Worthy Of Magic

Part 7 - The Duel

"Fix it Draco. Fix it or be sure you win," Lucius Malfoy, Draco's influential father growled, his voice tight with disapproval. "People of Status are invited to the Ball. Not the fallen from grace and the pets of Dumbledore!"

Draco quivered in his boots. "But father...Daphne... she...!"

"This silly idea of yours is ridiculous! You know we have a contract with the Parkinson's! Grow up Draco!"

I'm eleven," Draco thought with a scowl. I'm not growing up yet! He thought stubbornly.

"If you cannot. I will be disappointed."

That said, the fiery head of Lucius Malfoy disappeared from the fireplace.

Draco paled at his father's last words. Would he be grounded for a month? Would his broom be confiscated? Would they not take him for their summer trip to the Island!? With each though his horror grew.

"Are you done Draco?"

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin and turned around to face Professor Snape who was glaring down at him with glittering eyes.

"Yes," Draco said with a sigh, calming his beating heart.

He glanced at the exit of the dimly lit office which seemed to be filled with Snape's presence. The Potions Professor dominated the room and Draco found himself wanting to leave.

"You will need training if you hope to defeat Potter," Snape said simply.

Draco scowled harder. "Or I could just tell Daphne I never committed to a date and have the duel after Christmas!"

"Is that cowardice or cunning talking Draco," Snape said darkly.

Draco flushed. "I wasn't thinking straight when I made that bet. I mean, have you seen him Professor?! He's a creep and he gets this funny look on his face when he does magic! I don't want to fight that... that thing unless I have to!"

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Is that a lack of faith in my teaching ability or an overestimation of Potter's abilities?" Snape literally spat the word Potter.

"You're a terrible teacher Professor," Draco deadpanned.

Snape smirked. "Perhaps at Potions. You haven't seen me teach the Dark Arts yet."

Draco's eyes widened and his lips stretched from ear to ear involuntarily with glee. His father had never taught him any Dark Magic!

"When do we start?"

He couldn't wait to beat Potter and brag about it.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The Library

Harry was enamoured by the book his nose was buried in. He had found it by accident in the restricted section while looking for books about magic that manipulated the elements of nature.

It was a small book compared to the massive Tome's in the restricted section and it detailed the adventures and horrors of Herpo the Foul. The man who had turned a part of a nation into a desert just because someone had said he smelled funny. The book said nothing about how Herpo accomplished this and instead focused on his rise as a Lord of the Dark, his creation of the King of Serpents and his invention of a vessel to carry a soul in a quest for Immortality until his eventual death under mysterious circumstances.

There were images of a lush green forest that was converted into an endless sea of sand and Harry tenderly ran his fingers over the image of the desert. It called out to him... whispered to the Void... beckoned him into its endless dunes and harsh nature. Harry wanted to experience the Desert. He wanted to stand in the middle of nowhere and feel the emptiness all around him. To survive in a desolate landscape in a place that the Void so deeply identified itself with. Desolate. Alone. Power. A King atop his Mountain.