The stone monochrome walls of the hall, my opponent on the line before me, nothing to distract the eye, nothing to pull attention away. I stand holding my wand, but doing so in a demonstrably relaxed manner, not even turning sideways to face my opponent. The wand rests evenly in my hand, precisely along my index and middle fingers, like a conductor's baton — only that way can you achieve the maximum range of motion in all directions. The classic rigid grip limits precision and freedom of movement simply due to the structure of the metacarpal bones and tendons...
Silence — we wait for the countdown from Mr. Greengrass.
Not for the first time in such situations, a thought surfaces at the very edge of consciousness — all that's missing is the music from some old film about the Wild West with Clint Eastwood.
I bent my wand arm at the elbow, thereby maintaining the appearance of being relaxed, while still remaining ready to respond to any attack.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
"On three. One..." Mr. Greengrass's voice was steady, but there were notes of anticipation in it. "Two... Three!"
Did I do anything at all? No. Certainly, one could end it all quickly, in a single brief moment, but what would be the point? In that case, the opponent would be able, purely for his own peace of mind, to invent a thousand and one reasons for his loss other than my superiority. Excuses will save the world! But if you arrange it so that absolutely any attempt to do anything to you proves completely useless, that will be a very different experience for the opponent.
A Bombarda hex flew straight at me — Nott had decided to finish it as quickly as possible. I simply cast a counter-charm from the household variety, and the bolt dispersed a meter from me — I had calculated that distance deliberately.
An Incarcero came flying — I interrupted its flight with another counter-charm.
A Stupefy beam, behind which Nott had hidden a cutting curse from the category of minor Dark ones — I deflected it back with the appropriate Protego, and absorbed the curse on the corresponding Dark Magic analogue of Protego. The film of this shield appeared not grey or bluish, but faintly reddish.
Nott honorably defended himself from his own Stupefy, and began frantically pelting me again with every magical manipulation he knew, including Dark ones. Most I destroyed with counter-charms exactly a meter from me, some I deflected, and the Dark ones I absorbed on the Dark shield. I could have reflected them back, but I was afraid Nott might not defend himself in time, and the duel would end sooner than I wanted.
No, fighting an opponent like this is decidedly dull. But it did allow me to stand in a relaxed manner, shifting my weight to one leg, slipping my free hand into my trouser pocket, and defending myself with only lazy, brief wand movements, like casual brushstrokes from a painter's hand.
While I lazily batted aside Nott's various — sometimes serious — magic, I equally lazily sank into thought, which didn't hinder my successful defense against everything whatsoever. First thought — in fairness, it should be noted that Theo had improved his skills. One might say he was at a decent level among the schoolchildren in the Dueling Club. Second thought — I needed to finish without causing unnecessary injury to the boy. However unpleasant these Notts might be to me personally, or indeed unpleasant to anyone in general, there was no point in creating yet another reason for hatred — there were enough of those already. Otherwise I might have to resort to radical measures, which I'd prefer not to resort to unnecessarily.
Nott began to be cunning, weaving household charms into his attacks. For example, that same tie-tightening trick, or something similar. But against a fast-thinking opponent who misses nothing — meaning me — this was no problem. Nott may have learned a few nonverbal spells, but his wand movements remained classic and full, and were easy to read, meaning countermeasures could be taken almost in advance.
As is well known, various attack spells, charms and curses are countered by corresponding household ones. The reverse is also true. So I opposed Nott's household charms with my own attack spells, destroying them at that same meter from me.
Nott grew tired, stopped casting and simply held his outstretched wand before him, waiting for something unclear. During our duel I could hear from the corner of my ear quick remarks from the adults' side — things like: "This Muggle-born doesn't even know the proper stance," "He can only defend," "Weakling," "You're all idiots, you can't see anything." That was at the beginning of the fight. Then, suddenly, it dawned on most of them that it was no accident that all of Nott's attacks were shattering a meter from me, that the simplest and safest ones I was reflecting back, and the Dark ones I was absorbing on the Dark shield — which was itself quite telling.
"That's it? Out of breath?" I asked with a smirk, which provoked a new wave of displeasure mixed with helplessness and simple dislike toward me.
"Not a chance!" Nott aimed his slightly trembling wand at me, mustered his courage and anger, and declared: "Crucio!"
The red beam of the curse flew extremely fast. Crucio, however, is not Avada — one cannot shield against it as one can against the Killing Curse, but it can be deflected. Sharply pulling my free hand from my pocket, I wrapped it in Dark magic with the intent of redirecting this kindred Dark spell, and simply batted downward at the red mass. The mass, like some kind of water or a branching discharge, ran across my hand, and I simply shook it off onto the floor, where it dissipated.
This maneuver provoked mild astonishment among the adults, and complete shock in young Nott. No doubt they'd been taught this was a powerful spell with no defense? Well, well. It's all in the nuances and the skill. Now, against Avada, one must defend oneself only by creating a dense, solid physical barrier.
"Weak," I pretended to be disappointed and even let down, looking at my free hand. "I'm bored..."
Now I, purely for the sake of theatrics, quickly and with a measure of grace took up a proper stance, holding my wand correctly for the grip where arm, wand, body and opponent form a single axis, and simply pointed the tip at Nott.
He hesitated for a second from exhaustion, hopelessness and astonishment, beginning to cast Protego even before I had done anything.
Without gestures or words, remaining motionless, I conjured the fastest and most powerful... Lumos Solem.
The directed cone of bright light made the boy shield his eyes with the hand holding his wand. Just as wordlessly and motionlessly, I conjured ice on the floor beneath him, and he crashed down on his back — here I guided his fall slightly with magic to make the impact as forceful as possible. At the moment the boy tried to locate me with his gaze — or rather, when he found me — I briefly reproduced a spell I had seen performed by Snape many times. Legilimens. Without gestures or words, naturally. Its description with the nuances of the necessary thought-forms I had read, had felt its activation perhaps a hundred times during my training with Snape, so...
...A father dressing down his negligent son for some transgression...
...A gloomy hall of the family home, full of wizards in black, and at the head of the company — the Dark Lord, I dare not even think about how terrifying he looks without his nose, with pale skin...
...Insane bitch! Why on earth did father ask her to teach me a couple of spells?..
..."You will serve a great purpose. Sooner or later," — bowing my head, I look at the floor at the Dark Lord's feet. — "Distinguish yourself, young Nott, and we shall see..."
...Useless! All useless! Whatever I use, this Mudblood bastard counters everything! Mordred!...
Taking advantage of the formed mental connection, I planted into the chain of associations a frightening image of my good self, radiating a sea of Dark magic and inspiring fear. All of this took place in a fraction of a second — Nott didn't even understand that these thoughts had been provoked not by chance.
"Expelliarmus," I pronounced the Disarming Charm demonstratively slowly, in a voice full of boredom and mockery, and a moment later Nott's wand was in my hands. "Dull and dreary."
I made my way toward the wizards seated on the sofas, while Nott engaged in self-flagellation, remaining on the floor. Handing the boy's wand to his father, I looked at the rest. Daphne and Pansy, judging by their expressions and slight smiles, had expected no other outcome, though perhaps they had hoped for a somewhat less gentle ending.
"I had no doubt in your abilities," Smetwick was smiling happily, sprang up from the sofa and clapped me on the shoulder. "I know what you're capable of."
"Should anyone have expected otherwise from Hogwarts' finest duelist?" Daphne said this loudly and clearly, not forgetting to add: "Even last year, Hector demonstrated his superiority over everyone on more than one occasion, including visiting guests."
"I had heard that someone from Hogwarts was quite good then," Greengrass nodded, while Nott Senior was surprised and watched his son — who was slowly approaching — with displeasure.
"Son..."
"Yes, Father?"
"I have a number of questions for you."
"Understood."
Conversations that held little interest for me commenced. The Notts were upset, William Greengrass also didn't look happy, while his wife, Daphne's mother, continued to smile enigmatically, though in a somewhat different way. Smetwick and I proceeded to prepare for my actual examination. To this end, the Healer produced from within his robes, as if by magic, a large — I would even say enormous — bound folder of papers and writing implements, and began to arrange everything more comfortably on the table, trying through the air of importance in his actions to inspire serious thoughts in me — it didn't work.
The Notts, disappointed in everything, decided to bid farewell to all and eventually hurried to leave the house. The elder Greengrasses went to see them out, while the girls decided they'd pass the time well enough here, watching as Smetwick drew knowledge and skills out of me. Though for the moment it was unclear precisely how.
"So then..." Smetwick extracted a couple of sheets of paper from the folder. "Let's run through the theory."
"Theory?"
"Well yes, what's the point without theory? Don't worry, Mr. Granger. There'll be no questions from the school curriculum here. So, let's start with the obvious — human anatomy."
Smetwick waved his wand, and a glowing illusion of a human skeleton appeared beside me.
"Oh..." Pansy was unprepared for this, while Daphne merely shook her head.
"You haven't seen, my friend, how my godfather conjures illusory battles of ghostly skeletons. Out of boredom."
"As if I didn't have enough ghosts at Hogwarts to ruin my sense of beauty."
Smetwick began asking questions, calling out bones at random in English and asking me to point to them and name them in Latin, or highlighting one on the skeleton and asking what it was. After fifty questions, it was time for muscles, then internal organs and so on.
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