Troll: 53. Behold, the dark art called friendship. (Patreon)

Chapter 53: Behold, the dark art called friendship.

Blaise ZabiniHogwarts, Great Britain

I sat in an empty classroom, munching on the house elves’ best approximation of a pupusa. The filling was classic–cheese, beans, and pork–but the dough was a bit too flimsy to hold it all. That, and the only pickled cabbage the elves had was German sauerkraut. It still tasted pretty good for a novice foray into El Salvadoran cuisine.

The desks of the classroom had been removed at my request. I marked out a few lines on the brick floor with a bit of chalk, copying the dueling stage used by the International Dueling Circuit. I also took the time to line the walls and floor with cushioning charms, just enough to make sure getting thrown around wouldn’t hurt too much.

This was to be where I practiced dueling for the foreseeable future. Typically, I would have used the Room of Requirement, but I wouldn’t be alone today. Even if I trusted Cheryl Dupree to keep her mouth shut, we’d likely draw attention; too many people knew about our arrangement.

The fourth year arrived at precisely the time I’d predicted. Her gray, hawk-like eyes swept the room, landing on the half-eaten pupusa in my hand. “You’ll be throwing that up, you know that, right, Zabini?”

“Oh? Them’s fightin’ words, Dupree,” I chuckled. I crammed the last of my lunch into my mouth and stood. “You think your wand’s faster than foresight?”

“No, of course not. I don’t need to be faster than your bullshit powers. I just need to be faster than you.”

“Heh, true that. Alright, how do we do this?”

She reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a book. It was thin, probably only twenty parchment pages, if that. She tossed it my way. “For starters, read that.”

“The Duelist’s Compendium? Thanks, but how is it any different from any other DADA book?” I asked as I gave it a cursory flip. It was well-worn and stamped with the seal of the International Dueling Conference on one corner.

“I got it a few years back when my uncle took me to my first International Dueling Competition. It’s basically the beginner’s guide to competitive dueling.”

“You went to the IDC before? I thought this would be your first time.”

“To watch. A family friend competes every year. He’s pretty good, even if he’s never won before. Respectable, you know? Anyway, that little pamphlet has a lot of the spells every duelist should learn.”

“Huh, thanks. This looks pretty useful. Wand motions, incantations, descriptions, effects. Nice and concise.”

“Yup. Also, unlike your DADA book, this compendium focuses exclusively on individual duels against human opponents. None of these spells are groundbreaking. They won’t catch anyone by surprise, but you’ll be considered a joke if you don’t know these.”

“I get it, foundational stuff.”

“Right. Practice those on your own. For now, let’s get going. I’m going to practice spell chains and you’re going to try not to get hit.”

I stood with an eager smile, walking stick in hand. “Aww, I don’t get to hit you with a stick?”

“You can try,” she snorted derisively. “If I let you get close enough to do that, I’d deserve to get hit.”

So began our first dueling session. It was a little hard to call it a lesson, even though that was how she’d first presented the idea. We jumped straight into sparring and did nothing else.

Truthfully, I doubted she knew how to teach in any other way. At first, she stuck to stinging hexes, plain, straight line attacks that I could see coming from a mile away. She was ridiculously fast and didn’t even need wand motions, but being able to see several seconds ahead proved to be too much of an advantage.

I wove between her magic, each step bringing me closer to her. When I could not dodge, I slapped the odd hex out of the air with my walking stick. I used almost none of the fencing forms I’d been taught this winter, but the experience of trying not to get stabbed helped more than I expected. Until finally, I crouched low in a textbook thrust, jabbing her in her bicep.

“Ouch!” she yelped. She took a step back and shook her wand-arm loose from the numbing sensation. “Okay, so you can dodge straight line spells all day.”

“Pretty much,” I agreed. “Precognition is most effective when there are minimal variables. There is a point of origin, your wand, and a destination, me. And since the trajectory is a straight line…”

“I get the gist. This is good. I was worried you wouldn’t be able to handle it if I pulled out the fun stuff.”

“Hmm… Why do I get the feeling that the kiddie gloves are coming off?”

“Because you're a wise, all-knowing seer,” she flattered with a saccharine smile.

Silky black tresses framed a charming, unblemished face. Gray eyes looked upon me with intense interest. She was the picture of innocence, with an elegance her pureblood peers could only struggle to imitate.

Unfortunately, I spent an entire semester gaslighting someone else into studying Warhammer lore. I knew well enough that sometimes, pictures lied.

X

The next two hours passed in a whirlwind of sparring. She did her best to discover different ways of getting around my precognition. Some methods were more effective than others.

The first time she got me, she spewed a geyser of cooking oil from her wand, turning the floor into a slick mess. The spell was a household charm that she’d simply overpowered until it functioned like an aguamenti. Though I saw it coming, I wasn’t able to change directions fast enough and ended up tumbling to the ground.

“Oi, I’m already down,” I complained as she tagged me with a stinging hex.

“Always double-tap,” she said smugly. She held her wand upright and blew on the tip as if it was the muzzle of a pistol.

“Doesn’t sound like dueling etiquette.”

“Except in sanctioned duels, obviously. Keep up, Zabini.”

I rolled my eyes and stood. “You like to control the floor, don’t you? I remember you doing this when I first saw you in that duel against Selwyn.”

“I do. My dueling instructor taught me that footwork is everything. Actually, that duel’s why I started looking up household charms like this one,” she explained. “Selwyn figured out that if she blasts the ice, she can rough up the surface enough to fight.”

“And you can’t do that with cooking oil. Clever.”

“Exactly. Oil can’t be broken up with a depulso like ice. Glacius is the spell most duelists use to manage terrain, but it’s inferior to a household charm in this instance.”

“And it coats my shoes so I have to either wipe it off or worry about it for the rest of the duel,” I observed as I vanished the mess. I could do it with a quick incantation, but that was two seconds too long in a fight. “Have you considered setting it on fire?”

“That’s another thing I can do, yes. Some of my competition really like using incendiary spells so I’m thinking about ways of using that against them.”

“Alright, fair enough. Let’s try that again.”

We continued. I got the next point when I pulled out my wand in my left hand. My casting still wasn’t as fast in my offhand, but even I could manage an overpowered lumos to blind her for a second.

That was the last time I got to touch her. Even when I abandoned my “sword” to exclusively sling spells, none of my attacks reached her. As a first year, I had the knockback jinx, stinging hex, cutting charm, and the incendio as far as my offensive options went. 

To be fair, I did make her work for her wins. She took what I said about trajectories and variables to heart and created a swarm of yellow canaries with avis to confuse my Sight. There was only so much I could do to ignore them when there was physically no room to dodge to, especially when paired with other spells.

In the end, the biggest weakness I had was my lack of stamina. With her breadth of spells, she kept me dodging from one end of the classroom to the other. And since I had to keep up my foresight simultaneously, I tired a lot faster than she did.

“You know, this was a lot more productive than I expected it to be,” Cheryl said as she wiped the sweat from her brow. “You’re a wonderful practice dummy.”

I lay on the ground, sprawled like a starfish in a puddle of sweat. “Thanks, you’re a horrible human being.”

“Since when can you use a protego, though?”

“Since two months ago. I figured it’s just about the most important spell I can learn.”

“You figured right. Good on ya, firstie,” she said, nudging my side with the tip of her shoe. “And also for not relying on it. It’s always more costly to block than it is to dodge.”

“Thanks, you’re a menace. I’ll be really surprised if you don’t win the seventeen and under championship this year.”

“Yeah? Is that a prophecy?”

“Nah, too tired.”

“Good. If you ever figure out who wins, don’t tell me.”

X

Lyra Malfoy

I sat in a private nook in the library, as far from others as I could manage. There was a small pile of books around me, all the better to keep what I was really reading away from curious passersby.

It rankled that this was the best way to ensure my privacy. The dorm, except the private suite, was shared. It hadn’t bothered me as much last term, but I now had a reason to care more. The diary was spread in front of me, its parchment pages pristine despite the many lines I’d written in them.

The more I wrote to Tom, the more obvious it became: Father made a mistake. He was wrong to hide away the Dark Lord’s legacy as he had. I didn’t know if it was out of an abundance of caution, but he should have tried harder to unravel the diary’s secrets.

[It’s not his fault, Miss Malfoy,] Tom said. His inky script flowed across the pages of the diary, neater than even I could manage. [He did not know what he had. He merely held it in safekeeping, as any good steward ought.]

[He did, did he?] I wrote. My words looked sharp on the page, bitter and resentful in a way that I wasn’t used to directing towards my father. I’d only shared a handful of conversations with the diary, but I already understood what House Malfoy might have lost had things gone even slightly differently. [Why didn't you show yourself to him? He would have given you away had I not found you.]

[He would have, and that is just as well. Tell me, Miss Malfoy, what is a diary?]

[Is this supposed to be a riddle?]

[Well, that is my name. But no, to put it a different way, why does one write in a diary?]

[To collect their thoughts and remember important moments.]

[Yes, that is the most common reason. This then begs the question: Does the Dark Lord, my master, who is the greatest wizard since Merlin, require such a mundane tool for self-reflection?]

[He… doesn't. He was probably a master occlumens,] I wrote back. A good occlumens remembered everything with pristine clarity and forgot only what they meant to. The Dark Lord was undoubtedly the greatest of them.

[That he was. Even before he mastered occlumency, he was a man of supreme intellect. He did not reflect at the end of the day as others might because it simply was not necessary.]

[Then why were you made? You’re… alive. Maybe not truly, but you have a personality, like a portrait.]

[In a manner of speaking, yes. As for why I exist, it is that second function that is a vital clue: I recollect important moments, or rather, information. And, since the Dark Lord has no need of an external repository of information…] he trailed off, leaving me space to fill in the blanks.

[It’s for me,] I wrote the obvious. My heart hammered in my chest. This diary was for me, a gift from beyond the grave.

[Well, not you specifically, Miss Malfoy. You were not born when I was created,] he said, dumping ice water on my head. [Rather, I exist for the next generation as a repository of the Dark Lord’s innermost thoughts, and yes, his arcane knowledge.]

The realization came like a bolt from the blue. [He always meant to give the diary away.]

[Someday, yes. His defeat was a tragic misfortune. Perhaps the greatest tragedy was that he never got to gift me to a worthy wizard or witch of the next generation.]

[Then… Then are you meant for his heir?]

[If by “heir” you mean a son or daughter, no. The Dark Lord has no blood relatives to the best of my knowledge. However, you are correct in saying that I was created to instruct the next generation. You asked earlier why I did not answer your father. This is why: No matter his position within my master’s inner circle, my words are not for his eyes.]

[Then who are you for? Surely you can’t be for anyone my age,] I said.

[Master had plans. He would have chosen a powerful wizard or witch, pure of blood and boundless in their potential. I was made to guide them, provide them with arcane knowledge and wisdom, so that they might one day stand at his side.]

I froze. My quill quivered in my hand as those words registered. This… This wasn’t a diary. This was a grimoire of the utmost importance. This was the thing that would anoint the Dark Lord’s successor. And father almost gave it away!

Unforgivable. Even if it was done out of ignorance, I couldn’t bring myself to forgive father for this. For once in my life, I was truly livid with the lord of my house. A grimoire of peerless value, which held the secrets of the greatest Dark Lord to ever life, was nearly traded away for a pile of galleons.

It didn’t matter how much money the Black vault held. I had no doubt it was substantial, but I knew now that all the gold in Gringotts was a pittance compared to the worth of this, lone book.

No, this belonged to the Dark Lord’s heir.

Or… heiress…? It was a sweet, insidious thought that wormed itself into my mind.

Pure of blood? Boundless potential? Didn’t I match these qualifications? Surely, there must have been a reason the Dark Lord entrusted this most important of treasures to House Malfoy. Perhaps he planned to appoint an heir in due time, but he could not do so. The only possibility was… me…

[Then teach me. Make me great,] I wrote my wish. I’d always been ambitious–I was a proper Slytherin–but seeing my desire written out made it feel more real.

[Are you the Dark Lord’s heir, Miss Malfoy? Do you claim such a right?] Tom asked.

[And if I say I am?]

I watched the ink spark and burn away, leaving clean, off-white parchment once more. [I would call you a liar. I am a diary, Miss Malfoy. By my very nature, I am something which houses the innermost thoughts of my owner, whoever that might be. Lies have no place upon my pages.]

[Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t teach me, right? The Dark Lord isn’t here to appoint a successor,] I pointed out. I couldn’t believe it; I was being forced to negotiate with an inanimate object.

[Perhaps… Lord Malfoy was among the most trusted of his followers. Whether you are worthy of the entirety of the Dark Lord’s legacy remains to be seen, but I suppose you are worthy enough to at least begin learning.]

[I’m the best choice you have. You’ll see.]

Tom’s writing stalled, as if in contemplation. [Are you, Miss Malfoy? You were complaining about this “Zabini” character not long ago.]

[He… He is my greatest rival,] I admitted. I’d always thought it’d be Greengrass, but I could see the truth now. [Had father really given you away, would you have told him to prove himself?]

[Is he pure of blood?]

[He is.]

[Does he possess immense talent in magic?]

[He… does…]

[Then, yes. I am a diary. In other words, I am an object with a defined purpose. I long to be used, to instruct the Dark Lord’s heir, whomever that may be. A boy who discovered my existence on his own merits seems to be a strong candidate.]

[He didn’t. He’s a seer. He cheats,] I wrote sullenly.

[Is the Sight not his own merit? Is it not proof of his excellent lineage? The Dark Lord was a parselmouth. Would you count that against him as well?]

[Well, no, but–]

[But you are correct,] he interrupted, surprising me. [If he is as prodigious a seer as you claim, he has access to information no one else does, a cheat sheet, if you will.]

I clung to his words like a lifeline. I couldn’t let Zabini overtake me, especially when he wasn’t even in the bloody room. [Right! You’re supposed to teach the most qualified witch or wizard in my generation. How can you ever know what is and is not part of Zabini’s own efforts?]

[You do raise a good point, Miss Malfoy. Very well, you have convinced me. I will teach you a little of what I know. Endeavor to prove yourself and I will grant you more and more knowledge.]

[What kind of knowledge? How do I prove myself?]

[You can begin with your classwork,] he said. I could feel my enthusiasm dying like a withering vine. [Yes, yes, not very exciting, but you did say you are a first year.]

[There must be some faster way to prove myself. I’m already a straight-O student.]

[Are you now? My master was always saying the DADA curriculum has suffered since his time at Hogwarts.]

[It’s rubbish, even father says so.]

[I highly doubt Lord Malfoy would be so uncouth as to call anything “rubbish.”]

[Maybe, but it’s what he means. He’s on the board of governors, you know,] I told Tom. [The class hasn’t had a single professor who’s remained for longer than a year since… since forever.]

[Truly? That can’t be right. Perhaps the position itself is cursed.]

[Is that going to be my test?] I asked eagerly. [Finding out why the position can’t be held longer than a year?]

[No, I don’t think that’s got anything to do with us. And here I thought Slytherins were ambitious, Miss Malfoy. Why don’t you aim higher? As they say, if you miss the stars, you may yet find yourself standing on the moon.]

[Well, what should I do?]

[Tell me, have you ever heard of the Chamber of Secrets?]

I froze at that. The Chamber of Secrets was the biggest legend surrounding Salazar Slytherin. [Of course I have. No one’s ever found it, if it exists at all.]

[False. At least one person has found it, the rightful Heir of Slytherin.]

[The Dark Lord? He knew?]

[He did indeed. And yes, so do I. Listen to me, Miss Malfoy, and you may find yourself walking those same, hallowed steps.]

[How? Where is it?]

[In time, my dear. For now, show me that you are ready to learn. We will begin by shoring up that lackluster DADA curriculum, hmm?]

[I’m ready, Tom. You’ll see,] I wrote back. I’d never meant something so much in my life.

Author’s Note

Blaise knows a surprising number of spells for his age, but those handful are the ones he can use in a fight. He can see everything, but his body isn’t fast enough, lacks the experience, and can’t last long enough to fully make use of the Sight yet.

In other news, Lyra makes a friend. See? She’s got fabulous social skills.

I decided to use [] as the written script inside the diary. Tom is giving the impression that Voldemort wrote in the diary regularly, jotting down his thoughts for the next generation.

Does Tom know why the DADA position is cursed? No, he doesn’t. He was the first horcrux made, and so only has information up to Voldemort’s Hogwarts years (sixth or seventh, I believe). But he’s sure going to pretend he does.

Animal Fact: Emu feathers make for incredible feather dusters. In fact, they’re so good at picking up particulates that car makers like BMW and Audi use them to dust their cars.

It’s highly important that there isn’t a single speck of dust pre-paintjob or the paint will be applied unevenly and the feather duster of choice of German carmakers is emu. I don’t know how they found this to be the case, but they did, so there is a market for imported emu feathers from Australia.

Don’t quote me on this next one because I could not find a reliable source for the life of me, but there’s a story going around that BMW does not actually import emu feathers. No, unlike Audi, they have a whole-ass emu farm in Bavaria somewhere. I’m not sure I believe this, but it’d be funny if true.