A/N: Sadly, I own neither Code Geass nor Harry Potter.
Year One
Stage 12 - Aftermath
Tracey transfigured a javelin and hurled it through the chest of a cerberus. Whoever thought a massive animal in a tight, confined space would make for a good guard dog was a fool. She swept forward, wand drawn, with Daphne following in her wake.
Daphne held out a hand to stop Tracey from seeking a 'creative' solution to the puzzle before them. She refused to risk it, not when the alternative only required her to win a game of chess. Unless Harry had control of the white pieces (which would be wildly uncharacteristic of him), this wouldn't take long.
Daphne ignored the riddle. She saw the pattern. Each protection had come from a professor, and this was Professor Snape's room. Surely he would make a trap of the solution. Instead, she grasped the first vial and began analysing its contents. If none of them contained a fire protection potion, she would unleash Tracey to solve the problem in her own way.
Tracey held Daphne back and stepped into the strange mirror first. Its surface rippled as she extended a finger first into it to test the waters, so to speak, obstructing their view of the other side. Satisfied that it hadn't eaten her or something equally horrid, she boldly strode forward. Once all the way inside, she checked herself over and glanced around. Everything seemed well, at least from the outside. After a moment, her arm extended back out and beckoned Daphne to come through.
A handsome and sharply dressed young man advanced slowly with a curious malice in his eyes. A world of ruin parted around him to clear his way. Daphne ran. She didn't know what else to do. But whenever she looked behind her, the man was always one slow step closer than before.
Tracey hung in midair by her hair, spent, burnt, broken, barely clothed, and with a wand to her throat. The young man holding it quirked an eyebrow. Beside Daphne, she heard their redheaded protector grit her teeth and clench her fists.
Hot, sticky, crimson blood seared her skin as it flowed. It just wouldn't stop. Daphne felt like a fire burning itself out as she poured magic into slowing the bleeding, but nothing helped. Tracey croaked faint words of apology for not being good enough while the world around them descended into further chaos.
Daphne drew in air until her lungs felt full to the point of bursting. After her vision focused and she found Tracey right in front of her, hands on her shoulders, she immediately wrapped her arms tight around her irreplaceable and dearest friend. Even when her strength eventually failed her and her muscles fell slack, she refused to let go.
Tracey said nothing throughout, merely returning the embrace.
As Daphne calmed, that changed. Her bed shifted beneath them. Then she heard the opening of a journal, the rustle of parchment, the swirl of ink. They had work to do even if they didn't want to.
Tracey asked, "Did we die again?"
Unable to find her voice just yet, Daphne nodded. She wasn't entirely sure she died, but that hardly mattered.
"How did it happen this time?"
One long breath gave Daphne the strength she needed to speak. "The mirror again."
"The one we promised to steer clear of?" Although it came off as a question, the sarcasm was thick.
Daphne nodded against Tracey's chest.
"Any details this time?"
"There was…a cerberus," Daphne said. The prophetic dream was already slipping away from her, but her waking memories filled in some of the details. "I think the mirror is down the forbidden corridor."
"I'll try to find a good way to tell Granger to stop poking her nose into that, then."
That was fine. There probably wasn't any rush. Daphne could try the same with Potter.
"Think you could try describing the mirror people this time?"
After a moment, Daphne replied, "One of them had red hair." The colour had been rather striking and unnatural. "Rose red. Not Weasley red."
"A metamorphmagus?"
Daphne considered that. It was possible, she supposed, but far less likely than a simple colour changing charm, and said as such.
Tracey shrugged and probably made a note of the possibility anyway.
There were a few other things Daphne vaguely remembered, glimpses of other possible futures. Most were boring and lacked enough context in and of themselves to be useful, but Tracey dutifully recorded them as she gave them. In one of them, she distinctly recalled having lost her inner eye and wondered how much it would cost her and the world to try to steer time down that path. It wasn't so much that she minded being a seer as it was the utter lack of control she had over this runaway power of hers. If she ever found a way to get rid of it, she wouldn't hesitate to jump on the chance.
"It won't happen," Tracey declared. "I won't let you die."
Daphne heaved a quiet sigh. She knew Tracey wouldn't. That was half the problem.
"I'll just have to have Granger push me harder. And you sharpen your wits against Potter's."
That sounded rough. But also appealing in some odd way. Not that Daphne had the strength to examine that thought much right now. She asked what time it was.
"Early enough that you might get some real sleep before classes if you try."
And that made for a pleasant fantasy. Maybe she would just use Tracey as a pillow.
Tracey dressed for battle. She took her wand in hand. Her boots made a satisfying snap-snap against stone to the rhythm of her step as she left the castle behind and marched toward her destiny. Classes had ended for the day. It was the appointed hour. The sky was clear. She was to meet Hermione Granger upon the Fields of Mars to begin her advanced duelling instruction.
She soon arrived at a secluded corner of the Hogwarts grounds between the lake and the Forbidden Forest. It had flat, open, and firm ground, perfect terrain for testing new tricks. Privacy was something of a concern, of course, but the castle was far enough away that anyone who 'happened to stroll by' would never pass unnoticed.
It was also already occupied.
Granger was performing her not-apparition trick and firing off some small cantrip, effect unknown. Standing confidently against her was Professor Flitwick. He never moved from his spot as he shielded each strike, though he did spin and twist to catch them all. Nevertheless, he showed not the slightest sign of distress or even a hint of exertion. Even more impressive, he had his eyes closed the entire time.
Finally, she appeared directly in front of him and fired off one last strike. Professor Flitwick swatted the spell aside with his wand the same way Granger's Hufflepuffs had during last Saturday's duels. She paused, surprised, and then smirked. They exchanged a few words back and forth that Tracey missed before sharing a round of laughter and then struck up a conversation.
"—competent opponent will be able to sense the magical fluctuations involved, as demonstrated," Tracey heard Professor Flitwick say as she drew closer. "Eliminating them is theoretically possible but effectively unachievable in practice. Nonetheless, a very fine positional tool, Miss Granger."
"Thank you, Professor. Casting it wandless and silent on command was the real trick, though. It's far too slow otherwise."
Professor Flitwick nodded in agreement.
"I don't suppose there's a way to parallelise wand-based spellcasting, is there?"
"Ah, second verse, same as the first, I'm afraid," Professor Flitwick replied. "Theoretically possible, but ultimately ineffective. Some spells can be maintained independently, such as the bubble-head charm, but parallel casting is another matter entirely. A second wand in your offhand can reduce the delay between spells, but coordination is often the limiting factor there."
Granger shortly adopted a thoughtful mien before changing the subject. "Well anyway, thank you for the critiques, Professor." Along with the words, she offered a short formal bow. "My new protégé has arrived, so we'll have to continue this another day."
"Of course. Feel free to stop by my office with any questions. As a duellist or as an instructor." Professor Flitwick glanced Tracey's way and added, "I look forward to seeing what you make of Miss Davis."
He turned then toward the castle and departed. As he passed by Tracey, he wished her luck, mentioned that he'd noticed that she had talent to nurture, and told her to do her best. She thanked him in turn for the compliment and said that she would do better than her best. Her and Daphne's lives depended on it, after all.
Now it was time to prove it.
Tracey approached Granger. Unlike yesterday, when she'd gotten caught up in the excitement, she properly and formally thanked Granger for the lessons she was about to receive. It was something she should have done already, but better late than never.
In turn, Granger cast a few detection spells to check for eavesdroppers. Satisfied with the results, she said, "About that. This prophecy of yours—" Her hand rose to forestall the objections Tracey was about to raise. "I won't ask for details you don't want to share, but I need to know what I'm preparing you for. Are you facing a duel, a battle, or a war? Do you need to become a warrior, a soldier, a tactician, or a strategist? How open to interpretation is your prophecy? Anything you can give me will help."
"Oh." Tracey considered the best way to answer that. "It's not set in stone that anyone important dies," she went with. Daphne's visions weren't proper immutable prophecies. And while the future always had a war when those visions saw far enough forward, she wasn't really the master strategist type. That was more Daphne's thing. But as regarded the types of battles she fought, at least as far as she knew, she usually ended up working mostly independently even when with a group. "Best assume I'll be fighting on my own." To summarise it in the language Granger had a penchant for, she said, "I just do whatever my princess needs me to."
Granger rolled her eyes but failed to hide the small smile that gave away her weakness. "Fine then. I'll forge you into Greengrass's sword and shield." At something closer to a mumble, she added, "Better that than soldiery."
Disregarding the commentary, Tracey grinned eagerly. "So what am I going to learn first today?"
"Maybe nothing," Granger replied with a shrug.
Tracey frowned. "But—"
"Let's just see where you're at for now." Granger tucked her wand behind her ear. "We'll keep this simple." Rolling her shoulders, she added, "Make me move or draw my wand."
That only deepened Tracey's frown. "That's baby stuff." Despite that, however, she waved her wand and uttered the incantation for a transfiguration. The obvious solution was to ignore Granger, who could probably overpower anything thrown her way, and target the ground beneath her.
Tracey struck said ground outside Granger's reach. As intended, it ruptured. Spikes of earth shot upward. Pits formed around them as fuel. It was so much more efficient to transform with transfiguration than to create with conjuration. The effect shot forward from the origin toward Granger's position.
It abruptly stopped short at her feet.
"Points for creativity," Granger allowed, arms folded, "but everyone sane learns to cast the general purpose counterspell wandlessly and silently. It's inefficient and doesn't work on everything, but sometimes all you need is a hammer."
Well, fine. Tracey could get around that. She summoned a large rock from the lake and then banished it straight at Granger hard enough to break bones. A counterspell wouldn't do anything against that.
Granger held out a hand. "Better."
The rock slammed into her palm. A bright light flared, too bright to look at. Tracey flinched away from it, eyes shut. Even so, her vision still took a few seconds to clear. She blinked away the spots in her eyes, but when she finally turned her attention back to her task, she found her face full of rock hovering threateningly less than a wand's breadth away from the tip of her nose.
"Next lesson. If something can be reflected, assume it will be."
Tracey gulped and cast a finite at the hovering rock. It fell to her feet as she mumbled, "Right." Maybe this was going to be harder than she'd thought. Then again, there was one trick she knew guaranteed to get the job done, though it was in exceedingly poor taste to use against, well, not a friend exactly, but someone she expected to be a friend soon enough.
"Whatever it is, do it."
Startled, Tracey checked her occlumency, but no, Granger hadn't gotten into her head.
"Reading people in a fight is an art you'll learn, no legilimency required."
Tracey immediately plastered a blank expression over her face. She'd have to work on that. But for now, she aimed her wand at Granger. This was a tricky bit of silent casting to get right. She focused her intent, carried her wand through the appropriate movements, and then uttered the right words.
"Avada Kedavra."
A sickening green light burst forth from her wand, a distinctive rush of air following in its wake. Tracey saw Granger's eyes widen, and her hands moved in a blur. Just as the spell bolt was about to strike her, it's trajectory abruptly veered upward at a right angle. The subsequent air jet harmlessly blew past her and through her hair.
Tracey gaped.
Granger arched her brow.
All was silent.
And then Granger let out a long sigh. "Remind me to lecture you on escalation someday."
"What. But. How?"
"Nonetheless, that is a nasty trick," Granger continued. "Innovative, though. And an effective feint. Mind if I steal the idea?"
Tracey let loose a cry of distress. "How! You're not supposed to — if someone fires the killing curse at you, you dodge!"
"Yes, yes," Granger replied dismissively. "Contrary to popular misconception, you cannot block the killing curse. It travels in a straight line until it strikes something with a connection to C's—" She hummed and changed her wording. "—something with a soul or until the magic holding the spellform together becomes decoherent. I'm well aware. As you saw, there are alternatives to dodging. Not that that was the real thing."
Exasperated, Tracey silently held her hands out in demand of a proper explanation.
"Ah, well, I'll spare you the details. Barely understand them myself. But the definition of a 'straight line' is flexible. L.L.'s mother, Pandora Lovegood, is exceedingly adept with spatial magic. She taught us a few tricks. They're very useful for redirecting spells." To demonstrate, Granger brought both hands up. One fired off a harmless green spellbolt as Tracey had, and the other caused it to reflect back at a nearly 180 degree angle. The spell sailed off toward the Forbidden Forest, where it soon crashed into a tree and dissipated. "It's a simple matter of convincing the universe that a straight line goes in the direction you want it to. Gotta watch out for friendly fire, though."
For some few seconds, Tracey said nothing. It was an utterly brilliant application of a difficult field of magic, she admitted, but that didn't mean Granger wasn't absolutely bonkers for standing her ground. Then she laughed. What else should she do? What else could she do?
"You're mad," Tracey decided.
Granger smirked.
"Is that how you did it in the tournament?"
"Nah. Spatial magic is rather power hungry." Granger went through the same demonstration again, but this time her defensive hand conjured a tiny shield far in advance. Now knowing what to look for, Tracey watched her smack the incoming spell away. "It's much more efficient to shield instead. Looks intimidating, though, doesn't it?"
That was a surprisingly mundane explanation. "Is it all just tricks?"
"Only stupid boys get into dick measuring contests."
Tracey giggled despite herself, her wand hand rising to cover her mouth.
"Overwhelming power is itself a useful tool, mind, but the keyword there is overwhelming. In most cases, it's either overkill or not an option."
With a subtle flick of her wand as Tracey lowered her hand to speak, she cast a summoning spell. A large rock, distant and buried in the lake shore, directly between her and Granger struggled out of the ground and set out on a lumbering collision course. "So what you're saying is Professor Quirrell had a point about deception?"
"Yes." Granger blindly extended an arm behind herself and flicked the rock moments before it crashed into her. It went flying off back toward the lake and smashed into it with a great splash. "Everyone sane also learns the to cast the summoning and banishing charms wandlessly and silently, by the way."
Tracey clicked her tongue. "How do I do that, then?"
"Conventionally? No idea. Supposedly, it's an easier skill to pick up as a child. Something about a greater capacity for intentional self-delusion. Anyway, after term ends, you and I will take a trip together over the holidays. L.L. knows a place where it's easier to learn wandless magic. Easier, mind, not easy."
"Can Daphne come too?"
Granger shrugged. "If she wants. But if anyone asks, you will treat this as a Lovegood family secret. Understood?"
Without hesitation, Tracey nodded. She knew how to keep secrets.
"Good. Now try again. You're going to have to get more creative if you want me to budge.
The greenhouses at Hogwarts weren't exactly state-of-the-art. They were even older than the schools' horrible training broomsticks, but at the same time, no one could complain about their functionality. It'd be nice to have something better, but it wasn't strictly necessary. Besides, the equipment therein was fairly new and in good condition. No professional would attempt to make a living this way, nor would a researcher wish to experiment here, but it all served more than well enough for students.
The best part, at least in Neville's opinion, was the peace and quiet. Other than Professor Sprout, he had the greenhouses to himself outside of lessons. It was just him, his plants, and no one to bother him. No one called him a squib. No one told him he wasn't brave or bold enough for Gryffindor. No one compared him to his father. Plants didn't judge. Or perhaps they did, but they grew so well for him that they must love him.
Case in point, a vine of some young devil's snare had dared extend out from its shade to wrap around his ankle. He gently pulled it off of himself and tucked it back below away from the sun.
Despite the respite the greenhouses offered him, life at Hogwarts was…hard. At least at home his grandmother paid attention to him. Usually just to berate him for something he did wrong again, granted, but his year mates acted like he didn't exist. It wasn't that they were actively hostile. He just didn't have enough of a presence to be bothered with, he supposed. He wished he could have just gone to Hufflepuff instead. That house at least, by all accounts, ensured that all of its members felt welcome. If only the Sorting Hat hadn't put him in Gryffindor.
Neville sighed as he watered a patch of alihotsy.
On second thought, maybe Hufflepuff wouldn't have worked out either. The real problem was the duelling club. Everyone in Gryffindor had gotten caught up in the craze, the boys especially, and considering who had led the charge, Hufflepuff must be twice as bad. Not that he blamed Hermione for his misfortune. She was nice and hadn't meant any harm. She loved what she loved, and he probably wouldn't have fit in anyway, really. But duelling just wasn't his thing. Even if he were a real wizard instead of some half-baked squib, he didn't think he had it in him to fight. Too much of his mother in him and not enough of his father, he knew his grandmother would say.
So Neville tended to his plants, forgotten and alone. It could be worse, he supposed.
"Today," Granger began, "we're going to work on breaking a conceptual limitation." She placed each of her hands on the lid of a jar. One contained a green coloured gas with a blue lid while the other contained a red gas and had a yellow lid. "You got the switching spell down, right?"
Tracey nodded. It hadn't been that hard to learn. It was technically a fifth-year spell but mostly because the professors didn't trust their younger students with it. The potential applications for mischief were simply too great.
"Good. The switching spell is technically a transfiguration, which is convenient, because it bypasses effectively all transportation wards."
Realisation struck. Tracey gasped. "This is how you pop around!"
"Yep," Granger replied, popping the P for emphasis. "I call the technique shunpo. It's only good for short range, though. To give a comparison, apparition costs increase linearly with distance, while shunpo grows as the cube."
Tracey wasn't entirely sure what that meant precisely, but she got the general idea.
"Pandora is working on a more efficient version, but this isn't her area of expertise, so that may be a long time out.
"Anyway, transfiguration in general focuses on changing solids into solids, and for good reason. The last thing you want to do is transfigure some water from a rock, drink it, and then end the transfiguration. Or worse, transfigure yourself and then find out your molecules aren't in quite the right spots later that evening. I'm sure you remember the pictures Professor McGonagall showed us day one."
As if anyone could ever forget that nightmare fuel.
"Some spells that fall under the transfiguration umbrella, however, are permanent. Conjurations, for example. Drinking conjured water is perfectly safe. Similarly, the switching spell is a permanent transfiguration. When you switch two objects, they don't 'snap back' later when the spell ends. There are no health concerns involved here, so you're free to swap whatever you want."
To demonstrate, Granger wandlessly switched the two jars she'd brought with her, contents and all.
"There are some limitations, however. It is laughably easy for anything intelligent with magic to resist the spell. This means you can't reposition your opponents against their will, and it's difficult to carry passengers. It also means it's possible for you to interrupt your own switch if you're not careful. The spell is also traditionally used only to switch solids with solids. This is, of course, nonsense. The phase state doesn't matter. An apple, for example, for all that it feels like an object at a macro level, is a complex configuration of hundreds of different chemicals. Some are solids, some are liquids, and there are plenty of dissolved gases."
Tracey had a lot of questions, but she kept them to herself. She could get on just fine without a full understanding of the example. Probably.
"You're going to learn shunpo in several steps. You already know the switching spell. On your own, I want you to practice switching yourself with a rock, or a pillow, or whatever you find convenient. That's what my Hufflepuffs were doing during last Saturday's match, as they needed to learn fast. Make sure Greengrass is watching over you, though, just in case. You can hurt yourself doing this in much the same manner as splinching when apparating. The last thing you want is to leave your all limbs behind and bleed out alone, unable to find help."
Right, Tracey thought to herself. Important safety tip. Some dark corner of her mind recalled that splinching ranked amongst the most common causes of unnatural deaths in peacetime.
"The final steps, however, are where these come in." Granger tapped the lids of her jars. "The true art of shunpo will require you to switch yourself with air. Before you make the attempt, you'll want to develop the right mindset. I task you to swap only the jars and not the gases inside. Next, swap the gases but not the jars. Once you make both tasks instinctual, you'll want to try swapping only half of each gas and then all of one gas but only half of the other. The colours will let you know when you succeed. When you mess up, which you will, I can provide you with new jars if necessary.
"Lastly, when you master each component step, you'll be ready to try putting them together. Your ultimate goal is to swap yourself with a you-shaped volume of air. Attempting to switch with the entire atmosphere is doomed to failure and would be a disaster if you ever somehow succeeded. This is why you need to master partial swaps. As a side benefit, greater accuracy limits the atmospheric disturbances and apparition-like cracks that give away your position.
"Questions?"
Tracey shook her head. "Swap the jars. Swap the gases. Swap half and half. Then swap all and half. I'm on it."
"Great." Granger handed over the jars in question. "Don't get frustrated if you don't succeed for a while. It's surprisingly difficult to mentally separate what you want to switch from what you don't well enough for the spell to do its job."
It was another quiet evening in the library. Tracey was off training with Granger. She'd probably return to their room exhausted again and immediately collapse into bed. Daphne had to admit it'd caused her to feel somewhat lonely these past few days, but there was no helping it, she supposed.
On the other hand, in Tracey's absence, Potter made for interesting company. He was extraordinarily well educated on matters both magical and mundane even by her standards, and he had a wit to match. It was that more than anything that drew her in. Finding someone who could keep up with her was hard, and here he was miles ahead of her in most everything. It was like talking to an intelligent adult who actually took her seriously. How could she resist that? And when one considered the subject matter of their recent conversations? She could almost consider a marriage with him in a bad future as a silver lining. Almost.
At any rate, they were currently winding down a discussion of a simple healing ritual. Daphne hadn't understood all of the healing components of it, and Potter had needed someone to walk him through the ritual aspects. Both were fascinating subjects, and she was ecstatic to finally have someone to bounce ideas off of. Rituals were dangerous things. Powerful, but dangerous. And extremely detail oriented. One tiny error could lead to fatal results in even the most benign applications. Healing was much the same, she knew, and Potter had real skill in the field. Someday soon, she hoped, she would be able to fully trust him to double check her work.
When they finished their conversation, Potter turned to polishing his notes. Daphne, meanwhile, fell into thought. Was it too soon? What she wanted to share wasn't exactly a well kept secret, but it was very personal. Curse Potter for making her actually like him. That had been the plan, more or less, but it still frustrated her. He was supposed to like her. The reverse hadn't been relevant, something no more than a happy accident if it happened at all.
Daphne let out a silent sigh though her nose.
"Something on your mind?"
It only annoyed her more how good Potter was at reading people, herself included.
"It's…a family matter," she said.
Potter politely declined to enquire further. Irritating, that, since she wanted him to give her that little push. If he was going to be so insightful, why couldn't he realise that too?
Eventually, Daphne worked up the wherewithal necessary to share. "My family has a blood curse."
She now had Potter's full attention once more. He arched an eyebrow.
"It's something of an open secret. One of our ancestors pissed off the wrong muggleborn, and we've been paying for it ever since. The curse strikes us randomly. Those it affects inevitably die young. If they're lucky, they make it to forty."
Potter leaned back. "Roughly twenty-five in muggle terms, then. Maybe as low as twenty. Unfortunate." He fell into silent contemplation for a few moments before asking the obvious question. "Are you afflicted?"
"No, no. My health problems are unrelated. But my little sister is."
A low hum escaped Potter. "I take it your family has exhausted all ordinary avenues of seeking a cure or a counterspell?"
"As regards purebloods and my parents, yes. They even managed to get the Flamels to come look at Astoria when she started showing symptoms. She was two at the time, and… Usually we notice sooner." Left unspoken was that her family historically tried not to grow attached to the afflicted. With Astoria, the signs had come too late for their parents to not care. "We burnt a lot of favours and money to no end."
Potter made a note of the name 'Flamels', presumably to look them up later himself. Daphne considered elaborating before deciding not to bother. They didn't really matter anymore.
"So," Potter then said, "what extraordinary measures have you been looking into?"
"Anything and everything," Daphne freely admitted. "I have a talent for rituals that no one else in my family has ever had." That or a greater willingness to pursue an inherently dangerous art. "I've also heard muggle medicine has come a long way over the past century. It's been hard for me to get reliable information, though."
"It may be possible to treat the symptoms that way," Potter mused. "Muggle technological development is accelerating rapidly. If…Astoria, was it? If Astoria survives another twenty years, that could become a realistic avenue of attack if it isn't already."
Daphne refused to allow herself to feel premature hope. Too many generations had failed to defeat the family curse for that. But she did permit herself to indulge in the pleasant feeling of not crossing off another possible solution on her list of ideas just yet.
"What are the symptoms?"
The details varied from victim to victim, but a rough description was easy enough to give. "General frailty. I don't have an exact list at hand. I've focused more on unravelling the blood malediction itself."
"A blood malediction?" Potter leaned his head forward onto a hand in thought. More to himself than Daphne, it seemed, he said, "If we're to take that literally, the curse could induce an autoimmune disorder. Frailty… Hmm, yes. There won't be a mundane cure anytime soon, if that is the problem, but treatments aren't beyond reason." His gaze focused properly onto Daphne once more. "I'll have to do no small amount of research. That will take time, but it sounds like we're in no rush."
Daphne wasn't sure if that last part was a question, but she took it as one. "Astoria is on the healthier side. She should make it to at least thirty."
"Good. If we pursue this, you should know it's likely I'll require tissue and blood samples to test."
Knowing that was common in muggle medicine, Daphne did not protest. "I understand. Though we'll want to keep that from my parents."
Lelouch nodded. "I will make no promise of success, but I'll help where I can."
"Thank you. I hope if you ever find yourself in need of aid, you'll call upon me in turn."
An irritated growl escaped Tracey. She'd managed to swap the gas between the jars again just fine, but getting only half of them to swap continued to elude her. And it wasn't like this was a task she was meant to fail. It was possible. She'd watched Granger demonstrate over and over and over. She just couldn't get the bloody whiffs of colour to cooperate.
Then Granger appeared. She'd flash stepped in silently (Tracey had heard through the grapevine that that was the translation of 'shunpo') and held a thick book out to her. "For reference," she said. "It may help you to know how — well, to know approximately how the universe actually works."
Tracey took the proffered book and read the title. "Chemistry?" She'd heard the name before somewhere, probably from Daphne. Wasn't that muggle alchemy?
"You don't have to read it at all if you really don't want to, but skimming the first several chapters will probably help. I can answer questions later if you want. For now, though—" Granger held up a hand and snapped her fingers. The practice jars vanished, as did the book. "Knowing when to take a break is an important skill, and it's time for you to take a break."
Despite her pursed lips, Tracey could admit to herself that Granger probably had a point.
"Is there anything fun you want to try, or would you just like to call it a night?"
There was one thing Tracey wanted to learn. "Do you know any martial arts?" The best duellists always learnt some form of close quarters combat. Melee combat was too dangerous with just a wand. And if her parents weren't so urgh, then she would already be a master herself.
"I assume you mean unarmed martial arts?"
Tracey nodded.
"Not well enough to teach," Granger replied. "Sorry." With a flick of her wrist, her wand was in her hand. "But I can offer you an alternative." A stick flew into her off hand from the Forbidden Forest, which she then transfigured into a wooden arming sword. She gave it a test swing and, apparently satisfied with the balance, glanced back at Tracey. "If you're interested, that is."
Naturally, Tracey held out her hand expectantly. Granger placed the sword into it, and they got started.
All was quiet in the Hogwarts library. Then the chair beside Lelouch's rose in a magical grip, floated around the circumference of the small round table he was sat at, and then gently set down directly abutting his own. He raised the appropriate arm. A few moments later, Kallen plopped down onto her seat. She leant into him while he placed his arm down across her shoulders and teetered on the edge of consciousness then and there.
Lelouch turned the page of his book.
It was a minute or two later when Kallen stirred. She cast off her boots with a flick of her wand, curled her legs up onto her chair, and then turned further into him as she settled down once more. It looked uncomfortable, but Lelouch let her get on with it; she was far more flexible than himself. Somehow, she actually managed to fall asleep in that position.
After a short nap, Kallen woke. She let out a low moan as she rubbed her eyes and asked how long she'd been out for.
"Less than an hour," Lelouch answered. "If you care at all about curfew, you still have some time."
At little better than a mumble, Kallen said, "Stupid rubbish child body. Sleeps way too much."
Lelouch chuckled. He brought his hand up and stroked it through her hair. It might lull her back to sleep. It might not. Either way was fine with him.
A short while later, she yawned. Yet she resisted returning to her rest and asked, "Reading anything interesting?"
"Possibly," Lelouch said plainly. When Kallen poked him, displeased with the simple answer, he elaborated. "Greengrass mentioned the Flamels to me a while ago as if I should have known who they were. So I'm looking into them."
"And they are…"
"A couple about a century older than C.C.."
Kallen perked up, her curiosity now aroused.
"The husband is allegedly of primary interest, but they're both alchemists."
"Ah. The philosopher's stone?"
Lelouch paused, not sure how to respond to that.
"Anime," Kallen said by way of an explanation.
With a mental shrug, Lelouch carried on. "You're not wrong according to their claims. Yet I remain sceptical. If you can create a magic rock that makes gold and can cure not only all diseases but ageing as well—"
"—then why doesn't everyone have one?" Kallen finished for him. "Could be the cost of business is lots and lots of murder."
Lelouch allowed that she might be right. Perhaps the Flamels were just scrupulous enough to stop at immortality for themselves if she were, although that left the question of sharing the final product open. Regardless, one better explanation came to mind, as it didn't require him to invent excuses. He set his book aside and cast a few spells to ensure their privacy as well as he knew how to.
"If," he began, "I told you someone was ageless and could heal from any wound, who comes to mind?"
Half a second after Kallen gave the obvious answer, her eyes widened. She understood what he meant but refused to speak aloud. Ever since learning of the existence of the taboo jinx, they'd become more circumspect about certain key words and phrases. "Really? Both of them?"
Lelouch shrugged but said, "It seems more likely than them possessing a super special rock that grants immortality but which no one else ever gets to use. There's even an explanation for the gold. Perenelle Flamel married twice before meeting Nicolas and brought an enormous inheritance into their union. A conservative investment scheme would see that wealth balloon to farcical levels over the centuries."
"Hmm… I buy it. Though they could just be metamorphmagi. According to Tonks, ageing is optional for her, and injuries are more like suggestions."
"Ah. That would be a more mundane explanation. Then again, metamorphmagi are also quite rare."
Kallen shrugged. "So? Want to do anything about them if you're right?"
A part of Lelouch wanted to say yes on principle, but the larger part of him went with, "Only if they become a problem. So far I see no reason to contain them. They mostly keep to themselves already from what I've read."
"But what if they're shadowy puppet masters?"
It seemed unlikely given how similar this world was to their own. History should read very differently if the Illuminati were real in this timeline, dimension, universe, or wherever they'd ended up. Still, he wouldn't discount the idea entirely. "Anything's possible," he said, bringing the conversation to a close for now. They had more immediate concerns to deal with anyway.
"I'm sorry. You want me to what?"
Gemma Farley, the Slytherin duelling captain (at least as of the moment), repeated herself. "I want you to fight Granger."
That was what Tracey had thought she'd heard, and it was madness. "I'll lose." There was no two ways about it. She cast a glance Potter's way in the Slytherin common room. Luckily, he wasn't paying attention. He and Daphne were still huddled together chatting about something complicated. If Farley wanted any hope of this not getting back to Granger by tomorrow morning, he had to be kept out of the loop.
"I'm not asking you to win," Farley said. "I just want you to fight her."
Tracey, sceptical, asked, "Why?"
"Look, kid, it's not complicated. Granger is going to fight last to mop up our team. This early in the year, we don't have an answer to her. Sucks, but that's the way it is. But this is a team competition. We can still win if we play our cards right. So I need to send a first year in against her so we don't drop more points to the Puffs than we have to. Potter would be great for that, given his performance in the doubles matches, but I don't trust him to give it his all against his belle. You, however, I know she's been whipping into shape. So it's like I said. I'm not asking you to win. Just make us look good. Got it?"
If this offer had come next term, Tracey would have been all over it to see how far she'd come. But today? The opportunity was premature. Granger would destroy her. Utter humiliation awaited. If she made Slytherin look good even the slightest bit, it would only be because Granger permitted it. Everyone would know it, too. She wasn't ready to challenge her master even with a massive handicap and wouldn't be for ages.
On the other hand, she knew exactly what Daphne would do in this situation. "Put me in fresh against her, and I can give it a shot. No promises, though, and you'll owe me a favour."
Farley, naturally, was unimpressed. "I can just kick you off the team if you don't follow my orders."
Tracey, in turn, arched an eyebrow. She might not be much more than a talented first year right now, but after Granger got through with her? This time next year, she'd be a heavy hitter, and Farley knew that. Sure, it'd be no fun to not be on the official team, but she could just compete in the doubles tournament instead.
In the end, Tracey won the stare down. Farley clicked her tongue and conceded with a, "Fine. But you better give it your absolute best."
"As if I would settle for anything less," Tracey mumbled as Farley strode away.
Draco found himself in somewhat of a conundrum. As he traversed the corridors, he contemplated his life so far at Hogwarts.
Classes were going well, of course. He wasn't the best student in his year, which was disappointing but not entirely unexpected. That honour probably went to Granger, but Harry, Daphne, and the Ravenclaw Patil twin were all strong contenders for the spot. Each of them already had such a strong claim to the top four positions that no one expected to ever unseat them.
Quidditch tryouts had quietly gone by in the background of the duelling craze. First years weren't allowed to play, which was ridiculous. Only mudbloods and squibs didn't know how to fly a broom by the time they got to Hogwarts. Regardless, it was probably for the best. He doubted he would have time to participate in both sports, and everyone knew which one mattered most right now.
On the social front, Draco's designs proceeded as well as could be expected. He had influence over most of Slytherin, and his reach extended somewhat into the other houses. There were the expected holdouts, of course. Daphne looked at him like something a kneazle had dragged into the manor as usual for…reasons he'd never figured out. It couldn't just be business or politics. Witches, honestly! Who could understand them? At any rate, where Daphne went, Davis followed. Their families' allies similarly ignored him but had yet to openly challenge him. There weren't enough to truly matter, but still. Besides them, Zabini was, well, Zabini. That boy enjoyed being contrary. That accounted for almost everyone in the Slytherin.
But then there was Harry.
Draco didn't know what to do about his cousin. It was rather maddening, actually. Harry was so steadfastly Granger's creature (and he did wonder how she'd accomplished that) that there were no inroads there, and where the Boy-Who-Lived went, the fans followed. Worse, Granger had quite clearly created her own power base already. She obviously wouldn't bend the knee unless made to, which was not how you kept control of people like her. To make the problem even more difficult, those two were growing awfully close to Daphne and Davis. He knew he should write to his parents for advice, but, well, he just didn't want to. He wanted to play his own game, not his parents' game. Still, he needed to make a move sometime soon. He just needed to figure out what.
For now, though, at least there was a silver lining. If Granger wanted power, she had to take it from someone. Draco's impression of her politics meant it would mostly come at the progressives' expense, which made the united traditionalist position relatively stronger. That was something.
After classes finished for the day, Tracey made the long climb up Ravenclaw Tower to the very top. The seventh floor was where Professor Flitwick's office currently resided. She'd heard that it used to be next to the charms classroom on the third floor, but apparently the castle had thought that entirely too sensible and had moved it sometime near the end of summer. She knocked on the door upon her arrival, and Professor Flitwick called for her to enter.
Their charms professor's office was, in a word, miniature. While there were normal-sized chairs for visiting students, particularly those beside the fireplace, the vast majority of the room's furnishings were shrunken down to be more accommodating to a first year student. Or, in this case, a half-goblin. It was a novel experience for Tracey, and she figured this must be what it felt like to be fully grown.
The other major difference between this office and any other professor's came in the mountains of books scattered willy-nilly across the desks, tables, and even floors. It was to be expected of the head of Ravenclaw, yet it remained a striking feature nonetheless. Peeking out from behind one such pile, a glint of gold caught Tracey's attention. A glance its direction revealed a duelling trophy on a shelf that she could just barely make out.
"Evening, Miss Davis," Professor Flitwick said. He spoke in a high, squeaky voice, a curious consequence of mixing human and goblin blood. "Please, take a seat if you'd like."
She did so.
"What brings you to my office this evening? A question about charms? Or perhaps something to do with your studies under Miss Granger?" From the sound of it, Professor Flitwick thought it would be the latter.
But Tracey said, "Er, neither, actually. Or…kind of both? Captain Farley is going to throw me at her Saturday during the Slytherin–Hufflepuff match."
"Ah. The least costly sacrifice. A classic Slytherin play. I presume the intent is to win off of the earlier matches?"
Tracey nodded.
"Miss Granger will likely see it coming, but a careful choice of lineup could win the day." Professor Flitwick considered the matter for a few moments before setting it aside. "Regardless, I presume you want advice for your match."
"I don't want to be obliterated. Or humoured. I want to get in at least one good spell."
A thoughtful hum emanated from Professor Flitwick. "Ordinarily, I would suggest taking advantage of the major drawback of Miss Granger's 'shunpo' technique. There are good reasons why professionals use alternatives. However, she is remarkably resilient to disorientation. Her aim remains unaffected, as does her sense of balance. I dare say she could duel perfectly well even within limbo mist!"
Limbo mist was an odd, golden fog that caused anyone actively inhaling it to perceive gravity as reversed. It didn't occur naturally but rather was made with a charm. If Tracey recalled correctly, it was actually fairly simple to perform. Not that it would help her. If what Professor Flitwick said was true, it might trip Granger up for maybe a second before she laughed it off. Meanwhile, Tracey would need to maintain a bubble-head charm to be able to fight normally, thus draining her supply of magic, and she wouldn't be able to let it down until after the mist cleared. Yeah, that play would backfire horribly on her. Granger almost certainly knew the bubble-head charm as well, given her talent with potions. Not that she would even bother with—
Tracey's eyes widened. She leapt to her feet and said, "Thank you, Professor! I have an idea!" as she hurried on out. She needed to get to the library.
There were dozens of known, stable secret passageways within Hogwarts, not all of which entirely made sense. One on the ground floor allowed students to descend to the eighth floor of Hogwarts (a castle that theoretically stopped at its seventh floor). The more enterprising student eventually developed a knack for discovering the more fleeting shortcuts that might last a day, a month, or a year before vanishing for a decade, a century, or forever. These curious students could tell you one thing for sure: before September 1991, there had been no trapdoor in the third-floor corridor, especially not one guarded by a cerberus.
This bore investigating.
And so it came to pass. The Grand Staircase of Hogwarts, a system of ever moving flights of stairs, saw heavy foot traffic throughout the day with students coming and going from all floors. Little did they know that the Phantom Thief Arsènie Lupin, master of disguise, walked amongst them! She climbed these flights and appeared to all as just another student on her way to class.
On the sixth floor, she left the stairs behind. Soon enough, she stepped into a quiet alcove down a little-used corridor and immediately slipped into a secret passage. It did not list amongst those favoured by students, as it did not contain a staircase, slide, ladder, or corridor. Instead, the floor abruptly fell away into an eight or so foot drop down to the third floor.
This was of no concern for Arsènie! She stepped forward and leaned into the beginnings of a cartwheel at the floor's edge. When her centre of gravity cleared it, she bent her arms and then, applying torque, snapped them back straight. As her flip over the edge continued, she rotated into a half-twist. This allowed her hands to grasp the floor's edge once she was parallel to the ground below. She maintained her grip for as long as she could, turning her fall into a swing. She then fell to the floor in a graceful arc and stuck the landing.
Just another day in the life of Arsènie Lupin!
She ignored that she tripped over her own robes right after.
From a pocket, Arsènie withdrew a small mirror. She cracked open the one-way portal leading out of the secret passage and peeked outside. The mirror revealed that the coast was clear, so she stepped out into the forbidden corridor. The nearest torches lit upon her entry, allowing her to better see. Ah ha! And there was the door she sought!
Arsènie listened at the door containing the cerberus. All was quiet. She unlocked it, pushed it open, and confirmed that nothing had changed since her informants had spoken with her. Indeed, six pairs of canine eyes stared back at her. But this was no problem. From her robe pocket, she withdrew a carefully wrapped slab of meat. It was laced with a potion brewed by the brilliant Hermione Granger and prepared by the devious Harry Potter that should, if all went well, knock out the cerberus for the next few hours as a precaution. After unwrapping it, she tossed it inside the room and shut the door.
Within moments, she heard the sound of ripping and tearing as the cerberus's heads fought over the treat. Some guard dog. It should know better than to accept candy from strangers.
A minute passed before the commotion died down. Opening the door fully, Arsènie found that the cerberus had indeed fallen asleep. The trapdoor stood unprotected. She strode forward without a care for the giant beast nearby and opened it.
Below, all was darkness. She cast a spell and lit up the room, only to discover a blanket of vines below. They shrunk away from the light, but there was nowhere to hide but below their fellows. Devil's Snare. She scoffed. Child's play. She simply conjured a ray of sunlight, from which the vines fled in haste. This left a hole for her to jump through.
At the bottom, a door awaited. It was unlocked. How suspicious. Now that she'd made it past the first couple protections designed to keep unprepared students out, she decided to check for wards, alarms, and traps. There were none, oddly enough, or at least none that she could detect, so she stepped through.
The next room had a number of winged keys flying overhead. Presumably, one of them opened the door leading to the next room, but Arsènie had no need of them. She checked that cheating the room would have no negative consequences for her and then brought her prodigious skills to bear as a master of disguise.
She focused on each part of her body, slowly reshaping it through sheer force of will. The trouble with being a metamorphmagus, as opposed to an animagus, was that her brain could only control four limbs at a time even if she grew more. She could wire pairs together, sure, or work with them in sequence, but she was limited to four independently operating appendages at a time. If anyone looked at her too closely, this could give her away. However, when she only needed the advantages of, say, a small winged form, this was a nonissue. So she made herself into a gnat and flew through the crack under the door.
The next room had a giant chessboard. Arsènie briefly returned to a human form to check the room for any dangers and then, finding none, opted to skip the challenge by flying over it. The door on the other side was not locked, but she recognised the foul odour emanating from the other side. There was a troll, and she didn't want to deal with that, so she stayed as a gnat and flew on by it. By this point, she suspected that nothing down here would actually kill or maim her, so she consider it a very small risk to not check for traps.
On the other hand, she had little doubt that she was tripping all sorts of hidden alarms that only someone as wise and learned as Dumbledore could detect, but she figured it didn't matter much. According to rumour, a handful of Gryffindors had made it to the chess board already with more on the way. As far as anyone was concerned, she had just gone a little deeper.
The room after the troll contained a riddle with a number of potions. She read the first two lines of the puzzle before casting it aside and moving on. A wall of fire blocked the way forward. That might incinerate her if she tried to fly over it, so she went with a different approach. She transformed her skin and hair into a fireproof material and hopped through before her body protested too strongly about that one. Her robes came out a little scorched, but that would be an easy fix later.
Past the fire, a staircase led down into one final chamber. There were no obvious means of further progression, and when Arsènie checked for secret passages, she found nothing. Worse, there was nothing to steal — er, rather, there was no reward to acquire. How deeply disappointing. She didn't resist the frustrated groan that demanded to be let out. The big boss back at the DMLE would probably still want to hear about this just to keep tabs on it, but it probably wasn't as much of a concern as it first appeared.
Now bored, Tonks the disgruntled metamorphmagus made her way back out of the series of challenges. She shifted into a schoolgirl form at the end and boldly walked straight out of the forbidden corridor back into the Grand Staircase. She caught a number of strange looks from the students who noticed but paid them no mind.
A few minutes later, she'd hunted down Harry and Hermione in one of Hogwarts's potion brewing labs. The latter had a cauldron of something green and sweet smelling over a fire. Tonks wasn't sure what it was and didn't care to guess. She transfigured a comfortable chair for herself and plopped down onto it.
"There's nothing at the end of the forbidden gauntlet."
The kids looked at each other. Harry shrugged, and Hermione shrugged back.
"Maybe there will be eventually," Harry suggested. "You did skip ahead of the pack."
Tonks shrugged now. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Still a waste of my time."
Hermione, dear girl that she was, called for a house elf. One came at the request of a Hufflepuff student in good standing (which Tonks regrettably did not qualify as anymore), and she asked him to bring them afternoon tea. He returned soon enough with drinks and snacks, treacle tart in particular. She thanked him and sent him on his way while Tonks stole the treacle tart before Harry could get his greedy little hands on it.
The boy in question arched an eyebrow.
"Hey, the Hogwarts elves are the best!"
"They do exceed expectations," Hermione allowed, "but Harry is an outstanding cook. And if you ever want to try his sweets, you'll learn to share."
Tonks pursed her lips. Hermione really knew how to kick someone when they're down. A very reluctant, "Fine," escaped her, and she gave one slice of treacle tart to Harry. The smallest one. After that, she grabbed a fork and dug in. She was a growing girl (at least right now) and needed the energy after all that exercise and the comfort after such a disappointing afternoon.
And it was so good, just as she remembered. "Mmm, Hogwarts hasn't served treacle tart in forever. What's up with that?"
"Actually," Harry said, "it was at the Welcome Feast."
Tonks clicked her tongue. She should have shown up sooner. "Well anyway. Hermione, you ready to destroy Slytherin tomorrow?"
The girl in question finished her sip of tea, set down her cup, and then smirked.
A thunderous cheer filled the air. Someone had just won a bout in the Slytherin–Hufflepuff match, probably an important one. Tracey refused to break her concentration to check who or how it affected the competition. She needed to keep herself in top shape, mentally sound and ready to rumble. The crowd built up into a roar again soon after. Then it came together in song, the words to which were lost on her. If she had to guess, though, she'd say it was the Hufflepuffs. Slytherins didn't usually go for that sort of thing, and if the other houses cheered en masse for one of them, it would probably be for the badgers. But the cete would take up the rallying cry first, in that case, so it was the most reasonable assumption. But if it were them, then it had to be their beloved Captain Granger that had just stepped into the ring. That was good. She'd proclaimed that she would fight last. That meant Slytherin had already knocked out all of the Hufflepuffs before her, which was a bit of a surprise, but not impossible if Granger had underestimated Slytherin and fielded Puffs who were too weak or too inexperienced to handle their opponents. More importantly, Tracey would get to go in fresh against a mildly fatigued Granger. Hopefully. That was all she'd asked for. She could do this. She'd practised until her wrist hurt. She felt great. She felt—
A hand landed on her shoulder. "Breathe, Davis," its owner commanded.
Tracey did. Her lungs gulped in air like a bottomless bag. Her vision blacked out, and she felt lightheaded for the duration, but she recovered shortly enough.
"You're up." Farley, the owner of the voice, gave her back a shove to push her onto her feet. "Remember, it doesn't matter if you win or lose. Just don't make us look bad."
Yes, that was all she needed to do. She could do that. She could do this. She had this. Her eyes found Granger in the ring awaiting her expectantly. She would not walk away from this.
But curiosity compelled her to ask, "Did we win?"
Farley wasted no time in replying, "If you've been paying so little attention, perhaps it's best you not know."
That was fair.
"Now get out there before Granger catches her breath."
Tracey nodded and hurried forward. She leapt up the stairs onto the duelling ring and went to meet her fate.
The moment her boots touched the tile, her eyes locked with Granger's. The latter stood with her arms crossed, a smirk on her face, her wand stowed in its holster, and her captain's cape lending her frame apparent bulk. She'd tied back her hair to keep it out of her eyes, a sign that she was taking her opponents at least somewhat seriously this time around. If someone asked, Tracey would have said she looked ten feet tall instead of a measly four foot something.
"I must say I'm unsurprised to see you here today," Granger said, "but as your team's last duellist? Don't you think it's a little early for this, my apprentice?"
Tracey gripped her wand tighter. "Yes," she admitted. "But there's politics involved."
The only response Granger made to that was an amused snort.
"Let's just get this over with."
"As you wish." Granger nodded to Professor Flitwick, who was once again serving as the referee, to start the match.
Neither of the duellists needed to move to their starting positions. They'd already taken them. There was a moment of quiet, the calm before the storm, and then Professor Flitwick called for them to begin.
Tracey moved first. In a blink, she ran through the wand motions to summon limbo mist. The golden gas rapidly flowed out from the tip of her wand. It hung heavy in the air, clinging to the ground. In less than a second, it'd grown thick enough around her to obscure her position. She felt its effects already and clumsily stumbled her way to the ground, which she had to force herself not to think of as the ceiling or sky.
She made it just in time. A battery of spells flew past just overhead. They came not only at chest height where she'd been but also to the left and right. That was close!
Although it was undignified, she rolled along the ground to a new position within the fog to avoid the next volley of spells. It wasn't like anyone could see her anyway.
A spellbolt impacted a hair's breadth away from Tracey's wand, drawing a stifled shriek from her.
"I might not be able to see you," Granger called out, "but I can tell where that mist is coming from. You may wish to rethink your master plan."
That wasn't an option!
Nonetheless, Tracey needed to keep moving until she had enough limbo mist to cover the entire ring. And with her wand occupied, there wasn't much else she could do but stumble and roll around erratically as quietly as possible.
Tracey knew none of the spells sent her way would cause permanent harm, but each one that flew right by her head stole her breath. Most came closer to hitting her arm, hand, or wand, the latter of which continually produced more fog. This split second dodging of spellfire from Granger, who was monstrously accurate even while blind and possibly under the effects of the limbo mist, threatened to stop her heart. A shudder ran through her as she imagined fighting Granger for real without the kid gloves on. Her entire plan relied on Granger not getting bored and (perhaps literally) blowing her away.
But at long last, she was ready for stage two of her plan. She left the limbo mist in place but cancelled the spell creating more. She cast the bubble-head charm on herself (after two clumsy failures despite rigorous practice) and immediately felt her sense of gravity return to normal. A short sigh of relief escaped her, but she couldn't relax just yet. Granger had ceased fire, now no longer having something to aim at, yet undoubtedly was already on the prowl.
Silently, Tracey shuffled away from the direction Granger's last spell had come from. Along the way, she transfigured a bag of marbles. She might not have mastered the full flash step form yet, but she'd gotten to the point where she could switch herself with small solid objects. That would be enough to keep away from Granger. Probably. She cast a second spell to make the marbles glow bright enough to spot a short ways through the mist. Line of sight was important. Then she lobbed the bag toward the centre of the ring. A few seconds later, it impacted, spilling marbles everywhere. Most rolled right out of the permitted duelling boundary, but enough stayed in to make use of.
Meanwhile, a red spellbolt barrelled straight at Tracey. She scrambled to shield herself just in time and, not waiting to witness the follow up, switched herself with the furthest marble she could see.
When Tracey landed on her feet, safe and unharmed, she allowed herself to breathe. That had been far too close.
"A lesson for you to learn, my apprentice."
As Granger spoke, another spell hurled through the mist straight at Tracey. She barely managed to switch herself away before it hit her.
"Never give your opponent obvious targets to aim for."
Again, a spellbolt came at Tracey. She managed to shield in time to block, but it shattered her spell in a single blow. Before she fully processed Granger's advice, she swapped places with another marble.
"Or worse."
Tracey felt it before she saw it. There was magic below her. A spell activated as soon as she touched the ground.
"Something to trap."
In less than a heartbeat, Tracey saw her doom. She had only one chance. She threw herself bodily away from the spell, twisted, and cast a shield.
Said shield broke almost before it formed. A force slammed against her chest and sent her flying. She briefly soared over the limbo mist before gravity took hold of her. This window of weightlessness gave her mind the chance to brace for impact, if not cast a spell. She slammed into the floor a moment later and tumbled uncontrollably end over end toward the edge of the arena. She came to a stop just inside the boundary, luckily, and groaned in pain. It felt like she'd been clobbered by a bludger straight into the ground.
But she wasn't out of this yet!
Tracey allowed herself a moment to assess the damage. Granger wasn't out to kill, so she probably wouldn't follow up right away. It would be fine. It was important to know one's capabilities.
At a guess, Tracey assumed she had a broken rib or two. Her leg didn't want to cooperate, either, so something was probably wrong there too. Nothing that magic couldn't fix if one knew the right spell. She'd had worse playing quidditch. And as it happened, Tracey did know how to mend bones. However, she doubted Granger would give her the time to perform a more careful diagnosis and heal herself.
Tracey heaved a sigh. Stage three of her plan it was, then. She'd just have to make do and stall until she either won or lost.
Aurors, in relatively recent history, had devised a spell to conjure a colourless, odourless gas that knocked people out. If they filled a room with it, they could capture suspects without a fight. It was, however, so well known now that it was practically useless these days. It was effective only against the unaware, and Tracey was willing to bet that muggleborn Granger had no idea it existed.
So while Tracey lay prone, thankfully with her bubble-head charm unbroken, her wand continually produced more and more of this noxious gas. It wouldn't take effect immediately. Granger would have to breathe it in for a short while. And it didn't help that they weren't in an enclosed space. But if she were very lucky, she actually stood a chance of winning.
The sound of Granger's footsteps did not warn of her approach. She'd silenced her feet, it seemed. It was a good idea. Tracey would have done the same had she had the time to spare for it. Even so, she saw Granger, so Granger certainly saw her. This would be the moment of truth.
Yet Granger didn't immediately finish the job. "Davis?"
For a brief moment, Tracey considered feigning unconsciousness but then decided against it. Professor Flitwick might call the match if she did. "Yeah?"
"Any head trauma?"
Tracey gave the question some thought. It didn't feel like it. "If I say yes, does that make me invulnerable?"
A snicker escaped Granger. "I suppose so, but not undefeatable."
Tracey clicked her tongue.
"I take it you're mostly okay, then. Do you concede, or should I give you a little nudge?"
"I'd really rather you not win by ring out." If Tracey had to lose, she'd prefer to go down to a proper spell.
"As you wish." Granger brought up her wand. "Oh, and nice try, by the way, but we're going to have a long talk about chemical warfare later."
Tracey's perhaps ignoble last words were, "Merlin's crusty—" before Granger hit her with a stunner.
A/N: Hey, it's been a while. Finished grad school. Got an academic job. Been working on other projects. It's been a lot. But I'm getting into the swing of things now and found some time to write fan fiction again. I'm not sure what I'll work on next or when, but I doubt I'll have another gap this long.
The next stage will likely be the Halloween chapter.
This work and the rest of my writings are documented on my personal site, which you can find via searching for forthwithfic. It also happens to have links to my Patrreon and Ko-fi accounts if you want to support my writing in general.