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The sun had just started to rise over the horizon, but Harry Potter was already wide awake. He sat cross-legged on his bed, curtains drawn and a silencing charm in place—one of the first spells he'd mastered outside the curriculum.
"Run through it again," Anakin instructed. "What's your approach for today's lesson with Quirrell?"
Harry sighed, having already repeated this three times since waking. "Be impressive but not suspicious. Show talent but have occasional struggles. If I sense him probing or testing me, respond with conventional magic only."
"And if he directly asks about your unusual abilities?"
"Attribute it to accidental magic as a child or natural reflexes from dodging Dudley and his gang." Harry ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Honestly, Master, I'm not an idiot. I know what's at stake."
"Forgive my repetition, Padawan. I just know how easy it is to get caught up in the moment—to want to prove yourself."
"Speaking from experience?" Harry asked, eyebrow raised.
"More than you know." Anakin's expression turned distant for a moment. "I was... rather impulsive in my youth. Always trying to prove I was the best, the fastest, the strongest."
"And were you?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. These glimpses into Anakin's past were rare treasures.
"Sometimes," Anakin admitted with a wry smile. "But being the best isn't always worth the price you pay."
There was a weight to those words that Harry sensed carried deeper meaning, but before he could probe further, Anakin shifted topics.
"You still need more practice with that shield charm before classes. The execution is close, but your concentration wavers at the critical moment."
Harry glanced at his watch—a cheap but functional timepiece he'd purchased in Diagon Alley. "I've arranged to meet Tonks in the empty Charms classroom in twenty minutes. She's going to help me practice."
"The metamorphmagus?" Anakin asked. "Good choice. Her varied spell repertoire will give you proper testing conditions."
"Plus, she doesn't ask too many questions," Harry added, gathering his wand and the book from Quirrell. "Unlike Hermione, who'd want to know how I learned about an advanced shield charm in the first place."
"Your friend's curiosity is her strength," Anakin noted. "Though I understand why it might be inconvenient at times."
Harry slipped from his bed and began changing into his school robes. The dormitory was still quiet, his roommates' steady breathing the only sound beyond the occasional creak of the ancient tower.
"You should tell Tonks about your suspicions regarding Quirrell," Anakin suggested as Harry prepared to leave. "She might have insights from the upper years, and having another pair of eyes watching him would be valuable."
"You think I can trust her?" Harry asked, pausing at the door.
Anakin seemed to consider this carefully. "Trust is a spectrum, not an absolute. Tell her what Amelia already knows—about the portrait seeing Quirrell during the troll incident. Nothing about me or the Force."
Harry nodded, appreciating as always Anakin's strategic mind. "See you there?"
"I'm never far," Anakin assured him.
Harry found Tonks already waiting in the empty Charms classroom, her hair a vibrant turquoise this morning. She was idly levitating a row of quills, making them perform synchronized loops in the air.
"Wotcher, Harry!" she greeted cheerfully, letting the quills drop to the desk. "Ready to work on that fancy shield charm?"
"More than ready," Harry replied, placing Quirrell's book on a nearby desk. "I've almost got it, but the reflection angle is off."
Tonks peered at the open book with interest. "Aegis Reflexio? Blimey, that's fifth-year material at least. Where'd you dig this up?"
"Present from Professor Quirrell," Harry said casually, watching her reaction.
Tonks's eyebrows shot up, her hair briefly flickering to a surprised yellow before returning to turquoise. "Quirrell gave you this? The same professor who could barely string two sentences together without stuttering before Christmas?"
"He's... different now," Harry said, deliberately understated.
"Different is putting it mildly," Tonks snorted. "It's like someone swapped him with his confident twin. But why give you advanced defensive magic for Christmas? Bit odd for a professor, isn't it?"
Harry took a deep breath, making a show of hesitating. "Can I tell you something? Something... serious? You can't tell anyone else."
Tonks's expression sobered immediately, her playfulness vanishing. "Course you can. What's up?"
"Lady Amelia knows this already," Harry began, "but during the troll incident at Halloween, a portrait saw Professor Quirrell heading toward the third-floor corridor while everyone else was rushing to the dungeons."
Tonks's eyes widened. "Wait, you're saying Quirrell let that troll in? As a distraction?"
Harry nodded. "That's what the portrait told me. I told Madam Bones, and she informed Dumbledore. They're both watching him now, but they don't have enough evidence to do anything official."
"Bloody hell," Tonks murmured, her hair unconsciously shifting to a concerned deep blue. "And now he's singled you out for special attention? That's... concerning."
"He's offered me private defense lessons," Harry added. "I've accepted, but I'm being careful. Professor Flitwick knows about them."
Tonks dropped into a chair, looking troubled. "This explains why Lady Amelia asked me to keep an eye on you in her last letter. I thought she was just being her usual protective self."
"You don't have to—" Harry began, but Tonks cut him off.
"Don't be daft, of course I do." She leaned forward, suddenly intense. "Look, Harry, I know we haven't known each other long, but you're practically family to the Boneses now, and Anna is my best girl, which makes you family to me too. Plus, you're a good kid with ridiculous magical talent."
Harry felt a strange warmth spread through his chest at her words. Having grown up with the Dursleys' constant rejection, the concept of being considered "family" by people he'd known for such a short time was still jarring—but in the best possible way.
"Thanks," he managed, a bit awkwardly. "I appreciate it."
Tonks seemed to sense his discomfort with emotional moments and gracefully shifted back to business. "Right then, let's see this shield charm of yours. I'll cast progressively stronger jinxes, and you try to bounce them back at that target." She conjured a bullseye on the far wall with a casual flick of her wand.
Harry took his position, focusing on the wand movement—the tight spiral followed by a sharp upward flick. "Aegis Reflexio!"
The shield materialized, stronger than his previous attempts but still not quite solid. When Tonks sent a mild Stinging Hex his way, it penetrated the shield and clipped his shoulder.
"Ouch!" Harry winced.
"Sorry!" Tonks called. "Though in a real duel, your opponent won't be apologizing."
"Your wrist is still too rigid," came Anakin's voice from beside him. "The movement should flow like water, not jerk like a mechanical droid."
"Like water, not mechanical," Harry muttered, shaking out his arm.
"What's that?" Tonks asked.
"Just reminding myself about the wand movement," Harry covered quickly. "It should flow more naturally."
Tonks nodded approvingly. "Good insight. Most shield charms fail because people try to force them rather than guide them. Magic responds better to direction than domination—at least, that's what Professor Flitwick always says."
"Smart woman," Anakin commented. "The Force works similarly. It's not about imposing your will so much as aligning yourself with the natural flow and guiding it."
Harry took another stance, breathing deeply and letting tension flow out of his body the way Anakin had taught him during Force meditation. This time, when he cast the spell, he felt a difference—a resonance between his intent and his magic.
"Aegis Reflexio!"
The shield that formed was crystalline and clear, with a slight bluish tinge. When Tonks cast another Stinging Hex, it struck the shield and rebounded—not perfectly, but at a sharper angle that came closer to the target.
"Much better!" Tonks encouraged. "Let's try something stronger. Flipendo!"
The Knockback Jinx hit Harry's shield and reflected cleanly, hitting the target dead center and leaving a scorch mark.
"Brilliant!" Tonks exclaimed, her hair turning a vibrant pink with excitement. "You're getting it now!"
Harry grinned, feeling the satisfying alignment of intention, movement, and result. He maintained the shield, which seemed stronger with each passing second as he grew more comfortable with the magical sensation.
"Try something stronger," he urged.
Tonks raised an eyebrow but obliged. "Impedimenta!"
The more powerful jinx struck Harry's shield—and this time reflected directly back at Tonks, who had to dive sideways to avoid being hit by her own spell.
"Whoa!" she laughed from the floor. "Now that's what I call a proper reflection charm! You've got it, Harry!"
"Well done," Anakin said, genuine pride in his voice. "Just remember—with Quirrell, don't master his spells too quickly. Show progression, not perfection."
Harry nodded imperceptibly at Anakin's advice as he helped Tonks to her feet. "Thanks for helping me practice."
"Anytime," she replied, brushing dust off her robes. "Though next time, warn me before you get so good so quickly. I nearly got knocked on my bum by my own spell."
Harry laughed, but then his expression grew more serious. "About Quirrell... I really would appreciate if you kept an eye out. Anything unusual you notice, anything at all."
Tonks's smile faded into a look of determination. "Count on it. And Harry?" She placed a hand on his shoulder, her eyes suddenly intense. "Be careful around him. If he's dangerous enough that Aunt Amelia and Dumbledore are concerned, then he's not someone to take lightly."
"I know," Harry assured her. "I'm being cautious."
"Good." Tonks's serious expression melted into a grin as she ruffled his already messy hair. "Can't have anything happening to Hogwarts' rising dueling star, can we? Anna says Professor Flitwick practically gushes about your form in the staff room."
Harry felt his cheeks warm at the praise. "I just pay attention," he mumbled.
"And have ridiculous natural talent," Tonks added, beginning to gather her things as the time for breakfast approached. "Just... promise me something?"
"What's that?"
"If Quirrell does anything suspicious in those private lessons—anything at all—you'll tell someone immediately. Me, Aunt Amelia, Flitwick, Dumbledore. Don't try to handle it alone, hero complex and all."
Harry felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he was already planning to test Quirrell's knowledge of the Force during their first lesson. "I promise," he said, telling himself it wasn't really a lie—he would tell someone if Quirrell actually did something threatening.
Tonks studied him for a moment, as if sensing his mental reservation, then nodded. "Right then. Breakfast? I'm starving."
As they walked toward the Great Hall, Harry felt a strange mix of emotions—apprehension about his coming confrontation with Quirrell, satisfaction at mastering the shield charm, and a warm feeling of belonging that was still new and precious to him.
"You're developing strong connections," Anakin observed as they walked. "That's good. Friendship, loyalty, trust—these are powerful foundations."
"And useful for gathering intelligence," Harry murmured when Tonks was briefly distracted by a passing ghost.
"That too," Anakin conceded, "but don't reduce them to just their utility. True bonds are more valuable than any tactical advantage they might provide."
Harry considered this as they entered the Great Hall, where the smell of breakfast and the buzz of conversation filled the air. He caught sight of Quirrell at the staff table, apparently engaged in animated discussion with Professor Vector. As if sensing Harry's gaze, the Defense professor glanced up, meeting his eyes momentarily before returning to his conversation.
"Remember," Anakin cautioned as Harry took his seat at the Ravenclaw table, "with Quirrell—show enough to intrigue, but not enough to reveal. The Force should be your hidden advantage, not an exposed weakness."
"I know," Harry whispered, reaching for the toast. "Trust me."
"I do," Anakin replied simply.
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"Today," Professor Quirrell announced to the first-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, "we shall address defensive applications of the Smokescreen Spell. While your textbook suggests this as merely an evasion tactic, I believe in exploring its practical defensive properties."
Harry sat between Hermione and Michael Corner, noting the enthusiastic murmurs that rippled through the class. Quirrell had become something of a favorite since his transformation—his classes now consistently engaging and substantive rather than the nervous stuttering lectures of before.
"The Fumos charm," Quirrell continued, "creates a defensive cloud of smoke that can conceal your position and confuse opponents. Observe."
With a fluid motion, Quirrell made a sharp swirl with his wand. "Fumos!"
A thick cloud of gray smoke billowed out from his wand tip, quickly expanding to surround him completely.
"Mr. Boot," Quirrell called from within the smoke, "kindly attempt to locate me with a revealing charm."
Terry Boot looked startled but complied. "Aparecium!"
The revealing spell penetrated the smoke slightly but failed to disperse it completely.
"As you can see," Quirrell said, waving his wand to clear the smoke, "even simple revealing charms struggle against a well-cast Smokescreen. Now, your turn." Quirrell paired them off, instructing each student to practice creating smokescreens of varying densities.
Harry partnered with Hermione, who insisted on attempting the charm first. Her execution was technically perfect, producing a thick cloud of smoke that billowed outward precisely as described in their textbook.
"Textbook perfect, Miss Granger," Quirrell commented as he passed. "Though perhaps too uniform in density. A varied pattern can be more disorienting to pursuers."
When it was Harry's turn, he made the wand movement deliberately, focusing his intent. Just as he spoke the incantation, he allowed a whisper of Force energy to flow into the spell—not enough to be obvious, but sufficient to strengthen the magic.
"Fumos!"
The smoke that poured from his wand was noticeably thicker than any other student's, with unusual swirling patterns.
"Fascinating control, Mr. Potter," Quirrell observed. "For those with exceptional aptitude, there exists a more advanced variation. The incantation is 'Fumos Duo' - it creates a smoke screen with greater persistence and resistance to revealing charms."
Harry recognized this as an invitation. "May I try, Professor?"
"By all means."
Harry concentrated, channeling slightly more Force energy, but still keeping it restrained. "Fumos Duo!"
The enhanced smoke billowed out with greater speed and density, filling his corner of the classroom with swirling patterns.
"Extraordinary, Mr. Potter."
Harry turned to find Quirrell standing directly behind him, eyes narrowed in assessment. For just an instant, Harry thought he glimpsed something hungry in that gaze. But it vanished so quickly he might have imagined it.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied evenly.
"For those who master the Smokescreen Spell," Quirrell addressed the class again, "we might eventually progress to more specialized defensive magic. The Verdimillious Duo Spell, for instance, is traditionally taught in second year, but serves as an excellent complement to your smokescreen tactics."
Quirrell demonstrated with a flick of his wand. "Verdimillious Duo!" Green sparks erupted, illuminating the classroom and revealing the lingering traces of smoke still floating in the air.
"And for the truly exceptional student," Quirrell's eyes flicked briefly to Harry, "there are even more advanced options. The Homorphus Charm, for instance, forces an Animagus or werewolf back into human form - though that's quite beyond first-year capabilities."
"Or even this," Quirrell added, pointing his wand at a cup of water on his desk. "Glacius!" The water instantly froze solid. "The Freezing Spell - a third-year spell that can immobilize opponents temporarily by freezing the ground beneath them. Highly effective, though requiring considerable magical strength."
As the class progressed, Harry noticed Quirrell's attention repeatedly returning to him, though always briefly and seemingly casually. When, near the end of the lesson, Quirrell invited volunteers to attempt the Verdimillious Duo Spell, his eyes locked momentarily with Harry's—a silent challenge.
Harry raised his hand and, when called upon, performed the spell with just enough Force enhancement to make it exceptional but not impossible for a talented first-year.
"Verdimillious Duo!" Green sparks burst from his wand, brighter and more controlled than expected from someone his age.
"Five points to Ravenclaw, Mr. Potter," Quirrell said smoothly. "Your progress is... most satisfying to observe."
As the class was ending, Quirrell called out, "Mr. Potter, a moment of your time, please."
When the other students had filed out, Quirrell fixed Harry with an evaluating stare. "I wonder... would you be willing to attempt something considerably more challenging? The Freezing Spell I demonstrated earlier?"
Harry hesitated, sensing this was some kind of test. "I could try, Professor, though it seems quite advanced."
"Indeed it is. But I've found that limitations are often self-imposed rather than actual barriers."
Harry nodded and focused intensely, drawing carefully on the Force while still making the spell appear to be challenging. "Glacius!" he incanted, pointing at the same cup Quirrell had used.
The water inside frosted over and partially froze, though not as completely as when Quirrell had cast it. Harry allowed himself to look slightly strained by the effort.
"Most impressive for a first attempt," Quirrell said quietly. "Few third-years manage even that much on their initial try. You have a remarkable gift, Mr. Potter. One that deserves... cultivation."
The Great Hall buzzed with lunchtime conversations as Harry found a relatively isolated spot at the Ravenclaw table. With Hermione engrossed in an animated debate about Arithmancy with Padma Patil and most of his other classmates distracted by a spectacular mishap from Herbology involving singing cacti, Harry seized the opportunity to look at the journal. It was warm, so he must have gotten a message from Lady Bones.
He casually propped a textbook in front of him, concealing the journal as he began to read:
'' Mister Potter,
Regarding France: My contacts in the French Ministry have no record of Quirrell visiting any registered dueling masters, academies, or magical research institutions during the holiday period. This doesn't mean he wasn't there, but his activities weren't through official channels.
One curious note: a British wizard matching Quirrell's description was observed several times near muggle historical sites in Paris—particularly those with occult connections. The Catacombs, certain sections of the Louvre containing ancient artifacts, and interestingly, areas associated with alchemical research.
This may be significant, as Dumbledore has a longstanding association with Nicholas Flamel, the renowned alchemist. I'm pursuing this connection discreetly.
For your protection, I strongly advise you to look into Occlumency—the magical discipline of protecting one's mind from external penetration. If Quirrell possesses Legilimency abilities (mind-reading, essentially), your thoughts may not be private. The Hogwarts library should have basic texts on the subject in the Restricted Section. Ask Professor Flitwick for permission to research it for "academic purposes."
My advice is to refuse to attend any lessons with Quirrell. You have done enough, and I don't want you in possible danger. Let me do the rest.
Amelia Bones. ''
Harry reread the message twice, committing the key points to memory. Occlumency. Mind protection. The implications were disturbing—could Quirrell actually read thoughts? Had Harry already revealed too much?
"Don't panic," came Anakin's voice beside him. "Remember that I am here with you, when the Sorting Hat tried to read your mind, I noticed it right away, and so did he, so if anyone would have tried to read your mind. I would have noticed."
"How are you so sure?"
"Because if Quirrell could read minds that easily, he'd already know everything," Anakin reasoned. "Besides, the Force gives you natural mental shields that most people don't have."
This was news to Harry. "It does?"
"To an extent," Anakin clarified. "Force-sensitives naturally protect their thoughts from casual intrusion. It's not foolproof, but it's better than nothing."
Somewhat reassured, Harry penned a brief acknowledgment to Amelia, thanking her for the information and promising to investigate Occlumency. As he closed the journal and returned to his lunch, he glanced toward the staff table.
Quirrell was engaged in conversation with Professor Sinistra, his manner relaxed and charming. Nothing about his demeanor suggested a man with sinister intentions or the ability to pluck thoughts from students' minds. Yet the pieces were adding up to a troubling picture: the unexplained visit to occult sites in Paris, the dramatic personality change, the focused interest in Harry's abilities.
Harry resolved to find out what Occlumency entailed before his private lesson with Quirrell. If the professor truly could read minds, Harry needed every protection available—both magical and Force-based—to shield his secrets.
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The Great Hall had been transformed once again for the Duelling Club meeting. Just as during the previous session before Christmas, the house tables were pushed against the walls, creating a spacious training area with the raised dueling platform dominating the center. The enchanted ceiling displayed a wintry night sky, snowflakes seeming to fall but disappearing before reaching the students below.
Harry entered with more confidence than he'd shown at his first meeting two weeks before Christmas. That initial session had been intimidating—his first time joining a club typically reserved for older students. Tonight, though, he knew what to expect.
"You seem less nervous this time," Anakin observed in Harry's mind.
"Last time I was worried about embarrassing myself," Harry replied silently. "Now I know I can hold my own, even against the older students."
"Just remember—"
"—don't show off with the Force," Harry finished mentally. "I know. Keep it subtle. Enhance reflexes, not power."
The hall was already filled with students arranging themselves in small practice groups. Harry spotted Cedric Diggory chatting with Tonks, whose hair was cycling through various shades of blue tonight. Across the room, Anna Bones was demonstrating a defensive spell to two other Ravenclaw fourth-years.
"Ah, Mr. Potter!" Professor Flitwick called, waving Harry over. The diminutive professor was wearing his formal dueling robes again, midnight blue with silver embroidery along the sleeves. "Welcome back! I was quite impressed with your performance before the holidays."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied. "I've been practicing the counters you showed us."
"Excellent initiative!" Flitwick beamed. "I noticed your work with Mr. Diggory was particularly productive last time. Tonight, however, I thought we might mix the partnerships a bit. Exposure to different dueling styles is crucial for developing versatility."
Harry nodded, silently hoping he'd be paired with someone equally patient. His first session with Cedric had gone well—despite ultimately losing their practice duel, Harry had impressed many by lasting as long as he had against a skilled fourth-year.
"Students!" Flitwick called, his magically amplified voice cutting through the chatter. "Welcome to another Duelling Club meeting! I trust you've all kept your reflexes sharp over the holidays?"
There was a general murmur of agreement, though Harry noticed a few guilty expressions among the crowd.
"Tonight we'll focus on adaptive defense—countering unexpected spell combinations and transitioning smoothly between defensive and offensive postures." Flitwick gestured to the list of pairings that had appeared on the wall. "Please check the board for your practice partners. We'll begin with basic drills before moving to demonstration duels."
Harry scanned the list, finding his name paired with "Bones, Anna." He glanced across the room to where the beautiful fourth-year Ravenclaw was already looking in his direction, offering a friendly wave.
"Anna Bones," Anakin commented. "A friend, but I don't think we ever really saw what's she is good at."
"Yes," Harry confirmed mentally as he made his way toward her. "She's very good at Transfiguration, according to Susan."
Anna greeted him with a smile as he approached. "Hello, Harry! Looks like we're partners tonight. I saw you work with Cedric last time—pretty impressive for a first-year."
"Thanks," Harry replied, grateful she wasn't treating him with the condescension some older students showed. "Though he definitely went easy on me."
"Maybe at first," Anna acknowledged, twirling her wand. "But that last combination he threw at you wasn't beginner level, and you handled it well." She assumed a standard dueling stance. "Let's see if you can keep up with a different style. I'm not as technically perfect as Cedric, but I'm a bit more... creative."
Harry mirrored her stance, feeling the comfortable familiarity of the position. "I'm ready when you are."
"Good. We'll start with alternating offense and defense, then move to reaction drills." She raised her wand. "Shield first—Flipendo!"
The knockback jinx came faster than Harry expected, but he smoothly raised a shield charm, deflecting it to the side.
"Nice," Anna nodded approvingly. "Now counter—your turn to attack."
Harry cast a simple Disarming Charm, which Anna deflected with a casual flick of her wand.
"Good form, but too direct," she advised. "Try varying your angle of approach. Again."
They continued exchanging spells, gradually increasing in complexity. Harry noticed that Anna's style was indeed different from Cedric's methodical approach. Where Cedric used textbook-perfect form, Anna was more fluid, incorporating small movements that made her intentions harder to predict.
"You're adapting well," Anna commented after successfully blocking Harry's combination of Disarming and Impediment Jinxes. "Most first-years would be overwhelmed by now."
"You're a good teacher," Harry replied, deflecting her return volley.
"Potter's right, Bones," Professor Flitwick squeaked, having appeared beside them to observe. "You have an excellent instructional manner. Five points to Ravenclaw for both of you—exemplary technique, Mr. Potter, and outstanding guidance, Miss Bones."
As Flitwick moved on to the next pair, Anna lowered her wand slightly. "He's right, you know. You pick things up faster than anyone I've seen. Even Tonks wasn't this quick when she started, and she's a natural."
Harry glanced across the hall where Tonks was now dueling Cedric. Despite Cedric's technical precision, Tonks's unpredictable style kept him constantly adjusting his defense. As they watched, she executed a brilliant feint that ended with Cedric's wand flying from his hand.
"And that," Anna grinned, "is why she's the best in our year, despite tripping over her own feet between duels."
"I've never seen anyone move like that during a duel," Harry admitted, watching as Tonks helped Cedric up after her victory.
"It's the metamorphmagus advantage," Anna explained. "She can adjust her center of gravity and reaction time on the fly. Nearly impossible to predict. Makes her infuriating to duel against, but amazing to watch."
They resumed their practice, with Anna gradually introducing more complex elements. She began transfiguring nearby objects as part of her defense—turning a cushion into a shield, changing the color of the floor to momentarily distract—tactics Harry had never considered.
"The environment is part of your arsenal," she explained, reverting a conjured bird back into a quill. "Magic isn't just about the spells you cast directly at an opponent."
"I never thought of it that way," Harry said truthfully, though the concept resonated with how Anakin had taught him to use the Force—not just as a direct tool, but as a way to interact with and manipulate his surroundings.
"That's good advice," Anakin commented in Harry's mind. "Using your environment strategically can compensate for differences in power."
After thirty minutes of practice, Flitwick called for the group's attention. "Excellent work, everyone! Now, let's observe some demonstration duels. These will illustrate practical application of the techniques we've been practicing." He consulted his notes. "First up: Diggory and Tonks on the platform, please!"
The students gathered around the raised dueling platform as Cedric and Tonks took their positions.
"Standard rules," Flitwick reminded them. "Duel ends with clear disarmament or when one party is unable to continue. Bow, and... begin!"
The duel was spectacular from the start. Cedric opened with a perfectly executed series of jinxes, each flowing into the next with textbook precision. Tonks, however, moved like water—flowing around his attacks rather than directly blocking them, her counterspells coming from unexpected angles.
"Watch how Cedric maintains perfect form," Anna whispered to Harry. "But Tonks... she creates chaos. Makes him respond to her rhythm instead of setting his own."
Harry nodded, absorbing every detail. Cedric was undeniably skilled—his shields forming instantly, his offensive spells powerful. But Tonks was unpredictable, shifting between defensive and offensive postures, her hair flashing different colors with each exchange.
The duel continued for several minutes, the crowd gasping and cheering at particularly impressive exchanges. Cedric managed to land a partial Impediment Jinx that slowed Tonks's left side, but she adapted immediately, using the imbalance to drop into a roll that evaded his follow-up spell while simultaneously casting a modified Trip Jinx from below.
Cedric, caught off-guard by the unusual angle, stumbled slightly. In that moment of imperfect balance, Tonks struck with a perfectly aimed Disarming Charm. Cedric's wand arced through the air, landing neatly in Tonks's outstretched hand.
The hall erupted in applause. Cedric, though disappointed, smiled as Tonks returned his wand with an exaggerated bow.
"Outstanding demonstration!" Flitwick declared. "Note how Miss Tonks used Mr. Diggory's precision against him—he expected conventional responses, which allowed her unorthodox approach to succeed."
As the applause died down, Flitwick continued, "Now, let's have another pair. Miss Bones and Mr. Potter, perhaps?"
Harry felt a jolt of surprise. He hadn't expected to be called for a demonstration duel.
"Don't worry," Anna whispered as they moved toward the platform. "Just show what you can do. No one expects a first-year to win against a fourth-year."
"That takes the pressure off," Harry replied dryly, earning Anna's laugh.
As they took their positions on the platform, Harry became acutely aware of all eyes upon him. This was different from practicing in pairs—this was performance.
"Center yourself," Anakin advised. "Feel the Force flowing through you, but remember: subtle enhancements only. Your natural magical ability is enough to impress."
Harry took a deep breath, settling into his stance. Across from him, Anna looked focused but encouraging.
"Begin!" Flitwick called after they had bowed to each other.
Anna opened with a rapid series of minor jinxes—nothing dangerous but coming quickly enough to test Harry's reaction time. Drawing minimally on the Force, Harry enhanced his reflexes just enough to deflect each spell smoothly, his shield charms forming with precision.
"Good defensive work, Potter!" Anna called, increasing her pace. "But you can't win on defense alone!"
She was right. Harry waited for a pattern in her casting, then during a fractional pause between spells, launched his own Disarming Charm. Anna deflected it easily, but Harry had already moved to his next spell—the Leg-Locker Curse, aimed slightly to her left, forcing her to shift her position.
"Clever!" she acknowledged, transfiguring a nearby quill into a small mirror that reflected Harry's next spell back toward him.
Harry dropped and rolled—a move straight from Anakin's training—coming up with a precisely aimed Tickling Charm that caught Anna just as she was preparing her next attack. She doubled over, laughing uncontrollably, but managed to cast the counter-charm between giggles.
The duel continued, Harry holding his own far better than anyone expected. He was careful to use only standard spells, though his movements and timing showed unusual sophistication for his age. When Anna conjured a flock of small birds to distract him, Harry didn't panic—he cast a Wind Charm that blew them off course, then immediately followed with a Disarming Charm while Anna was adjusting her position.
The spell nearly succeeded, causing Anna's wand to slip into her grasp before she recovered. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise before narrowing in concentration.
"No more kid gloves, then," she murmured, just loud enough for Harry to hear.
What followed was a demonstration of fourth-year spell work that would have overwhelmed most third-years, let alone a first-year student. Anna cast with impressive speed, incorporating transfiguration and charms in creative combinations.
Harry lasted another ninety seconds—a remarkable achievement—before a particularly clever sequence left him disarmed, his wand flying into Anna's waiting hand.
The crowd erupted in applause, as much for Harry's impressive showing as for Anna's eventual victory. Even some of the older students who had initially seemed skeptical of Harry's inclusion in the club were nodding with respect.
"Extraordinary!" Flitwick exclaimed, bouncing on his toes with excitement. "Simply extraordinary! Miss Bones, excellent spell combinations and environmental adaptation. And Mr. Potter—" he turned to Harry, beaming proudly "—that was the finest showing from a first-year I've seen in all my years of teaching!"
Anna handed Harry back his wand with a genuine smile. "That was brilliant, Harry. You almost had me with that Disarming Charm after the wind spell."
"Thanks," Harry replied, slightly out of breath but pleased with his performance. "Your bird conjuring was amazing. I've never seen that in a duel before."
As they stepped down from the platform, Harry found himself surrounded by interested students, including Cedric and Tonks.
"Well done, Potter!" Cedric clapped him on the shoulder. "You've improved even since our practice before Christmas."
"Seriously impressive," Tonks agreed, her hair shifting to an admiring shade of blue. "Who'd have thought the little firstie had such moves?" She turned to Anna. "Though you didn't go easy on him at the end there, did you?"
"Not at all," Anna replied. "Those were legitimate fourth-year combinations. He's just that good."
Harry felt his cheeks warm at the praise. "I got lucky with a few counters."
"That wasn't luck," Cedric said firmly. "That was talent and practice."
As the club meeting continued with more demonstrations and practice, Harry found himself feeling genuinely accepted by the older students for the first time, not as "The Boy Who Lived," but as a fellow duelist who had earned their respect through demonstrated skill.
It was, Harry realized, exactly the kind of recognition he had always wanted—based on his own abilities rather than his famous past.
"You did well, Padawan," Anakin commented as Harry practiced a new shield variation with Anna. "And managed to impress without revealing your true capabilities."
"Thanks," Harry replied mentally. "Though I'm starting to wonder if magical dueling and Force combat might complement each other more than we thought."
"An interesting theory," Anakin mused.
As they filed out of the Great Hall, Tonks fell into step beside Harry. "Not bad for your first Duelling Club," she said, nudging him with her elbow. "You're going to have quite the reputation by tomorrow."
"I wasn't trying to show off," Harry protested.
"Course not," Tonks grinned. "You just naturally happen to be better than most third-years despite being eleven. No big deal."
Harry couldn't help laughing. "You're ridiculous."
"Says the pint-sized dueling prodigy." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "Next time," Tonks suggested with an exaggerated wink. "I'll teach you my specialty—the Technicolor Tantrum. Turns hair, eyebrows, and visible skin a different color every five seconds. Completely harmless but absolutely infuriating in a duel. Can't maintain proper focus when you're cycling through rainbow colors."
"Is that even a real spell?" Harry asked skeptically.
"It is now! I invented it last year after Marcus Flint called me a clumsy half-blood." She grinned mischievously. "He looked like a walking paint palette for three hours. Worth every minute of detention."
"You're a menace, Tonks."
"The highest compliment!" She clutched her heart dramatically. "Though coming from the boy who managed to survive 6 minutes with Anna, I'll take it. Seriously, do you practice that cool-under-pressure face in the mirror?"
Harry snorted. "Right after I practice my 'I'm just a normal wizard, nothing to see here' face."
"Which needs work, by the way," Tonks teased. "You've got this look sometimes—like you know something no one else does."
Harry felt a brief flash of alarm, but Tonks continued before he could respond.
"It's a good thing you're cute, or people might find it suspicious." She pinched his cheek like an overbearing aunt.
"I am not cute," Harry protested, batting her hand away. "I'm formidable."
Tonks burst out laughing. "Yeah, about as formidable as a kneazle kitten trying to roar." She morphed her face briefly to have exaggeratedly large, innocent eyes. "'Oh look at me, I'm Harry Potter, I can deflect hexes while reciting Hogwarts: A History backwards, but I'm not showing off, honest!'"
"That's a terrible impression," Harry complained.
"Thanks," Tonks replied brightly. "I've been working on it all week. Next, I'm perfecting my McGonagall. Watch." She transformed her face into a passable impression of their Transfiguration professor's stern visage. "Mr. Potter, your matchstick-to-needle transfiguration was adequate, but your posture suggests an alarming disregard for proper wizarding deportment."
"Stop! She'll somehow know you did that and dock points."
"Probably." Tonks's face returned to normal. "Worth it to see you laugh, though. You're too serious sometimes, you know that? For an eleven-year-old, you've got the weight-of-the-world expression down pat."
"Force of habit," Harry said, sobering slightly.
Tonks studied him for a moment, her expression softening. "Well, good thing you've got me to counterbalance all that seriousness. Someone's got to remind you to be a kid occasionally."
Harry couldn't help but smile at her teasing. "Thanks for showing me that trick with the transfigured reflector. I'd never have thought of that."
"That's because you're still thinking like a textbook," Tonks explained. "Magic is about imagination as much as technique. Remember that for your private lesson with Quirrell tomorrow."
Harry nodded, appreciating the reminder. As they parted ways in the entrance hall—Tonks heading toward the Hufflepuff basement, Harry toward Ravenclaw Tower—he felt more prepared for his confrontation with Quirrell.
"You made quite an impression," Anakin commented as they climbed the stairs. "Just be careful—the more attention you draw, the more scrutiny you'll face."
"I know," Harry acknowledged. "But I can't exactly hide in the shadows forever."
"No," Anakin agreed, a strange note in his voice. "Sometimes the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows."
Harry pondered this cryptic statement as they ascended to Ravenclaw Tower, where dreams of duels and shields awaited him.
.
.
' "Harry..."
The whisper slipped through the darkness, barely audible. Harry turned, squinting into the gloom of an unfamiliar corridor. Stone walls stretched endlessly before him, lit only by sputtering torches that cast more shadows than light.
"Harry..."
Louder now. A voice calling his name, distant but urgent. Harry began walking toward it, his footsteps echoing unnaturally against the cold stone floor.
"Is someone there?" he called, his voice swallowed by the oppressive silence that followed.
The corridor seemed to lengthen as he walked, stretching impossibly before him. The air grew colder with each step, his breath fogging before his face. Something was wrong—this place felt wrong, saturated with a heaviness that pressed against his skin.
"Harry... please..."
The voice was clearer now, familiar somehow. A girl's voice, tight with fear. Harry quickened his pace, his heart beginning to race.
"Where are you?" he shouted, breaking into a run.
The corridor finally ended at a massive wooden door, ancient and bound with iron. From behind it, the voice came again, no longer a whisper but a desperate cry.
"Harry, help me!"
He knew that voice.
"Tonks!" Harry grabbed the iron handle, pulling with all his strength. The door didn't budge. He tried again, throwing his weight against the unyielding wood. "I'm coming! Hold on!"
"Harry, please! Hurry!"
Tonks's voice had risen to a scream now, raw with terror. Harry stepped back from the door, his mind racing. The handle wouldn't turn, his strength wasn't enough.
"I'll help you!" he shouted. "Just hold on!"
Harry reached for the Force. It responded instantly, surging through him with more strength than he was accustomed to. He thrust both hands forward, channeling the energy into a powerful push.
The door exploded inward, wood splintering with a thunderous crack. Harry stumbled through the opening into a circular chamber, its high ceiling lost in darkness.
What he saw froze the blood in his veins.
Tonks hung suspended in the center of the room, several feet above the floor. Her body contorted in pain, her hair cycling rapidly through colors—purple, blue, red, black—as if her metamorphmagus abilities were responding involuntarily to her agony. Around her, arcs of blue-white lightning danced, encircling but not quite touching her.
"Harry," she gasped, her eyes finding his. "Help me... please..."
"Let her go!" Harry shouted into the darkness. "She's done nothing to you!"
A low chuckle echoed from the shadows—cold, amused, and utterly merciless.
"She is nothing," a voice replied, seeming to come from everywhere at once. "Merely a means to an end. The question is, what will you do about it, young Potter?"
Harry reached for the Force again, trying to break whatever held Tonks suspended. The energy responded sluggishly, slipping through his mental grasp like water.
"Stop it!" he cried, desperation rising as Tonks writhed in silent agony above him. "Leave her alone!"
"You are not strong enough," the voice taunted. "Your potential is wasted. Only through power—true power—can you save those you care about."
Harry tried again, gathering every scrap of Force energy he could muster, focusing it on the lightning surrounding Tonks. For a moment, the crackling energy faltered.
"Yes," the voice encouraged, suddenly eager. "Use it!"
Something dark and cold unfurled in Harry's chest—rage, fear, desperation—tangling with his attempt to access the Force. The lightning around Tonks intensified, drawing closer to her suspended form.
"I can't—it's not working!" Harry cried, panic overwhelming him.
"Because you are weak," the voice replied coldly. "You lack what is necessary to save her."
The lightning contracted suddenly, collapsing inward. Tonks's scream pierced the chamber as the crackling energy engulfed her completely, her body illuminated in a blinding flash of blue-white light.
"NO!" Harry screamed, lunging forward. '
His hand grasped empty air as he jerked upright in bed, sweat-soaked sheets tangled around him, his heart hammering against his ribs. The dormitory was quiet and dark, his roommates still sleeping peacefully.
A dream. Just a dream.
Yet the echo of Tonks's scream lingered in his ears, and the cold voice's judgment—"You are weak"—seemed to hover in the darkness surrounding his bed.
"Harry?" Anakin's concerned voice filled his mind. "What happened?"
Harry drew a shaking breath, unable to dismiss the visceral terror of the nightmare. "Just a bad dream," he whispered in his mind. "But it felt so real."
What he didn't say, what he couldn't bring himself to articulate even to Anakin, was the brief moment when that dark power had responded to his rage—and how, for just an instant, it had felt right.
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