AN: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed and favorited. And a very big Thank You to Lindsiria who helped me with this chapter during all these months and made it happen.

Chapter Fourteen: The Dragons' Treasure

"I'm telling you, I saw nothing."

Back in Gryffindor Tower, inside the first-years boy's dormitory, Hermione sat on Harry's bed, while he paced on the middle of the room.

"His name was right there on the map," Harry said and sighed out in exasperation. "'Lord Voldemort' - I saw his little steps all over the third floor."

"There was nothing there, Harry," Hermione said.

"Maybe you imagined it?" Came Ron's voice from his bed. The boy laid on the mattress, arms under his head, watching his two friends. Ron had already been there when Harry and Hermione arrived.

"I did not imagine it," he said, pivoting. "It was there, I saw it."

"Why didn't you bring the map back with you then?" Ron said. Harry walked up to the window, looking out the dark landscape outside, and crossed his arms. Ron turned to Hermione.

"... Harry was showing it to me, but then we heard footsteps coming from the corridor..." she said. "He panicked and dropped it in the trunk, then dragged us back under the cloak."

He felt his cheeks warm. "She'd have seen us," he grunted. "She almost did."

"Then let's go back tomorrow, or after tomorrow," Ron said. "We can check it again."

Hermione shook her head. "It's impossible. We made a mess — there was no time to put her things back where they were."

"So... she probably knows someone went through her stuff."

"That's right," said Hermione. "She'll guard them better now."

"And no diary?"

"We already told you that."

He heard Ron sigh. "Man, what a disaster."

But diaries were the last thing in Harry's mind at the moment. He knew what he saw on that map.

"Forget about that," he said, twisting to face them. "Voldemort is alive and inside Hogwarts. We have to do something about it."

"Slow down, mate," said Ron, holding a hand up. "How do you know the map's not some joke item from Zonko's or something like that? We can't go believing everything we see."

Harry bit the inside of his mouth. Ron's scepticism as of late was beginning to annoy him. His friend spoke reason, but something inside him couldn't let these things go.

Until then, Harry had not mentioned the meeting with the prince and princess many months before. He had let the possible theft of the Holy Grail slip from all their minds, even his own, focusing instead on solving the mystery of his parents' death. Somewhere along he had forgotten — or perhaps ignored — the two were related, by the way of the culprit. He wasn't supposed to tell, but if there ever was a situation calling for it, this was it.

"I didn't tell you everything..." he began.

He proceeded to disclose what occurred on the night Quirrell smuggled him inside Dumbledore's office, down to what he could remember from their conversation. When he was finished, Ron sat up on his bed, and Hermione's gaze was fixed on the floor.

"... they thought it was someone working for him, but now we know: it's Voldemort himself. He is the thief," Harry finished.

Ron was the first to speak up. "Could've told us," he whined.

"My master asked me not to," Harry said. Ron threw his head back.

"Bloody hell, there's a dark wizard lurking around inside Hogwarts," he said.

"We told you back at Christmas."

"To be honest, I thought you two had lost your marbles." Ron laughed nervously. "This is serious."

"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner," Harry said. "You too, Hermione."

Harry looked at the girl, prepared for everything: hurt and even anger. Hermione, head bowed and wide eyes lowered, was smiling.

"Hermione?"

"... I was right," she said, voice a bit crazed, and chuckled to herself. "It's really a trap… I really solved it."

Harry and Ron stared at her, mouths ajar. Then Hermione jumped to her feet.

"We need to tell someone," she said.

"... glad to have you back," Ron said under his breath, somewhat freaked out.

"It's likely they don't know the thief is inside Hogwarts already, otherwise they would have ensured our safety. Professor Quirrell is gone, and we only have two weeks before the year ends — this is the perfect time for Voldemort to try something. We don't have a choice, we have to go to Professor Dumbledore."

Ron scoffed. "Oh, great idea, Hermione — Professor Dumbledore, we happened to break into the Hufflepuff Common Room yesterday and saw Voldemort's name in a map of Hogwarts we found inside a third-year girl's trunk — Is that true, Miss Granger, perhaps we should look at this map? — Err, the thing is, Professor, only Harry can read his name," he said, changing his voice as he went. "Yeah, that's bound to go well."

Hermione was scowling by the time Ron finished his impersonations. "... is that why you didn't come? Because you thought it was stupid?"

Ron flushed and averted his gaze to the ceiling of his bed. "That's not what I meant," he said. "I wanted to go, I was just… held up."

Neither Harry nor Hermione said anything to that. Though Ron didn't make it in time to accompany them, his talk with Bianca's sister around the same time turned out to be essential for their investigation.

"Ron's right," Harry told them. "He'd never believe us. We must do something else."

"Do you have a plan?" said Ron.

"Not yet..."

"Then we better think of something fast."

However, as the last two weeks of classes passed by, neither of them could come up with a solution for the Voldemort problem. Harry would never quite remember how he got through those final weeks when he half expected Voldemort to get the Holy Grail at any moment. Yet, as the days crept by, and they threw themselves into their activities, there was no doubt that the third corridor had yet to be breached.

Ron spent almost every hour outside of lectures in Duelling Club, while Harry spent his on the Quidditch pitch, where Oliver Wood ran the team through practice drills with a fanatical devotion, preparing for the last game against Hufflepuff. At night, Hermione saw them devour their textbooks and homework for the exams, and the professors seemed to have gained a second wind, pushing them to their limits on the few lessons they had left.

The dreams never left him, and the numbness in his mind continued. Fortunately, exam week was over before he knew it; they were, he was glad to find, easier than he had expected and less complex than Hermione led them to believe. No spell was beyond him, and for the written tests, she had drilled the answers into their heads well enough. Even Ron had to admit, if she knew anything, it was how to study.

The girl herself became a house star as she handed in her projects for the classes. With a soft smile, McGonagall had awarded her a hundred points for a five feet essay and a flawless transfiguration of her desk into a life-sized, jade statue of a panther. Flitwick, Sinistra, and the others followed with more points, and even Binns' ghostly features looked impressed at the detailed biographies of the key figures in the First Goblin Rebellion.

Her last trial took place in the dungeons, on the very last exam of the term — Potions. Winning Snape's points meant she would have achieved the first place in all classes. No easy feat by any means.

Three students were brave enough to turn up with a project. Hermione, Millicent Bulstrode, and Draco Malfoy stood at the front of the class — backs straight as boards, and cauldrons before them. Snape began with Bulstrode and peered at her dark brown mixture.

"What did she make?" Harry whispered to Daphne.

"Looks like Wideye, but the colour's wrong," she murmured back.

A moment later, Snape stepped away from her cauldron without a word and moved on to Hermione's. Harry and Daphne shared a look.

"...this is so boring," a voice muttered behind them, "Why do we have to stay here? The test is over."

They glanced back over their shoulders. Tracey Davis was slouching over the table, face buried in her arms.

"Figures Snape would try to keep the torture on as long he can." Ron sighed by her side. "Can't he give it out already?"

"Yeah, everyone knows Granger's gonna win," Tracey said.

"Hmm — I'm not so sure," Daphne said. Tracey raised her head, and Ron snickered.

"She hasn't lost a single time yet," he said.

"Granger's made a Pepperup potion," Daphne said, turning to inspect the contents of Hermione's cauldron again. "But it looks something thicker than it's supposed to be. Draco's looks better."

Snape, who by then stood in front of Malfoy, stepped away and announced: "A perfectly brewed Hiccoughing Solution, Mr Malfoy. One hundred points to Slytherin."

A joyous murmur ran among the green-clad students in the classroom, and Daphne turned to the redhead boy with a smirk. At the front, the three were left to pick up their belongings and return to their seats, and downcast Hermione joined Pansy Parkinson, who did nothing to hide her smug grin.

Ron glowered at Daphne. "If you're so good," he said. "Why didn't you make something?"

"I've won Slytherin enough points already," the blonde said. "And I'll be winning the potions competition in three days."

"Confident, isn't she?" Ron said to Tracey.

"That's Daphne for you. And you, Ron? Are you feeling confident for Monday?"

Ron crossed his arms. "You bet I am," he said, but Harry caught the slight trepidation in his voice. "Snape won't be able to play favourites when I knock Malfoy out of the platform and on his arse."

Snape, Harry had learned, was the professor responsible for the Duelling Club and oversaw most of their official activities such as competitions. Harry alternated with Fred, George, and Lee between watching the duels whenever the Potions Professor was referring, afraid he might catch on their financial enterprise.

"Heh, that would be interesting to see," said Tracey. "Are you two coming to watch the tournament?"

"No," Daphne said before Harry could even open his mouth. "It's at the same time as our contest."

"Sorry, Ron," Harry said.

The redhead shrugged. "It's alright."

Harry watched Tracey from the corner of his eyes. "I didn't know you liked to watch duels."

"Why would you? You almost never go," Tracey said. "Ron is my follower number two - of course I'd go to see him compete."

He sniggered. "Who's number one?"

"Daphne," she said. "But I'll let you be number three if you ask nicely."

Harry smiled. He had come to know the girl better during his weekly sessions of potion-making with her friend, on which Tracey would sometimes tag along out of sheer boredom. Daphne had been right about the girl: she was one of the silliest he ever met — her dream was to one day become a Dark Lady. Sometimes, he even suspected she was serious.

He also liked the girl for another, simpler reason: she was the one other person he saw to wear round-rimmed spectacles. About his own height and just as thin, if not for her light brown hair and dark blue eyes their resemblance would have been striking.

Snape chose that moment to dismiss the class, and unlike the other professors, he offered no words of parting or wished them a good vacation. The massive summer homework he handed out the week before.

Harry was halfway to the exit when Snape called him back.

"Potter, stay."

Harry halted on his feet, and Ron stared at him with wide eyes before being dragged away by Tracey. Daphne glanced at him, before leaving with them. A feeling of deja vu hung over Harry as the students emptied the room and the great double doors closed behind them. It was gone as soon as he glanced over the teacher's desk. She had been standing; Snape was sitting down.

"Sir?" He said, walking up to the front of the classroom. Snape rested his elbows on the wood and had his fingers interlaced. His ugly face betrayed nothing.

"Your… master has contacted me," Snape said. Harry fought to keep his own expression still. "She requested that I register you for the annual Duelling Championship."

After two months with no news from her, hearing about Quirrell from Snape left a bad taste in Harry's mouth. Where was she? What happened after she ran back to her bedroom, yelling for him to go back to the Common Room? Was she all right? Why couldn't she speak to him?

He said nothing, and Snape continued.

"You are past the due date for entries, and your performance in this class is lamentable, to say the least," said Snape, a sneer founding its usual place on his chapped lips. "Tell me, Potter, why should I grant you the special treatment you so obviously crave?"

Snape seemed to be under the impression Harry himself had asked Quirrell to make that request. The heat crept up Harry's neck, and he looked away from the man, to the blackboard behind him. Written in white chalk were the instructions for that day's potion — topics to be addressed on their test. Quirrell hadn't used hers once, he remembered.

"Because I would probably win."

His eyes returned to the professor, in time to see the small, condescending smile melt away. Snape's hand slip off the desk, and he reclined back against his chair. For a long while, neither spoke.

"Did you know, Potter," Snape said, his voice dropping an octave, "Years ago, I happened to be acquainted with your father?"

Harry hid his surprise but just barely.

"No, Professor," he replied. The connection came so fast he didn't know how he had never thought of it before. Snape and his parents had worked for Voldemort — if anyone could tell him about their time under his service, that person would be the potions master.

"Your bear a striking resemblance to him," Snape said, and Harry recalled the young man in the mirror that stared at back him with a face that was his own. The professor seemed to catch his thoughts from the air, and an expression of curiosity took over his features. "Not your face. Like you, he convinced himself of his exceptional talent. A praise here, a word of acclaim there left him with a head so swollen we had to wonder how his body sustained the weight of it."

Harry grasped the sides of his robes. It was obvious then why the man never approached him to discuss the matter. Snape disliked his father as much as he did Harry. How could he not when Voldemort himself had killed James Potter? His dad must have done something to upset them all, the dark wizards.

"In the end, his arrogance amounted to less than nothing." Snape peered at him with cold eyes. "You would do well to learn from him and not bite into more than you can chew."

"My father was a hero," Harry blurted out, temper flaring. "He ended the war. He wasn't like you."

To his horror, Snape smiled. It was an ugly sight, cold and cruel.

"It seems you're not completely ignorant then. Is that the fantasy you've cooked up in that pompous head of yours?" The professor said, so amused Harry felt he might vomit. "Your father, righteous man he was, stood up to the evil dark wizard and gloriously went out fighting for what is good and just, taking the villain down with him. Is that right, or might have I missed any details?"

Harry bit his tongue. Snape voicing out loud the thoughts swimming in his mind for so long made him sick.

"I will allow you to take part in the tournament. You shall have the chance to discover how mediocre you truly are."

"Is that everything, sir?" Harry said from between clenched teeth.

"You may leave."

He turned and marched on heavy steps towards the door. The handle was on his grasp when Snape spoke again.

"Your father was not a hero, Potter, and neither are you."

Outside, he found Ron, Tracey, and Daphne waiting for him. Hermione must have gone ahead without them.

"What did Snape want?" Ron said as soon he stepped out.

"He… gave me a message from Quirrell."

"Oh, right," said Ron as they walked away from the potions classroom. "Anything important?"

"She wanted me to know she's doing fine," he lied. "Told me to study hard for the exams. I'm almost certain Snape was supposed to tell me earlier."

Ron snorted. "He was hoping you'd do bad."

"He's out of luck," said Harry.

Tracey fell in step next to Ron. "You're always assuming Professor Snape is terrible."

"I'm not assuming," Ron replied. "I can see it clearly."

"I'm not saying Malfoy isn't a good brewer," Hermione was telling them on Monday morning. "I'm just asking how can someone honestly rate a second-year potion below a first-year one. It's so much more complex! Did you know we have to buy at least the double amount of what we bought this year and fifteen new ingredients for the next one? Do you know what they're for?"

Harry's cup stopped on his lips. Hermione was looking straight at him. He glanced at Ron, who had sausage on his fork halfway to an open mouth.

"Brew potions?" he said.

"Second year introduces medicinal potions," she continued. "Some of them take days to be finished and if not made properly, they can have devastating effects on your health. A Pepperup can save you from hypothermia. Compare that to stopping… hiccups. It's ridiculous, don't you think?"

"I do, it's bollocks," said Ron. The plate on his legs was empty and had his eyes on Hermione's toasts. "You're gonna eat that?"

"And it wasn't even that good," Hermione went on. "The book says the Hiccoughing Potion should be the colour of cinnamon, but that was clearly cocoa brown."

Harry downed the rest of his pumpkin juice, setting the cup on the low table in front of their seats. They were having breakfast in Gryffindor Tower as the Great Hall was closed due to the Duelling Championship preparations, and he had never seen the Common Room so full. It had forced Neville Longbottom and him to share an armchair so they could all eat together.

"I… have to duel Malfoy today," Neville spoke from his side. His skin had a greenish tone to it, beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and his breakfast remained untouched. "He's going to clobber me."

They had scheduled the first and second-year stages of the Duelling Championship for later that day in the Great Hall, and the stakes, Harry knew, were not in favour of the plump boy. Malfoy was one of the best duellists in their year, while Neville was… less than exceptional.

"You don't know that," Hermione bit out. "There is no way Malfoy had the time to make that potion and practice for the tournament. I'm sure you'll do fine."

Neville whimpered. "I haven't won a single duel yet, Hermione. I wish I could stay here."

"There's always the first time, and you are a better wizard than Malfoy will ever be," said Harry. He let that rest for a moment before adding, "But if you don't like it, why did you join the club?"

"My grandma said I had to. All great wizards are part of it during their time at Hogwarts," said Neville, playing with this food. "My dad too."

"But if you don't want to..." Harry said.

"I think your grandma's right," said Ron. "Just treat it like… homework! No one likes homework, but we all have to do it, don't we? It's the same. Plus, there were a lot of famous members, even the Usurper."

That didn't seem to motivate the boy, and he shrunk even more in his side of the seat.

"Are you sure that's good advice, Ron?" Hermione chided the redhead, and Harry faced away from the discussion that followed to meet the approaching form of Oliver Wood.

"Hey, Harry," he said, crouching down to his eye-level. "How it's going? Look, you know how we have the last match of the year, right? Hufflepuff."

"I do."

"Well, you know how your friend Greengrass got us in a tight spot. It's bad but not as bad as the previous years — what I'm trying to say is: we're not out yet. All we need is a three-hundred points score and a two-hundred points lead difference, and the cup is ours."

"But we never scored that high!"

Wood made a face. "I know. But I think I may have a solution — you're not in any other clubs, are you? "

Harry shook his head.

"Good, good… The match's happening on Thursday, second to last day before we gotta catch the train back home. We have little time, but what do you say we fit in a couple practice rounds later in the afternoon until the match?"

"Do you think that could help?" Harry said.

"Worth a shot, right?" Wood said hopefully.

"...right."

"Knew I could count on you, Harry." Wood smiled, patted him on the shoulder and left.

The grandfather clock by the door read half to ten; a little over three hours until the start of the potions competition and the duelling championship. He had put off deciding to which he would go for as long could, but time had run out. In truth, he had already decided. If there was even a remote chance he would meet Quirrell, he had to be in the tournament.

Over the weekend, Harry tried to convince himself many times he wasn't feeling anxious, but it was hard to shake the sensation that some giant, unseen hands were ticking on the clock of his life. One week to the end of the term and time was running in more ways and… for more people than one. Wood wasn't the only person counting on him.

"I have to go," said Hermione, rising to her feet and running a hand over her robes. "The journal wants to cover all the events as soon as they start and they're gonna need everyone ready as early as possible."

"Good luck, Hermione," said Harry and Neville together. Ron grumbled something under his breath.

"Thank you, and good luck to you too. I'll see you all later today back in the Tower," she said and left. The boys lingered behind until they had all finished their breakfasts, at which point Ron dragged Neville away with him for some last minute practice.

At one o'clock the common room was almost empty, the students had left to watch the beginning of the competitions; most likely gone to the Great Hall. Harry sighed and stood up.

Despite the time they took to set it up, the place wasn't that different from its everyday form. A single, long table was placed on the middle of the hall, and dozens of smaller chairs surrounded it. The tall and wide windows bathed the room in natural light, though Harry suspected there might be there some enchantment to keep the sun from hitting the duellers' eyes.

Being the first and second years cup, few students had shown up to watch, but at the high table, several professors had turned up, including McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout, but no Snape. Or Quirrell.

Harry found a familiar brunette head among the crowds of students, and Tracey turned to him when he sat down next to her.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" Was the first thing she said.

"I'm going to compete," he said.

"What? No, you aren't. Your name isn't even in. And what about Daphne? You're supposed to be working with her in the potions competition."

"I'm not going."

"Why? You're not making any sense," Tracey said, shaking her head. "You know Daphne can't compete without you, right?"

"I know."

"Then what ar—"

"I'm sorry, okay?!" Harry whispered forcefully. "Professor Quirrell asked Snape to sign me in, I had to come."

"And you didn't have a choice?"

Harry stayed silent for a second then shook his head.

"When was that?"

"Friday."

"When Professor Snape asked you to stay behind?" Harry nodded and watched Tracey's eyes slowly enlarge behind her round spectacles.

"What?" was his turn to say.

"You said Quirrell wished you luck on the exams. You lied... Daphne is going to be soooo mad at you!"

"That's why I didn't tell her — I'll just apologise later."

Tracey sent him a look that made him feels like she was pitying him immensely.

"Did it start already?" He changed the subject.

"A couple minutes ago," she said. "There were two duels already. Draco beat one of you Gryffindors bad."

Harry felt for Neville, but that didn't surprise him. Years one to four were competing on the first day of the tournament, and the youngest were up first. It was rare that duel between eleven years old took more than three minutes.

"Where's Ron? Did he go already?" Harry said.

"No, but he's the next after Hufflepuff."

As if on cue, the referee, a seventh-year from the club, called the names of Adamaris Hufflepuff and her adversary.

She settled on one end of the table while her first-year opponent from Ravenclaw stood on the other. The boy adopted the basic stance taught by the club: body facing the other duellist and arm folded upward. Adamaris had a personal one of one arm positioned behind her back and the other outstretched forward.

"Ugh, I hate her," Tracey said.

Harry did not share Tracey's sentiment for the Hufflepuff but he could not deny he found in Adamaris everything he thought he would find in Daphne. Every time he saw the girl, friends surrounded her, laughing at some joke or another people looked eager to tell her. Always at the centre, always at the front. Despite this, she paid little attention to them once they finished entertaining her. And in classes, though he knew she did well, she seemed to dislike all the ones they shared.

To tell the truth, even after witnessing what he did in the Hufflepuff dormitories, Harry preferred her sister — the lonely, but kind, Bianca.

"She's gonna start with a charm," he told Tracey.

"How d'you know?" she said.

"Her arm. She's already pointing because of the wand motions — saves time," he said. His master had taught him so in one of their private lessons.

Tracey nodded. "Hmm."

The duel didn't last thirty seconds. The Ravenclaw boy missed his spell by a head after which Adamaris proceeded to levitate his clothes. Up in the air and swinging his arms, trying to fight the charm, the boy was an easy target for the Knockback Jinx. The girl hit him in the chest, and a moment later the Ravenclaw fell out of the platform.

She was good, but Harry couldn't help but think it was a risky move opening that way. She had expected the boy to miss, so she could have time to focus on his robes and charm them. Were Harry her opponent, he would not have given her that chance. First, he would not have missed. Second, he would not have stopped casting and wait to see if it had hit like many first, second, and even third-years did.

But then again, maybe she would not have used such a strategy against him.

The Hufflepuff hopped out of the table under the applause of the professor and fellow students and strolled back to her friends. At the other side of the room, Harry saw Ron and his own opponent getting ready to climb on the makeshift platform. It would be a few moments before they began.

"That was fast," said Tracey, sounding a little impressed.

"Yeah, she's the favourite for the first-year Duelling cup," Harry told her.

"What?! No! I bet Ron can beat her," Tracey replied and raised her nose into the air. "I wager I can beat her with my sword."

"How long is that sword?"

"Long enough, I reckon."

Ron and the other boy had clambered up the table to stand in the usual positions opposite to each other. They waited for a moment, then the referee gave his signal.

They both started with the Knockback Jinx, a popular spell among first years. Ron hit the other boy on the shoulder, and the boy hit him on the leg, but it was not enough to knock down either of them. Next, Ron's opponent directed the wand motions of Harry knew to be the tickling charm.

"Flipendo!" shouted Ron. He hit his adversary somewhere around his stomach and shoved the boy back a couple feet onto the tab.

Good one, Ron, Harry thought, and Tracey cheered beside him. The other boy had been hasty and paid for it.

As per rules of duels, Ron waited for him to get back up. Once his opponent stood, they remained in their spots, Ron having an advantage as his opponent stood on the edge. At the prompt, they restarted, casting jinxes and hexes at the other. As it was, duels between first-years didn't last long, and the end soon came as the boy hit Ron's shoes with a sticking charm, depriving the redhead of the few steps he was allowed to take to avoid spells.

"Oh no," Tracey breathed beside him.

Ron's adversary seemed to take a moment to appreciate his own move. Ron, however, wasn't done.

"Petrificus Totalus!" He yelled. The other boy went rigid and, after a moment when he swayed on his feet, fell flat on the table.

"Yes!" Tracey shouted, jumping to her feet.

With his opponent unable to continue, the referee declared Ron's victory, undid the charms on the boys, and told them to leave the platform. Tracey skipped to the redhead, with Harry walking behind. They reached him as he jumped out the platform.

"Congratulations, Ron!" Tracey chirped and tapped him on the shoulder. "You did great, and I have to say I expected nothing less from one of my followers."

"I'm not your follower," Ron said. He took out his gloves and threw them on a chair. "But thanks — I thought I was finished there for a second."

"It was brilliant, Ron, good thinking with that spell," said Harry, stepping closer.

"I don't think I've seen that one yet and I come here a lot," Tracey said.

"You don't come here a lot," Ron protested. "Anyway, that was the Full Body-bind Curse. Hermione found it in some book in the Library. Wicked, isn't it?"

Tracey whistled. "A curse, hum? Bringing out the dark stuff — I like it."

"Curses aren't dark," said Ron.

"Not all of them," said Harry. "Depends on what they do."

"Oh yeah, I think I remember Professor Quirrell saying something like that," Tracey said, nodding to herself. "Still, you're slowly proving yourself worthy, Ron, we'll make a dark wizard of you yet."

Ron ignored her.

"So you've finished with potions already?" he said to Harry.

Harry hesitated for a moment. "I didn't go," he said, and Ron's eyebrows rose slightly. Before Ron could reply, Harry hurried on, "Quirrell wants me to compete."

"Oh, that makes sense, she must want to know how much you've improved," Ron said. "Did you see her?"

"It was a message. Snape told me."

Ron made a face at the mention of the Potions professor, but before he could say anything a voice carried over to them.

"... and Harry Potter!"

It was the seventh-year referee summoning him forward to the platform. Harry's opponent was already there, wearing full yellow-coloured duelling robes and eyes fixed on him. She was a girl in Harry's year with shoulder-length red hair and a slightly round face, and her name was Susan, he remembered from somewhere.

In his regular school robes, Harry rose up to the table.

At the referee's words, they bowed, then Susan assumed a strange position: she raised her left arm, pointing directly at Harry, her right curved above her head, like a scorpion's tail. One her legs was also up, folded against her body. He did not understand what she intended to do with it, but the other one was already shaking under her weight.

He lost no more time and got himself into the stance his master had taught him. Facing forward in profile, legs apart just so, and arm raised across the body. Harry had practised the position countless times; the thought he had it perfected was a secret pride of his.

"On three," the referee said, "one… two… three!"

In a breath, before Susan had even opened her mouth, Harry's spell had left his wand and was well on its way. A second one was on his lips as the girl was pushed off her foot, landing hard on her back outside the platform.

It took a couple seconds for everyone to realise the match was over. The seventh-year looked unsure if he should declare Harry the winner or check on the fallen girl. Flitwick's excited claps, soon joined in by the other professors, helped him make his mind. Harry left the platform with ten points more for Gryffindor and instructions to await the announcement of his next adversaries.

"Wow," Tracey said when he rejoined them at the chairs.

"Just caught her off-guard, that's all."

"Are you sure? You didn't waste a second," said Tracy. "Didn't know you were so good. Did you know, Ron?"

"I... didn't know," Ron said. A light frown wrinkled his face. "Did Professor Quirrell teach you that, Harry?"

"We practised duelling a bit."

"Are you trying to be modest? It's so obvious!" Tracey said with a laugh.

Harry felt his cheeks warm up and faced away from them.

Comprising short duels filled with badly aimed spells and clumsy incantations, the remaining matches for the round weren't as interesting. The second one started with a different tune though as the referee called Adamaris' name up to the platform. Harry, Ron, and Tracey watched the Hufflepuff and another second-year Gryffindor take their positions and stances with varying levels of interest in their gazes.

"Do you think she's good, Harry?" Ron asked him, eyes on the girl.

"I think so," he said. Enough that Harry wasn't sure he could beat her.

"I haven't won against her yet, you know?" Ron said. "I've come this close, but she always gets me in the end."

"But, Ron, you've been practising so much lately," Tracey said, "I know you can do it!"

Despite the girl's encouraging words, watching Adamaris demolish her adversary in the next minute was anything but. In that space of time, her adversary was hit with three enchantments, got cursed, and missed numerous spells before finally falling off the table to his defeat. It was a marvel he even lasted that long.

They said nothing between the three as they awaited the next competitors to be called. Harry sympathised with Ron, he wanted his friend to succeed in the tournament, but it would be so much better if everything moved along faster. Quirrell must have asked him to be there for a reason.

"Ronald Gryffindor..." the referee called, and the redhead rose from his chair. "... and Harry Potter!"

Ron's head snapped back at him, their eyes found each other, and seconds passed without either moving at all. They called their names again, and Harry finally rose to his feet. Together, they started the walk to the platform.

"Good… luck..." Tracey said after them, frowning.

They jumped up to the table then took their positions at the opposite ends. Shifting into their duelling stances, they readied their wands.

Well, whatever happens, happens, though Harry. It's only a duelling match.

"On three. One - two - three!"

"Flipendo!" They both shouted at once. As Harry expected, his spell hit Ron square in the stomach, making the boy bend over himself in pain. Harry didn't stop and went for the second jinx, but a blow caught his arm in its arc, twisting it out of the trajectory. Ron's aim had been truer than he thought.

Ron took his chance and threw the Jelly-Legs Curse at him, which Harry ducked before sending another Knockback at his friend. With a THUD, Ron fell onto the platform clutching at his shoulder. Having hit his opponent two times and still not won the duel, Harry had to wait for Ron to rise to his feet.

The boy did so, while rubbing a spot on his arm which Harry imagined, eased the pain. He wanted to apologise to his friend for putting more power into the spell than was necessary, but that wasn't an option in front of so many people.

Red-faced and thin-lipped, Ron fixed his eyes on Harry's wand, and pointed his own straight at him. What are you planning, Ron? Harry thought. A charm? Slow but dangerous… Another Knockback? Too predictable…"Start!"

"Titillando!" Ron shouted, and a purple jet of light hurried at him. Too fast to dodge, Harry slashed his wand at it, dispersing the curse in the air. Seeing his spell fail, Ron did not waste time before yelling a hex, "Rictusempra!" Which Harry blocked again. "Tarantallegra!" Blocked. "Locomotor Mortis!" Blocked. "Colloshoo!" Blocked. "Locomotor Wibbly!" Blocked. "Tarantallegra! — Titillando! — Rictusempra! — Rictusempra! — Rictusempra!"

All blocked.

Ron, unable to hit him with a single curse, hunched over himself, breaths coming fast in and out of his chest. Drops of sweat were running down the side of his face while his eyes stayed on Harry.

"How are you doing this?" Ron exploded. "How?!"

Harry swayed his wand at him and shouted, "Titillando!"

The redhead straightened himself and, like Harry had done before, made to block the spell. He was nowhere near as fast though, and the curse found its mark. At once, the boy burst out laughing, clenching his sides as purple hands tickled him all over. He fell on the platform, rolling over.

A small smile sprouted on Harry's lips at the display. It wasn't so bad they ended up adversaries, right? They were still having fun. Only… Ron's laugh was alone in the hall. All around, the students were watching with humourless expressions at their duel. Tracey, on her chair, looked as if she was cursed herself.

His eyes turned back to Ron as the sound of laughter died. The boy was back up, wand once more in his hand, grasped tight in white fingers. Somehow, he had retrieved it and cast the counter-curse on himself. Technically, the duel was still going on, as they had neither been hit two times.

At that moment, a thought he hadn't considered yet struck Harry: what if he let Ron win? He doubted his master called him there just to take part in that tournament. As long as he was there, it wouldn't matter.

But what if he was wrong, and whatever Quirrell wanted his help with required that he stayed in until the end? What if he really had to win? If he missed the chance to be there for her, he would never forgive himself.

He noticed, almost too late, he was spacing out. Ron was half-way through the wand motions of the Full Body-bind Curse.

No, Ron, Harry thought. He raised his arm in an arc across himself, shouting, "Expelliarmus!"

The deep red light found the boy in the middle of his incantation, shoving him back to the end of the platform. Surely the duel was over, and Harry extended his hand to receive Ron's wand. His fingers closed on empty air though, and Ron was rising once again with dishevelled hair and messed up robes, but wand firmly in his grasp.

Harry scowled this time. He still hadn't perfected the Disarming Spell, even after all the months he had spent practising. His master had shown him it in February. The hours he had spent in the Quirrell's duel range casting all these spells until his arm ached were nothing to laugh at. Anything less than perfection was ridiculous. Wasn't this the reason he was supposed to be here?

I'll finish this, he thought. Two faced each other, readying themselves for another round. Nothing seemed to move as Harry waited for the sign from the referee. He would hit with everything he had; his friend deserved that at least.

Ron raised, stepped into a stance again, then promptly fell on his face.

What?

His friend laid unmoving on the wooden table, and for several seconds Harry waited for him to move again He didn't.

Then, all around Harry, bodies fell.

The seventh-year referee had fallen to the ground near the platform, while the students watching had fallen where they stood. By the chairs, the students lopsided on the seats or straight onto each other's laps. At High Table, the professors had collapsed onto the table.

All of them had their eyes closed as if in a deep slumber. He was the only one left standing.

Harry shook Ron, but no matter how hard he tried, his friend wouldn't respond. Neither did any of the others as Harry moved from Tracey to the other girls nearby. Even the Professors stayed fast asleep. Their eyelids hadn't even twitched.

It dawned on Harry then: this was it. He didn't know exactly what, but he knew it had to do with the Holy Grail. If Quirrell had any purpose in her actions with him helping her catch the thief, now was the time.

The walk up to the third floor was the quietest trip Harry took inside Hogwarts. Students laid about the corridors like forgotten mannequins, and somewhere on the steps leading up the stairs Peeves hovered aimlessly, eye closed and mouth hanging. Even the portraits were asleep in their canvas.

The door in the Forbidden Corridor was already open when he arrived. Just like in Halloween, slightly ajar — invitingly so.

He pushed it open and walked in.