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The stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office regarded Harry with what he could have sworn was amusement. He checked his watch – precisely five minutes early for his appointment, just as he'd planned.
"Jelly Slugs," Harry said clearly, and the gargoyle leapt aside. As he stepped onto the spiral staircase, Anakin's voice echoed in his mind.
"Remember, Padawan – he may be powerful, but he's not all-knowing. Stay calm and stick to our story."
"Relax, Master," Harry thought back, watching the stairs revolve upward. "I've faced down Uncle Vernon and a mountain troll. How hard can one meeting be?"
"That's exactly the kind of overconfidence that—"
"Come in, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore's warm voice called before Harry could even knock.
The office was fascinating – a circular room filled with whirring silver instruments that puffed colorful smoke. Portraits of former headmasters lined the walls, most pretending to sleep but clearly paying attention. On a golden perch sat the most magnificent bird Harry had ever seen, its crimson and gold plumage gleaming in the morning light.
"Ah, I see you've noticed Fawkes," Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. "He's a phoenix – quite an extraordinary creature."
"He's beautiful," Harry said honestly, genuinely impressed. "I've read about phoenixes in 'Fantastic Beasts,' but the illustrations don't do them justice."
"Indeed not. Though I must say, illustrations rarely capture the true nature of extraordinary things." Dumbledore's eyes seemed to x-ray Harry for a moment. "Please, have a seat. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"No, thank you, sir." Harry sat in one of the chairs before the desk, acting casual. "I hope I haven't done anything wrong?"
"Not at all, my boy. Though I must admit, you've done several things rather... interesting." Dumbledore picked up a silver instrument, examining it thoughtfully. "Professor Flitwick has been quite vocal about your talents. Particularly after your rather impressive display with the mountain troll."
"Oh, that," Harry said casually. "It was just a variation on the Shield Charm, sir. I've been doing extra reading in the library's defensive magic section."
"Have you indeed?" Dumbledore set down the instrument. "Most fifth-years find basic Shield Charms challenging enough, let alone creating variations."
"Well, being sorted into Ravenclaw does have its advantages," Harry grinned. "Besides, after learning about my parents and Voldemort," – he noticed Dumbledore's slight eyebrow raise at his use of the name – "I thought it would be smart to study defensive magic thoroughly."
"Very prudent," Dumbledore nodded. "Though I must say, your shield seemed rather... unique. Almost as if it drew on something beyond ordinary magic."
"He's fishing," Anakin warned. "Careful now."
Harry maintained his innocent expression. "Beyond magic, sir? I'm not sure I understand. I just followed the theoretical principles Professor Flitwick taught us about magical containment and added a bit of visualization."
"Ah, visualization. A powerful tool." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Tell me, Harry, do you ever hear... voices? Guidance, perhaps, from unexpected sources?"
Harry allowed himself to look thoughtful. "Well, there was this one time Peeves was giving me directions to Charms class. Turned out he was trying to lead me to the astronomy tower instead. Does that count as unexpected guidance?"
A small chuckle escaped Dumbledore's lips. "Not quite what I meant, but an excellent deflection nonetheless. You know, Harry, you remind me quite a bit of your father – though perhaps with a touch more of your mother's wit."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said, meaning it. "Though I hope I'm less prone to pranking than my father was. I've heard stories from Professor Flitwick about some of his more creative moments."
"Indeed." Dumbledore's expression grew more serious. "Which brings us to the matter at hand. Professor Flitwick has been quite insistent about allowing you early admission to the Duelling Club."
"Has he?" Harry tried not to sound too eager. "I wouldn't want any special treatment..."
"False modesty doesn't suit you, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said mildly. "We both know you're capable of far more than the average first-year student. The question is not whether you have the ability, but how you choose to use it."
"He's good," Anakin commented. "Very good at subtle interrogation."
"I understand, sir," Harry said carefully. "Power comes with responsibility. Like my shield charm with the troll – I could have tried to fight it, but containing it was safer for everyone."
"Precisely!" Dumbledore beamed. "Which is why I've decided to approve your admission to the Duelling Club."
Harry allowed himself a genuine smile. "Thank you, sir! I won't let you down."
"I'm sure you won't. However," Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, "I must ask you to be careful, Harry. Duelling is not just about power – it requires wisdom, restraint, and above all, control. Particularly when one possesses... unique abilities."
"I'll be careful, sir," Harry promised, meeting those piercing blue eyes steadily. "Though I'm not sure my abilities are all that unique. I just study hard and practice a lot."
"Of course you do, and I'm sure studying taught you how to climb a tower and prank Percy Weasley." Harry's eyes widened, but the headmaster didn't seem annoyed and instead just seemed pleased.
"How do you know that?" Harry managed to ask. He was sure no one was there to see him, and Percy had been so sure that his twin brothers had pranked him. He had moved too fast for Percy even to notice that the one in the tower wasn't even wearing the red clothes a Gryffindor would wear.
Dumbledore smiled benignly. "There's nothing wrong with an exercise during the morning, but I hope next time you don't prank someone else and don't try to climb a tower without supervision. Well, I believe you have a Defense Against the Dark Arts class to attend? We wouldn't want to keep Professor Quirrell waiting."
As Harry rode the spiral staircase back down, Anakin's voice was thoughtful. "He didn't really give you an answer, and I'm sure seeing you climb a tower when you are still eleven ringed alarm bells for him. He knows there's something different about you."
"But he can't prove anything," Harry thought back. "And he seems more curious than concerned."
"For now," Anakin cautioned. "Though I have to admit, you handled that well. Your deflections are improving."
"I learned from the best," Harry grinned. "Though I still want to know what you did that made Obi-Wan so exasperated all the time."
"That, my young Padawan, is a story for another day. Preferably when we're not being watched by mysterious silver instruments and suspicious portraits."
Harry glanced back at the gargoyle, which somehow still managed to look amused. "You know, Master, sometimes I think this castle has more secrets than both of us combined."
"Oh, you have no idea," Anakin chuckled. "Now, let's see what our stuttering professor has in store for us today."
Neither of them could have guessed just how much that particular class would surprise them.
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Harry arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom just as Professor Quirrell strode through the door. Strangely, he didn't stutter 'Good Morning'; instead, it was the opposite.
The usual nervous shuffling was gone, replaced by confident steps that made his purple turban bob slightly with each movement. The class fell silent, not from boredom as usual, but from shock – Quirrell stood straight-backed before them, a small smile playing at his lips.
"Today," he announced clearly, without a hint of his trademark stutter, "we will discuss the fundamental principles of magical defense. Please put away your textbooks. We'll be focusing on practical application."
The class stared in stunned silence. Michael Corner's textbook slipped from his nerveless fingers, hitting the floor with a loud thud. Even that didn't make Quirrell jump as it usually would have.
The Professor seemed to have noticed that no one was doing anything; instead, they were all staring at him strangely. "Is everything okay?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned for them.
Hermione's hand shot into the air, practically vibrating with curiosity.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" Quirrell's voice was smooth, almost musical without its usual tremor.
"Professor, I... well, that is..." Hermione seemed to be struggling to find a polite way to ask why he suddenly seemed like a different person. "Your speech pattern has... improved significantly. Not that there was anything wrong with it before! I just... we were wondering..."
"If I've suddenly been replaced by someone using Polyjuice Potion?" Quirrell's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Or perhaps if someone slipped me a Confidence Concoction?"
Several students shifted guiltily – those had been exactly their whispered theories.
"The truth is far simpler," Quirrell said, perching casually on the edge of his desk. "I've been working with a specialist healer at St. Mungo's to treat my anxiety disorder. We recently had a breakthrough with a new combination of calming draughts and therapeutic spells." He smiled warmly. "I should have explained sooner, but I was worried about stigma. Mental health isn't something we discuss often in the wizarding world."
"That's... actually quite brave of you to share, Professor," Hermione said, looking impressed.
"A convenient explanation," Anakin's voice echoed in Harry's mind. "Almost too convenient."
"I know," Harry thought back. "But you have to admit, it's brilliant. Who would question someone being open about mental health treatment?"
"Remember who let that troll in, Padawan."
"Trust me, I haven't forgotten."
Quirrell was speaking again. "Now, let's see what you all remember from our previous lessons, shall we? Even if my teaching style was... less than optimal before." He drew his wand with fluid grace. "Who can demonstrate the Knockback Jinx we practiced last week?"
One by one, students attempted the jinx on the cushions Quirrell had placed at the front of the class. Most produced weak effects that barely moved their targets, though Hermione managed to knock hers back a respectable distance. Then it was Harry's turn.
"Flipendo!" he called out, carefully modulating his Force enhancement to produce a jinx that was impressive for a first-year.
"Excellent form, Mr. Potter!" Quirrell praised. "Though... I wonder..." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Would you be willing to try something a bit more advanced?"
"Of course, Professor."
"The Verdimillious Charm can be used to reveal hidden dark objects, but it can also be modified for defensive purposes. Try focusing on projecting the green sparks outward rather than just creating a shower of them. The incantation is 'Verdimillious.'"
Harry noticed several things at once: the spell was definitely more advanced than what they'd been taught so far, Quirrell's eyes were watching him, and Anakin's presence in his mind had gone very still.
"Verdimillious!" Harry cast, again carefully balancing his Force use. A burst of green sparks erupted from his wand, brighter and more controlled than his classmates would likely manage.
"Remarkable," Quirrell murmured. "Simply remarkable. Take fifteen points for Ravenclaw, Mr. Potter."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said modestly. "Though I probably just got lucky."
"Somehow, I doubt that," Quirrell smiled, but there was something sharp in his eyes. "Luck rarely accounts for such... natural talent."
"Now," Quirrell waved his wand, creating small targets around the room, "defensive magic isn't just about spells. It's about recognition and reaction. Each situation requires different responses."
He pointed to a target near the ceiling. "For instance, sometimes you need to signal for help. Mr. Potter, do you know the spell needed for such a thing?"
"Periculum," Harry said clearly, aiming his wand upward. A jet of red sparks shot toward the ceiling, illuminating the classroom.
"Perfect!" Quirrell nodded approvingly. "Five more points to Ravenclaw. These sparks can be seen from quite a distance - useful if you're ever lost in the Forbidden Forest, though I sincerely hope none of you find yourselves in such a predicament."
He began moving around the classroom. "The same principle applies to the Curse of the Bogies. Miss Granger, could you explain the proper wand movement?"
Hermione eagerly demonstrated the correct pattern. "A sharp downward flick followed by a counterclockwise spiral, sir."
"Precisely correct. Five points to Gryffindor," Quirrell then had them all stand up. "Proper stance is crucial for all spellcasting. Your jinx is only as effective as your foundation." He adjusted Terry Boot's posture. "Weight evenly distributed, knees slightly bent. Think of yourself as a tree - flexible enough to bend with magical force, but rooted firmly enough not to break."
"But sir," Michael Corner raised his hand, "what if we need to defend ourselves against something bigger than a bogey?"
"Excellent question!" Quirrell's eyes lit up. "Five points to Ravenclaw for tactical thinking. This is where the Verdimillious Duo spell becomes useful. It's a more powerful version of the charm Mr. Potter just demonstrated." He pointed his wand at a practice dummy. "Verdimillious Duo!"
A stronger burst of green energy shot from his wand, knocking the dummy backward and surrounding it with crackling sparks.
"This spell can temporarily disorient an opponent, giving you precious seconds to escape. But remember," he added seriously, "your first response to danger should always be to find a teacher or another adult, not to engage in combat yourselves."
He then conjured several small globes of light, setting them to zip around the room at various speeds. "Let's play a little game. When I point to you, cast Flipendo at whichever light I indicate. The faster you can target them, the better your reflexes will become."
The class spent the next twenty minutes casting at the lights, with Quirrell adding humorous commentary. "No, Mr. Boot, I don't believe aiming at the floor will hit any targets - though I'm sure the stone is thoroughly flipped by now."
When Padma Patil successfully hit a particularly fast-moving light, Quirrell nodded approvingly. "Well cast! Your aim is impressively precise."
"Remember," he said as they practiced, "magic responds to intent and will. Your spells are only as strong as your conviction in casting them." He moved through the classroom, correcting grips and pronunciations with gentle efficiency. "Miss Patil, try holding your wand a bit higher. Mr. Boot, excellent visualization, but remember to project your intent outward, not just upward."
"He's good with them," Anakin observed. "Almost too good, given his previous act."
"Maybe the treatment story is true?" Harry suggested halfheartedly.
"And maybe I'm actually a Gungan in disguise. Stay alert, Padawan. Something's changed, but not for the reasons he claims."
As if to emphasize Anakin's point, Harry noticed Quirrell's hand occasionally drift toward his turban when he thought no one was watching, his fingers trembling slightly before he caught himself.
"For next lesson," Quirrell announced as they packed up, "I want twelve inches on the practical applications of the Verdimillious Charm versus the Knockback Jinx. And Mr. Potter?" He beckoned Harry over as the others filed out. "I wonder if you might be interested in some additional reading material? Given your apparent aptitude for defensive magic."
"That would be great, Professor," Harry said carefully.
Quirrell pulled a book from his desk. "Simple Spells for Self-Protection by Vindictus Viridian. It covers some first-year spells in greater depth, and a few second-year concepts you might find interesting."
"Thank you, sir." Harry accepted the book, noting how Quirrell seemed to be studying his reaction.
"Curious, isn't it?" Quirrell mused. "How some students take to defensive magic so... naturally. Almost as if they have an innate connection to it."
"I just practice a lot, sir," Harry said with calculated modesty.
"Of course you do." Quirrell smiled. "Run along now. Wouldn't want you to be late for your next class."
In the corridor, Hermione fell into step beside Harry. "Wasn't that amazing? He's like a completely different person! And so open about mental health treatment – that must have taken real courage."
"Yeah," Harry said noncommittally. "Really impressive."
"You don't sound convinced," she observed shrewdly.
"Just surprised, that's all." Harry forced a smile. "Though it's nice to actually learn something in Defense class for once."
"True! And that Verdimillious Charm he taught you – I've read about it but haven't practiced it yet. Do you think he might teach me if I ask?"
"I'm sure he would," Harry said, though privately he hoped she wouldn't. Something about the way Quirrell had tested him made him uneasy.
"He's trying to gauge your abilities," Anakin said once they were alone. "The question is: why now? What changed?"
"You mean besides everything about him?" Harry thought back. "The stuttering, the nervousness, the jumping at shadows – all gone overnight."
"Yes, and replaced with a carefully crafted persona of the ideal teacher. Open, honest, slightly vulnerable but competent..." Anakin's mental voice hardened. "Perfect for gaining students' trust."
"But why? What's he planning?"
"That, my young Padawan, is what worries me. Because whatever it is, I suspect it has something to do with you."
Harry glanced down at the book Quirrell had given him. "Should I read this?"
"Yes, but carefully. Check for curses first, and don't try any spells from it without discussing them with me. Knowledge is valuable, but so is caution."
As they headed to lunch, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that today's lesson was just the beginning of whatever game Quirrell was playing. The professor's words echoed in his mind: "Magic responds to intent and will." He wondered what Quirrell's true intent was – and whether they'd find out before it was too late.
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The Hogwarts library was unusually quiet for a December afternoon. Most students were either outside enjoying the fresh snowfall or in their common rooms avoiding the cold. Harry sat at a corner table with Anna and Susan Bones, supposedly working on their Transfiguration essays, though the conversation had drifted to holiday plans.
"So, Harry," Susan said, absently twirling her quill, "we were wondering about your Christmas arrangements?"
"Oh?" Harry kept his eyes on his parchment, though he'd written the same sentence three times now.
"Well, you know Auntie invited you to stay with us," Anna continued, pushing a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "But we realized we should check if you'd rather spend it with your relatives?"
Harry couldn't quite suppress his snort. "Trust me, the Dursleys won't miss me."
"But surely they'll want to see you?" Susan pressed. "It's Christmas!"
"Let's just say my aunt and uncle aren't big fans of magic," Harry said dryly. "Or anything they consider 'abnormal,' which includes pretty much everything about me."
Before either sister could pursue that concerning statement, a familiar voice called out, "Wotcher, Harry!"
Nymphadora Tonks dropped into the empty chair beside them, her hair cycling through festive shades of red and green before settling on a cheerful purple. Madam Pince shot them a warning look from her desk.
"Heard you're spending Christmas with the terrible twosome here," Tonks grinned, dodging Anna's half-hearted swat.
"If he wants to," Anna said quickly. "We don't want to pressure him."
"Oh, he should definitely come," Tonks's grin turned mischievous. "Though I should warn you, Harry – watch out for their aunt. She can be... intense."
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Don't listen to her," Anna rolled her eyes. "Tonks is just trying to wind you up."
"Me? Never!" Tonks pressed a hand to her heart in mock offense. "I'm just saying, when the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement invites you over for Christmas, it's usually not just for the pudding."
Harry's quill paused mid-word. "The what of the what now?"
"Our aunt is Amelia Bones," Susan explained, shooting Tonks an exasperated look. "She's in charge of magical law enforcement for Britain."
"Including the Aurors – that's like magical police," Anna added, seeing Harry's still-confused expression. "But she's not scary, really. Well, not to family and friends anyway. Death Eaters and dark wizards, on the other hand..."
"Though you should see her interrogate suspects," Tonks said dreamily. "I heard once that she made a poor bloke cry within ten minutes, and she never raised her voice once."
"You're not helping," Susan sighed.
"Really, Harry, there's nothing to worry about," Anna assured him. "Auntie just wants to thank you properly for saving me from the troll."
"By interrogating him over Christmas dinner?" Tonks suggested innocently.
"That's it!" Anna grabbed a small cushion from her chair and lobbed it at Tonks, who morphed her nose into a duck bill to dodge it. The cushion sailed past and knocked over a stack of books, earning them another glare from Madam Pince.
"Maybe we should continue this conversation somewhere else," Harry suggested, gathering his things. "Before we get banned from the library."
They relocated to a quiet courtyard, warming charms keeping the winter chill at bay. Harry listened as Anna and Susan described their home – a sprawling manor house with extensive gardens, magical greenhouses, and a separate wing just for their aunt's private library.
"The house-elves go all out for Christmas," Susan said enthusiastically. "The decorations are amazing, and the food..."
"Better than being locked in a cup—" Harry caught himself, but not quickly enough.
"Being locked in a what?" Anna's eyes narrowed.
"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "Just, you know, better than my usual holiday plans."
"Harry..." Susan started, but he cut her off.
"Really, it's fine. And this Christmas sounds brilliant." He forced a bright smile. "Though I am a bit nervous about meeting your aunt now, thanks to someone." He shot Tonks a look.
"Deflection through humor," Anakin observed in his mind. "You're learning, though your timing needs work."
"Oh, don't worry about Amelia," Tonks grinned. "She only uses Veritaserum on special occasions."
"Tonks!" Both sisters exclaimed.
"Kidding! I'm kidding!" Tonks held up her hands in surrender. "Seriously though, Harry, you'll be fine. Amelia Bones is strict but fair. And she takes family very seriously." Her hair shifted to a more subdued blue.
"Well," Tonks said brightly, "on that cheerful note, who wants to hear about the time I accidentally morphed myself into Professor McGonagall during Transfiguration class?"
As Tonks launched into an increasingly outrageous story involving two cats, a suit of armor, and what she swore was an accidental rendition of a Celestina Warbeck song, Harry felt a wave of gratitude for his strange but wonderful group of friends.
Harry wondered what Veritaserum was, but from the way Tonks talked about it, it didn't sound good.
"They're good people," Anakin commented warmly.
"Yeah," Harry thought back, watching Anna and Susan laugh at Tonks's impression of McGonagall's face. "They really are."
"Though I have to admit," Anakin added with amusement, "the head of magical law enforcement? You certainly don't do anything by halves, do you, Padawan?"
"Hey, I didn't plan this!"
"You never do. That's what makes it so entertaining."
Harry was about to respond when Anna touched his arm gently. "You know," she said, her voice serious despite her smile, "Auntie really isn't scary. She's just... protective. Especially after... well, everything."
"I understand," Harry said, and he did.
"Besides," Susan added with a grin, "wait until you try her treacle tart. It's legendary."
"Now that," Harry smiled, "sounds like my kind of interrogation."
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The Great Hall looked different in the evening light. The house tables had vanished, replaced by a long dueling platform that gleamed under the floating candles. Harry tugged at the collar of his new dueling robes – midnight blue with bronze trim, a gift from Professor Flitwick who had insisted proper attire was essential for formal dueling.
"Remember," Anakin's voice echoed in his mind, "subtle movements only. No Force-enhanced jumps or obvious displays of power."
"Yes, Master," Harry thought back, watching older students file in. Most wore their house colors proudly – emerald green for Slytherin, deep red for Gryffindor, yellow for Hufflepuff. Their robes were designed for movement, fitted at the waist but loose in the arms and legs to allow for quick spellwork and dodging.
"Harry!" A familiar voice called out. Cedric Diggory, wearing the black and yellow of Hufflepuff, approached with an easy smile. "Heard you got special permission to join. Youngest member in decades, apparently."
"That's what Professor Flitwick said," Harry nodded, grateful to see a friendly face.
"Don't let the older students intimidate you," Cedric advised, nodding toward a group of fifth-year Slytherins who were eyeing Harry with undisguised hostility. "Most of them are all flash and no substance."
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Professor Flitwick's magically amplified voice rang through the hall. The tiny professor stood on the platform, resplendent in formal dueling robes of deep purple. "Welcome to another exciting year of the Hogwarts Dueling Club! And a special welcome to our newest and youngest member, Mr. Harry Potter!"
All eyes turned to Harry. He felt rather than saw the Slytherins' glares intensify.
"They're threatened," Anakin observed. "Good. An opponent who underestimates you while feeling threatened will make mistakes."
"Now," Flitwick continued, "we'll begin with some basic defensive drills. Pair up! Mr. Potter, perhaps you'd work with Mr. Diggory for your first session?"
The platform was spelled to prevent falls and serious injuries, but Harry still felt his pulse quicken as he climbed the steps. Cedric took position opposite him, wand held in the formal starting position.
"Standard rules," Flitwick announced. "Shield charms and minor hexes only for now. Begin!"
Cedric moved first, sending a quick Tickling Hex that Harry deflected with a precisely controlled shield charm. He carefully measured his Force use, letting just enough enhance his reactions without making them supernatural.
"Good movement!" Flitwick called out. "Notice how Mr. Potter maintains his center of gravity!"
Harry sent back a Leg-Locker Curse, which Cedric blocked before retaliating with a series of rapid-fire Stinging Hexes. The spells created beautiful arcs of light in the candlelit hall, reflecting off the enchanted ceiling like miniature shooting stars.
"He's holding back," Anakin noted as Harry weaved between spells. "Testing your capabilities."
"So am I," Harry thought, deflecting another hex while maintaining his deliberately first-year-appropriate stance.
Cedric's wand flicked upward in a precise arc. The Force rippled a warning, and Harry shifted his weight slightly left – just enough for the incoming Stinging Hex to whoosh past his ear. A few spectators gasped.
"Nice dodge!" Cedric called out, already moving into his next attack. His footwork was like a dancer's, each step flowing seamlessly into the next spell.
Three jets of light shot toward Harry in quick succession: blue, yellow, red. The Force whispered their trajectories before they'd traveled halfway across the platform. Harry let his shield charm flicker slightly on the first spell – making it look like a near miss – before stumbling backwards "clumsily" to avoid the second, and finally blocking the third with a textbook-perfect Protego.
"Keep your guard up, Mr. Potter!" Flitwick called out encouragingly.
"He's testing your pattern recognition," Anakin advised as Harry ducked another hex. "Make it look like you're learning as you go."
Harry nodded, pretending to only now notice how Cedric shifted his front foot before casting. The next time he saw that tell, he raised his shield a fraction earlier – but not too early. Just enough to show improvement.
"Better!" Cedric grinned, sending a volley of harmless sparks to test Harry's defense. "You're getting the hang of it!"
The candlelight caught the sweat on Cedric's brow as he pressed his attack. A Tickling Hex followed by a Leg-Locker Curse, then a feint to the left before launching a Disarming Charm from the right. Harry felt each spell's intention ripple through the Force moments before Cedric cast them. He let the feint draw him slightly out of position, making his last-second dodge of the true attack look like desperate luck rather than precognition.
Someone in the crowd whistled appreciatively. "Kid's got good instincts!"
"Excellent control, Mr. Potter!" Flitwick beamed. "Though perhaps try keeping your shield a bit more concentrated – yes, just like that!"
A flash of movement caught Harry's eye – one of the Slytherin fifth-years had drawn his wand, pointing it subtly toward the platform. The Force screamed a warning.
"Trip jinx coming from the left," Anakin warned sharply.
Harry pretended to stumble slightly, making the incoming jinx miss naturally rather than through obvious skill. Flitwick's head snapped toward the Slytherin section, his usually cheerful expression hardening.
"Mr. Montague," he said coldly, "Fifty points from Slytherin for unsportsmanlike conduct. Another incident and you'll be suspended from the club."
The duel ended in a draw, both Harry and Cedric lowering their wands to polite applause. Harry's robes were slightly damp with exertion, but he'd managed to maintain the appearance of talented-but-still-learning first-year.
"Well done!" Cedric grinned, offering his hand. "You've got real talent, Harry. Those reflexes are incredible."
"Thanks," Harry smiled back, accepting the handshake. "Though I think you were going easy on me."
"Maybe a little," Cedric admitted. "But not as much as you might think."
The rest of the session involved practicing specific techniques. Harry worked on his footwork, deliberately making small mistakes for Flitwick to correct while using the Force to memorize the proper patterns for later practice.
"Remember," Flitwick demonstrated a particularly tricky sideways step, his purple robes swirling, "dueling is as much about movement as spellwork. Your whole body is your wand!"
As the evening wound down, Harry noticed the Slytherins huddled together, shooting him dark looks. Their leader, a tall sixth-year with sharp features, whispered something that made the others laugh unpleasantly.
"Ignore them," Cedric advised, following Harry's gaze. "That's Marcus Flint and his crew. They're just sore because a first-year showed them up."
"I didn't show anyone up," Harry protested. "I barely managed to keep up with you."
"Keep telling yourself that," Cedric grinned. "Though maybe work on your acting skills. That stumble when Montague tried to jinx you? A bit too convenient."
Harry's heart skipped a beat, but Cedric just winked and walked away, leaving Harry to wonder just how observant the Hufflepuff student really was.
"Excellent work tonight, Mr. Potter!" Flitwick bounced over, his purple robes still immaculate despite the evening's activities. "Though I noticed you holding back a bit. Don't be afraid to push yourself – that's what the safety charms are for!"
"Yes, Professor," Harry nodded, carefully not meeting the eyes of the Slytherins as they filed out. "I'll try to be more... adventurous next time."
"Your control is impressive," Flitwick continued thoughtfully. "Most young duelists struggle with power regulation, but you seem to have an innate sense of exactly how much force to use."
"If he only knew," Anakin chuckled in Harry's mind.
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The Great Hall buzzed with morning activity, sunlight streaming through the enchanted ceiling to dance across plates of eggs and toast. Harry had barely taken his seat at the Ravenclaw table when Cedric walked past, giving him a knowing wink.
"Good morning, future dueling champion!"
Anna's head snapped up from her porridge. "What was that about dueling?"
Harry took a deliberate bite of toast, trying to look casual. "Oh, right. I got into the Dueling Club. Had my first session last night."
The effect was immediate. Michael Corner choked on his pumpkin juice. Padma Patil dropped her spoon with a clatter. Then the Ravenclaw table erupted.
"POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!"
"A first-year in the Dueling Club!"
"First time since—"
"Tom Riddle, wasn't it?"
"Decades ago!"
"That's our Harry!"
"Oh, brilliant," Harry thought to Anakin as his housemates continued celebrating. "This is exactly the kind of attention I was hoping to avoid."
"Consider it training in handling public attention," Anakin replied cheerfully. "Though I suggest ducking before—"
Too late. Terry Boot, in his excitement, had accidentally sent a pitcher of milk flying toward Harry's head. Harry's Force-enhanced reflexes made him want to leap aside, but he settled for a slightly clumsy dodge that still ended with milk splashing his robes.
"Sorry, Harry!" Terry called out.
"At least it wasn't blue milk," Anakin mused. "Now that would have been a tragedy."
"What's blue milk?"
"A story for another time, Padawan. Though I must say, you wear white quite... elegantly."
"Your sense of humor is worse than your teaching methods."
"I heard that."
"You were meant to."
"Harry!" Hermione's voice cut through his internal dialogue. "This is incredible! Do you know how rare it is for a first-year to join? I read in 'Hogwarts: A History' that—"
"Here we go," Anakin sighed. "Should I prepare for another historical lecture?"
"Be nice," Harry thought back, trying not to smile as Hermione launched into a detailed account of the Dueling Club's founding.
"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks dropped into the seat across from him, her hair cycling through victorious shades of blue and bronze. "Heard our little troll-slayer is now a proper duelist!"
"I wouldn't say proper," Harry started, but Tonks waved him off.
"Don't be modest! This is brilliant! Maybe you'll be an Auror in the future. I'm planning to become one too. We could be partners!" Her eyes lit up. "Think about it – Potter and Tonks, magical law enforcement's dynamic duo!"
"More like chaos and destruction's dynamic duo," Anakin commented. "Though I suppose that would make for interesting mission reports."
Harry had to fake a cough to hide his laugh.
"Maybe you'll be Headmaster someday," Susan teased from across the table.
"Now there's a terrifying thought," Anakin commented. "You'd probably turn the whole castle into a training facility."
Harry barely contained his snort. "I think I'll stick to duelling for now."
"Yes, young Padawan," Anakin intoned solemnly. "Sustenance before showing off."
"Will you stop?" Harry thought, almost choking on his pumpkin juice.
"Stop what? Being an excellent mentor? Never."
Tonks nudged Harry with her elbow. "Earth to Potter? You've got that look again – like you're having a private conversation in your head."
"He does that a lot," Cedric observed, sliding over to join them. "Probably plotting new ways to impress Flitwick."
"Actually," Anakin suggested, "tell them you were thinking about lightsabers."
"I was just thinking about sword fighting," Harry said smoothly. "Wonder if wizards ever combine that with spells."
"Oh brilliant," Tonks groaned. "Now he wants to add swords. Because being a duelling prodigy isn't enough."
"Well," Anakin mused, "technically a lightsaber isn't a sword..."
"Shut up, Master," Harry thought fondly.
"Is that any way to talk to your wise and noble teacher?"
"Wise and noble? Who told you that lie?"
"There he goes again," Susan giggled. "Having a whole debate in his head."
"Maybe he's possessed," suggested Tonks dramatically. "Quick, someone check if his eyes glow in the dark!"
"If only they knew," Anakin chuckled.
"The best part is," Harry thought back, "they'd never believe the truth."
"That you have a devastatingly handsome and incredibly powerful Jedi Knight mentoring you?"
"I was thinking more 'slightly unhinged space wizard ghost', but sure, let's go with your version."
"I preferred my description."
"You would."
"Harry!" Hermione's voice snapped him back to reality. "You're doing it again! We were asking about the first club meeting."
"Sorry," Harry grinned. "Got distracted thinking about... tactics."
"Right, 'tactics'," Tonks made air quotes. "That's what we're calling your little mental vacations now?"
"Just remembered something funny Professor Flitwick said about wand movements."
"Speaking of movements," Cedric stood up, "we'll be late for class if we don't move now."
As they gathered their things, Tonks ruffled Harry's hair. "Try not to revolutionize any other ancient magical traditions before lunch, yeah?"
"No promises," Harry and Anakin said simultaneously.
"Mental, that one," he heard Tonks whisper to Anna as they left. "Brilliant, but completely mental."
⚯ ͛
⚯ ͛
Frost patterns traced delicate spirals across the windows of Ravenclaw Tower as Harry folded his new dueling robes, carefully placing them in his trunk. The dormitory was peaceful, most students having already left for the holidays. Only Hermione remained, perched cross-legged on his bed, her wild hair contained in a messy braid as she watched him pack.
"You'll write, won't you?" she asked, fiddling with the sleeve of her thick winter sweater. "My parents are taking me skiing in Switzerland, but I can still receive owl post."
"Of course I'll write," Harry promised, attempting to fold a particularly stubborn sock. "Though I'm not sure Hedwig will appreciate flying through the Alps."
"She's a smart owl," Hermione smiled, reaching over to help him with the sock. "Unlike someone I know who still can't manage basic folding charms."
"Hey! I can fold things just fine with magic. I just prefer doing some things by hand."
"Sure you do," she teased, then grew more serious. "It's strange, isn't it? Everything that's changed since September? You said you find out about magic when you received your letter, how do you feel about this change?"
Harry paused in his packing, looking around the room that had become more home to him than Privet Drive ever was. His textbooks were neatly stacked on his bedside table, his Ravenclaw scarf draped over his trunk, and through the window he could see the snow-covered grounds stretching toward the forbidden forest.
"Good strange, though," he said softly. "I never thought I'd have..." he gestured vaguely, encompassing the castle, his friends, his new life.
"A proper Christmas?" Hermione suggested gently.
"Among other things."
"A wise young Padawan once told me that the past is the past," Anakin's voice echoed warmly in his mind.
"That was literally yesterday," Harry thought back, "and I was deflecting."
"Doesn't make it less true."
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Michael Corner poked his head in, already bundled up in his traveling cloak. "Harry! Professor Flitwick's looking for you. Something about travel arrangements for tomorrow?"
"Right, thanks!" Harry quickly stuffed the last few items in his trunk. "I should go. Have a great holiday, Hermione!"
She hugged him tightly. "Be careful, okay? And don't forget to practice those shield modifications we researched!"
The corridors were mostly empty as Harry made his way down from Ravenclaw Tower, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Enchanted wreaths hung at regular intervals, filling the air with the scent of pine and cinnamon. He was just rounding the corner near the Defense classroom when he nearly collided with Professor Quirrell.
"Ah, Mr. Potter!" Quirrell smiled warmly, steadying himself. He was wearing traveling robes of deep burgundy, and several bags floated behind him, controlled by a lazy flick of his wand. "Just the student I was hoping to see before departing."
"You're leaving for the holidays, Professor?" Harry asked, noting how the bags seemed packed for a longer journey than just Christmas break.
"Indeed! A bit of research to conduct abroad. One must keep expanding one's knowledge, after all." Quirrell's eyes sparkled with genuine enthusiasm. "Speaking of which, how are you finding that book I lent you?"
"Very interesting, sir. Especially the chapter on reactive shielding."
"Excellent! You know, Mr. Potter, you remind me of myself at your age. Such... natural talent. Such potential." His voice took on an almost hypnotic quality. "Remember this: true power comes not from what others teach us, but from what we dare to learn for ourselves. The greatest achievements in magical history came from those who weren't afraid to... experiment."
"Something's wrong," Anakin's voice was sharp. "Those words... they're familiar somehow."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said carefully. "I'll keep that in mind."
"See that you do." Quirrell's eyes gleamed strangely in the torchlight. "The path to greatness often requires us to step beyond conventional limitations. To embrace our full potential, whatever others might think of our methods."
For just a moment, Harry thought he saw something flicker behind Quirrell's eyes – a shadow of something ancient and calculating. Then it was gone, replaced by the professor's usual pleasant expression.
"Well, I mustn't keep you," Quirrell said brightly, retrieving his floating bags. "Do enjoy your holiday, Mr. Potter. I expect great things from you next term." He paused, then added almost too softly to hear, "Very great things indeed."
Harry watched him disappear down the corridor, the bags bobbing gently behind him.
"Master?" he thought. "What was that about?"
"I'm not sure," Anakin's voice was troubled. "But something about his words... they felt familiar, but I can't quite place it yet."
"He seemed friendly enough," Harry thought back, though he couldn't shake his own unease.
"Too friendly. Too interested in your development. Be on your guard, Padawan. Even during the holidays."
"I will find out why he set the troll loose. Anna could have been killed because of him. Susan and Anna said their aunt works for the Ministry of Magic, and she is very important there. Would she believe me if I told her what Professor Quirrell did?"
"It could work, especially when you mention that what he did endangered her niece." Anakin added with a smile, proud of his padawan.
Harry continued toward Flitwick's office, the decorated corridors suddenly seeming less festive. Tomorrow he'd be at Bones Manor, celebrating his first real Christmas with people who actually wanted him around. He should be excited, not unsettled by cryptic conversations with his Defense professor.
And yet...
"Focus on the present moment," Anakin advised, his tone lightening slightly. "Worry about mysterious professors later. Right now, you have a holiday to pack for and friends to enjoy it with."
Harry smiled, letting the warm thought of spending Christmas with Anna and Susan push away his concerns. Whatever Quirrell was planning, whatever changes awaited in the new term, they could wait. For now, he had something he'd never had before: a real Christmas to look forward to.
Though perhaps he'd keep practicing those shield modifications, just in case.
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