factors that neither wizard really knows about come into play, and could result in, well, like you said. Me surviving against You-Know-Who."

"A-and what about you, M-Mister M-Milo of the lengthy last name?" Quirrell asked. "What determines the victor?" Hmm, Milo thought. Good question. Most people would say the highest level wizard wins, but that's not always true, now is it? A high-level Wizard optimized for basketweaving and lute-playing would be crushed by a properly-optimized lower-level Wizard.

"The wizard who memorizes and casts the most appropriate spells wins," Milo said. "Unless, like Harry said, the other one rolls a well-timed twenty. Er, that is, gets in an exceptionally lucky shot. But you can't count on that."

"Indeed you c-cannot," Quirrell said, "which b-brings me to the m-most important f-factor in a d-d-duel," he paused dramatically, letting everyone wonder what he was going to was going to say. "Strategy. As any spell — w-with the obvious exceptions, of c-c-course — c-can be c-countered, the d-duel goes t-to whichever wizard that d-doesn't m-make the f-first mistake. C-Curses, H-Hexes, Charms, and their c-counters can all be t-taught, learned, and p-p-practised in a straightforward m-manner — which we w-will g-get to, in g-g-good t-time — but g-good strategy, and thinking q-quickly on your f-f-feet cannot be w-without m-much difficulty. S-so th-that is where we w-will start." Quirrell gave his wand a complicated little wave and the Great Hall tables rolled into the centre of the room from their resting places at the edges. "And there is no better way to develop strategy than with chess." Sitting on the tables were hundreds of neatly-placed wizard chess sets with a pair of small red tags sitting next to each. "Everyone g-grab a p-partner and a tag," Quirrell said. "The w-winner of the m-match t-t-takes the loser's t-tag and challenges s-someone with a l-like number of t-tags. The l-losers will k-keep playing a-against other l-losers until they r-realize their m-mistake. W-we w-will continue until w-we find the b-best strategist, and therefore d-duellist, a-among you."

The Hogwarts students stared up at Quirrell in a stunned silence.

"Chess," Malfoy said flatly. "We're going to play chess. Why are we listening to this stuttering idiot, anyways? He's afraid of his own shadow."

"H-have you ever entered a n-nest of v-vampires, M-Mister M-M-Malfoy," Quirrell asked, "and s-survived w-with only a st-st-stutter to show f-for it?"

"Well —"

"N-no," Quirrell interrupted. "You h-have not. Y-you will either p-pick a p-partner, Mister M-Malfoy, or y-you will l-leave and w-w-wonder for the n-next t-twenty years why you are the w-w-worst d-duellist of your g-generation."

"Why twenty years?" Draco asked despite himself.

"An optimistic estimate of your l-lifespan should you ch-choose to f-forgo these l-lessons."

Malfoy paled and sat down across from Goyle, clipping a red tag to his lapel.

"This is ridiculous," Milo muttered to Hermione, his chess partner. "Skill Ranks in Profession (Chessmaster) have no bearing on one's ability to stomp squishy wizards."

"See, the thing is," Hermione said, "I know what all of those words mean in and of themselves, but the way you string them together... it's like someone handed a book of Mad Libs to a Confunded Troll."

"I'm a Confunded Troll, am I?" Milo asked with a slight edge in his voice. "Well you're blind to the story unfolding before your very eyes."

"Blind?" Hermione asked, a dangerous glint entering her eyes. "No, you're just convinced this is some storybook fairytale land where everything happens for a reason. And not a good reason, mind, but a stupid, trite, clichéd reason."

"Not a story," Milo said, placing his pieces on the board, "an adventure. Completely different school of magic."

"Real life does not have adventures!" Hermione said, her voice growing louder. "It has rules, responsible adults, homework, and grades!"

"I think we've more or less exhausted the possibilities of this conversation," Milo said coolly. "Roll for Initiative, bookworm."

Hermione, playing white, naturally won Initiative. She sent one of her Commoners forwards, breaking their naturally defensive spear-wall and leaving her Aristocrats vulnerable to a cavalry charge from Milo's flanking Knights.

"My left and right Clerics cast Wall of Stone and Flame Strike, respectively," Milo declared, "while the Commoners garrison these towers and ready an action to provide covering fire should any white soldiers enter range of their crossbows. The Knights run up to this position," he placed the two horses near Hermione's Clerics to Attack of Opportunity them should they try to cast anything, "and my Aristocrats take a full defence action."

"Er," Hermione said. "You can only move one piece on your turn."

"Oh, we're tracking individual Initiatives? Okay. In that case, Flame Strike. Let's see some Reflex Saves, now, shall we?"

"Why me?" Hermione asked the air dramatically. "Why? What did I ever do to deserve this? You know what? Here. Just take my tag, I forfeit. It's just not worth it. I'll go play with Neville in the corner." Hermione stalked off as Milo clipped Hermione's tag to his robes under his own.

"One down," he smirked. "Four hundred to go."

"Blimey," said one of Milo's Clerics. "I don't think you quite understand how this works, do you?"

"Holy Crap! You can talk?"

o—o—o—o

It didn't take long for Ron to win a small hoard of victory tags (crushing Milo mercilessly in the process), leaving him with only one opponent in his level: Cedric Diggory, the Uber-Hufflepuff.

The hundreds of defeated students gathered around, causing such a disturbance that Milo conjured up a massive illusory chess set in the air that mimicked Ron's and Cedric's moves. The game progressed largely in silence, save for the occasional "check" from either player, as the two masters stared at the board in deep concentration.

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