Pre-Chapter A/N: More chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio. Experimenting with two chapters a week, we'll see how long I can keep this up for.
The World Cup was nothing compared to this, I thought to myself as Sirius and I were quickly ushered off the landing platform our Portkey had deposited us on. Literally seconds after we landed, another group landed on the platform. They were similarly ushered off, smiling all the while as they chattered excitedly, before another group took their place. It wasn't just the arrival platforms that were bustling. The government of the magical Netherlands had set aside an entire magical city within Broekzele for the tournament. There was a massive stadium where the duels were scheduled to take place. There were hotels, pubs, inns, and stalls that sold everything from fake wands that produced sparkles on command for children to duel each other, to figurines and models of famous dueling champions.
They'd even apparently retained the services of the best statue enchantress in the continent, Sirius excitedly whispered to me as he tried to relay just about every detail. He had learned about the place during his time house hunting. Of course, now, I was beginning to suspect that he had been hunting the real estate witches rather than the houses, considering he hadn't ended up closing on any of them and just secured us the penthouse suite in one of the hotels the government had built.
It was designed after a modern Muggle hotel and probably had all the expected luxuries, but the lack of private training chambers would probably sting in time. I had so many kinks to iron out when it came to my runic fighting style, but I didn't expect to be pushed into revealing that trump card at this level of dueling. The less warning Voldemort had for what was coming his way, the better. We shoved and pushed our way through the bustling crowd that seemed to be heading in every direction and deciding that the best way to do that was through us. I felt the anti-theft enchantment on my robes kick in as someone's hands were stuck in my pocket.
I stopped, looking down at the child that had been about to liberate my coin purse without me being any the wiser. Burying the temptation to just curse the munchkin for the assumption that he could steal from Doom and get away with it, I took a longer look at him. His robes were threadbare, his teeth were brown in some spots as he looked up at me with a look not too far from that of a deer caught in a car's headlights. He could anticipate this not going well. At least he had some wits to him. Not enough wits to know not to steal from a wizard, though.
I reached into my other pocket and tossed him a single Galleon. "Word of advice, kid, don't place your fingers into pockets that look as nice as mine. These are enchanted to catch you out. Wizards dressed more poorly are more likely to have failing, fading, or non-existent anti-theft enchantments," I said, before disabling the trap and allowing him to leave unmolested. He did not, instead staring at me, and then at the galleon, head snapping between both over and over again. I just chuckled before rubbing him on the hair and leaving him behind. There was something that I liked about ambition—a desire to change your state in life, to believe you were worth more than the world thought you were. Even just looking at his eyes told me the kid had it in spades.
For one, not for a second did he think he was my lesser. I had more money, more power, more magical knowledge, and he didn't care. Just saw me as another obstacle to be overcome. That, I could respect. Of course, it was likely enough to get the kid killed before he even made it to eleven and got a chance to see just how big the wizarding world truly was.
I caught up to Sirius in no time. I was still shooting up like a reed so I'd managed to become tall enough that I could see the heads of a good portion of the crowd and I just had to look for one with hair worn like his was the worst of the eighties. I chuckled to myself and made sure to note to mention to Sirius that the only reason I found him was because of his aged haircut. He would fume. He was quite attached to…whatever that mess on his head was.
He led us straight to the hotel first of all. We had luggage to put down, but it was not like either of us had any pressing need to do so, all our suitcases being shrunk down.
"We could have gone ahead to secure good seats in the arena," I said. This was, hopefully, going to be the only day I'd be spending entirely in the stands. It was scheduled for the opening ceremony and several exhibition duels from actual competitors in the adult dueling scene. I would never admit it out loud, but I was anxious to see what these men were capable of. Back when Flitwick and I had been on talking terms, he'd been unequivocal about me not being ready to duel at that level, and it made me wonder—just how good were they?
"I bought a box. Don't worry, we'll have the best seats in the arena no matter when we arrive," he said, haughtily with a sniff.
"Should I be worried about the money you're spending on this? The penthouse suite, now a box in the stadium itself. Neither of those could have been cheap," I ventured. Money wasn't something I worried about, we could always make (or take) more when needed, but I had to guard against this man beggaring himself while chasing frivolities.
"Worry not. Treat this like an investment. With the size of the bet I placed on you, the winnings from that will more than pay for anything we spend here and even have us take home a profit." I froze on my way to my room as I heard that.
"You're joking." I tried—I hoped. He was not, in fact, joking.
XXXXXXX—
The welcoming ceremony was unlike anything I had seen before in both my lives. Firstly, there was the dragon made of fireworks that flew about the stadium, making complex dives, twirls, banks, and ascents every which way in a pattern that was as mesmerizing as it was impressive. And then every few seconds or so, it would stop and breathe out a torrent of fireworks that exploded into all sorts of magical creatures that lasted a few seconds before dissipating. And that was only the pre-show. We had everything from duels to speeches coming our way, and if this was the splendor of the U17 tournament then I could just imagine how the real world championships would look like.
"Welcome, Welcome, Wizards, Witches, Magical Creatures, members of the Wizarding World one and all!" A voice said grandly. It was difficult to see where the voice was coming from until the dragon rose in the air, spreading its wings as it flew until it was covering much of the stadium, and then it turned in a perfect Senna Reversal—a Quidditch move that involved flying straight up, and then sharply U-turning into a dive—hurtling itself at the ground with even more speed than it had risen.
There were screams, yells, and they died out quickly once the dragon hit the ground and exploded, revealing a stage with a single man standing atop it.
"I am Julian Russo, Chief Planning Officer of this year's Under-17 World Dueling Championship, and I have the great pleasure of welcoming you to what is slated to be the biggest, baddest, most competitive, most thrilling dueling tournament ever." He said, hyping up the tournament and the crowd seemed to be eating it all up, clapping with abandon and displaying obvious enthusiasm.
"Well, these things have definitely gotten more showy," Sirius whispered in my ear, when there was a brief lull in the noise.
"Now tell me, are you ready to be entertained?" He screamed the last part out, and the crowd was roaring again.
"Good, good. Before we get into the entertainment, some housekeeping. This year, we received one thousand two hundred and thirteen unique applications. Only five of those ended up being ineligible after scrutiny from our best minds. So I can see the smart ones among us doing the math. One thousand two hundred and eight contestants remain. Of course, we wouldn't do those one at a time, so our team of scryers and soothsayers have done their best to divide all the contestants into blocks. Altogether, we expect to have thirty-two blocks. Twenty-four with thirty-eight contestants and eight with thirty-seven. Every hopeful contestant will get the chance to strut their stuff in nine duels from within their block. The best two from each block will proceed to the Round of Sixty-four." He began, laying out the format while I tried to cram as much of it into my mind as possible.
"So tomorrow will have the first stage of the qualification rounds and the day after tomorrow will have the second stage. Two days from now, we will proceed with the Round of 64. Now I can already see some of you making plans to skip or wondering what to do with that time. I enjoin you all to come watch as many of the duels as possible. You need to know how the contestants are doing to make good bets, don't you?" He said before spewing the fakest laugh I ever had the misfortune of hearing.
"I can already see some of you nodding off at all these boring rules and the like. Let's get on with the action, shall we?" He asked, and there were cheers but fewer than when he'd begun and the excitement had been high.
"Let's wake up the crowd, then. Please welcome our first exhibition match of the day: Michelle Jones v. Rohan Bhattacharya." As he announced the names, fireworks flew in the air, creating explosions of light that turned into holograms of both their faces with their names underneath. Michelle Jones winked, while Rohan Bhattacharya simply looked bored with the whole thing.
"The attentive ones among you will have noticed that this is a rematch of the famed 1990 U17 Championship," he said, beginning to applaud as he stepped backwards.
The grass that made the floor of the stadium parted as a platform rose from the ground. It was gleaming white. On opposite ends of the circle were the duelists. Michelle Jones was waving at the crowd and seemed highly personable. It might have been fun to work with her. But after Flitwick essentially disowned me, she'd withdrawn her offer in no time. The Indian on the other hand seemed like he would rather be anywhere but here. I could get that. From what I knew about the world rankings, he wasn't in the top 50 yet and he'd been U17 Champion a whole five years ago. If I was in his place, I'd rather be training than fighting someone I'd already beaten.
Especially since Michelle Jones hasn't fought a competitive duel in two years now. He probably saw this as a waste of his time and talent. I struggled to disagree.
The duel began with a popped firework that spelled out the word 'Begin' against the sky. Bhattacharya struck first. He used his wand like an extension of his arm, almost serpentine in the way he commanded the unusually flexible length of wood to his bidding. He struck with two powerful spells that bounced off the barriers like gongs. He'd aimed for Jones, but when the spells reached her, she simply wasn't there. So light she was on her feet that it was more like she was dancing out of the way of his bolts of light than dodging potentially career-ending injuries.
She twirled in space and then sent a spell at a seemingly random position. Of course, I knew that if she had made it this far in her dueling career then years out of practice or not, there would be nothing random about that position. Her opponent must have thought the same as well as he began working even harder to end the fight. Bhattacharya was a powerful wizard—there could be no doubt about it. The way he chained spells that should have drained a lesser man with little to no hesitation spoke of an innate power that most would dream of and few would ever get to witness in person.
Jones on the other hand was almost impossibly quick. She applied a spell on her shoes and then pointed her wand at different points both along the floor and in the air. She ran from the spells sent her way until she reached one of the points that she had to have wanded out in the beginning.
It sent her shooting across the space, flying past Bhattacharya himself and landing with a perfect roll. He turned with her planning to catch her off-guard, but Jones was not so easily dissuaded. He sent a spell she turned to the side to avoid the worst of, the cutter still managing to cut deep into Jones' arm, going so deep in fact that I was certain it cut to the bone.
Regardless, she bore the pain well, moving to the side even further to avoid the next spell that was sent her way before she sent a stunner at her target. Bhattacharya did not even react, knowing full well that it would sail past his shoulder, for the aim was no better than any of her earlier spells—lulling the man into a false sense of security. Except that the spell seemed to hit something in the air and reflect itself straight at the Indian. Bhattacharya never even saw it coming—the spell that took him out of the fight. The stunner hit him and a second later, he was down for the count, out like a light. Good. But how had she done that? It wasn't the barrier. I had mapped out the edges of the barrier already, and that wasn't even close. Not close enough to reflect a spell with such power. It had to be something Jones had caused.
Probably those spells she fired into the air. It was interesting, that she could use spells to alter the direction of other spells was nothing new, but using a spell that essentially reflected another spell while remaining invisible all the while. How the hell was that even possible? The first spell had to remain active all the time. How was she splitting her focus between all of them and still able to duel so well?
"In a stunning reversal of fortunes, Jones is the one that comes out victorious, snatching victory from the grasp of defeat. She gets her revenge for five years ago, and she is rightfully celebrating. Go on, Miss Jones, you have more than earned it," Julian Russo stepped back on to his platform again.
"Is it just me or did that feel a bit too hot for comfort?" He asked, exaggeratedly fanning himself with his hand. He got titters from the crowd for the joke even as I found it a bit flat.
"Back to the rules before I interrupt my riveting speech again for something as boring as a duel between some of the best to ever do it," He said, keeping his face straight as half the stadium began to laugh again.
"As for the magicks allowed, we will be following the ICW standard for dueling competitions, and so any spell that would cause damage rated as A or higher on the Manton's scale will be disallowed and punished." I refreshed my memory on the specifics. Less than an A meant no permanent loss of limb, no torture, no castrations, and definitely no killing. That was good at least. Most of my bag did not rely on grievously injuring or maiming my fellow competitors so I wouldn't be at a disadvantage even while those who came prepared with more permanent options found their repertoires shrunk.
"Probably a reaction to what happened in Russia in the previous tournament," I guessed to Sirius, whispering in his ears.
"What happened?" He asked, snapping all his attention straight to me.
"Twenty contestants died. One of them a finalist, and another a quarter-finalist," I said, and he whistled. Fatalities in this sport were almost entirely concentrated among the less skilled. The better you were, the more tools you had to protect your life in a bad situation, and the better equipped you were to know when you were outmatched and yield before things got fatal.
XXXX- LUCIUS MALFOY
He had thought he was done with kneeling. While he had despaired the Dark Lord's passing right as they were at the cusp of total victory against the abominable ministry of Muggle lovers and Mudbloods, he had eventually come to enjoy the feeling of being his own man—of doing things because he wanted to do them, of not kneeling.
Now his Lord had returned and his knee learned to bend once again. He bent it one more time the second he walked into the room.
"Yes, Lucius?" His Lord's sibilant voice echoed from the head of the room.
"Number Four Privet Drive, Surrey, My Lord. That is where Potter's Muggle family lives," he said, offering the information. It had not even been hard. He had just asked Dolores, and she had slipped him a note in a matter of hours.
"Good. Well done, Lucius. Well done. Prepare yourself and prepare the others. Potter will learn the error of his ways. He will learn not to take from me again," His Lord said, and in his haste to stand, Lucius made the mistake of looking up too early. Catching a glimpse of his Lord's burnt face.
"Crucio," was all he heard before he faded to black.
A/N: Yeah, Voldy's getting up to his usual bullshit while we get to see the beginning of the U17 tournament. Can't wait to start proper. Next four chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.