My Dark Lord

Chapter Nine: Wands Drawn, Lines Crossed

Power is not claimed in shadows forever.

Eventually, it must be demonstrated in daylight-- loud, public, and unforgettable.

The First-Year Dueling Trials would be just that.

It started with a parchment announcement pinned to the notice board in the Slytherin common room.

First-Year Dueling Club Trials: All Houses Invited.
Demonstrate skill, control, and composure in front of professors and peers.
Professor Merrythought and Headmaster Dippet in attendance.
Top students to be invited into the Advanced Junior Dueling Society.

It was more than a competition.

It was a performance.

And Tom and I both knew it.

The morning of the Trials, the Great Hall buzzed with energy. The long house tables had been cleared and replaced with a polished dueling platform. Charms and protective enchantments shimmered faintly in the torchlight.

The entire first-year cohort was gathered, leaning forward with eager eyes.

The professors sat at the judges' table like royalty presiding over trial by fire. Merrythought looked delighted. Dippet was reserved, watchful.

Eileen brushed a speck of lint from my robes as I fastened my cloak.

"Ready to win?"

"I don't duel to win," I said. "I duel to teach."

"Teach what?"

"That I'm the one to fear."

Across the platform, Tom stood surrounded by Lestrange, Malfoy, Avery, and Rosier—his circle of loyal boys. They spoke in low, practiced tones.

He caught my eye once.

Smiled like the calm before a storm.

Pairs were drawn by random selection. Well, allegedly random.

Calliope easily outmatched a flustered Hufflepuff boy, earning a round of applause with a dramatic disarming spell.

Diggory went next, dueling a Ravenclaw. Graceful. Calculated. Too generous with his spellwork. He won, of course, but with none of the sharpness I admired.

Eileen faced a wiry Gryffindor girl and stunned her with a silent knockback hex. Mara and Dahlia both won their matches as well.

Then came Tom.

He faced a second-string Gryffindor named Thorne. Not bad with a wand, but clumsy.

Riddle didn't break a sweat.

His movements were minimal, precise-- almost too elegant to be threatening. But when he cast, it was lethal. Thorne's wand flew across the room, and the poor boy nearly tumbled off the stage.

Tom lowered his wand slowly, like a king descending from a throne.

The applause was deafening.

I met his eyes again.

He dared me to follow that.

I was paired with a third-seed Ravenclaw girl—quick, clever, but undisciplined.

I didn't smile. I didn't flourish.

I simply raised my wand and spoke, softly: "Expulso."

She was thrown backwards in a burst of blue light-- not harshly, but definitively-- her feet skimming the floor before she landed, breathless.