Black & White - A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

Chapter 12-2

Sara moved on the duels ring, dodged a curse with a lateral step and cast a Stunning Spell with a lunge. Michael Chilton parried it with a magical shield, then replied to the attack trying to disarm her. Sara felt her wand slipping from her fingers, but instead of trying to holding it, she followed it with her body. She felt the impact against the floor vibrating in her bones, but she managed a somersault. She straightened, the wand in her hand. Before she was even completely up, she cast a Stunning Spel right at Michael's chest, who fell on the ground with his arms open.

The protective shield surrounding the ring fell down, letting in the shouting and the claps from the Academy students who had gathered to watch the duel. Sara got closer to Michael, whispered a spell to revive him, then reached out to help him stand.

"Damn, you won again." Chilton swept the dust from his fighting uniform with his big hands.

"It wasn't easy." Sara felt the sweat running on her spine under the black training clothes. "Come. We need to set a good example." They went back to the centre of the ring, lifted their wands in front of them, and bowed, as prescribed by the duels etiquette.

The Auror Academy students gathered around clapped, then started to scatter out from the Gym, casting a glance behind their back from time to time. They were in the basement of the building where new Aurors were trained, an old dark palace resembling a boarding school from a dime novel. A place that didn't really attract Muggles and that never attracted them to examine further.

While Sara and Michael headed to the locker room, Michael stretched his neck. "You haven't lost your touch."

Sara smiled. "You are relaxing, though. If you loosen a bit more, I'll have to find another training partner."

Michael punched her playfully on her shoulder and made her swerve in the hallway. "Oh-ho! You're getting a big head because you're famous now?"

"I'm not famous."

"But if I know the Prime Minister, you're going to be. He's going to push you in the arms of the press as soon as they start asking tough questions."

When they reached the locker rooms, they parted. Sara entered the women's side, a luxury she didn't have when she attended the Academy as a student. At that time, women were so scarce that nobody had ever thought a locker room for them a necessity, or even separate restrooms and showers. The girls had a shower outside in the yard, surrounded only by four thin putrescent wooden walls.

She gathered her things from one of the visitors' lockers and choose the furthest shower stall from the entrance door.

The training session had been a blessing. While the steaming water washed away the sweat and loosened her muscles, Sara tried to keep her focus on the duel. It had been demanding, she had had to clear her head from everything else and give her complete attention to the task of defeating Michael. And now she desperately wanted her mind to remain clear.

But as soon as the exertion wasn't her primary thought, everything came back. She had imagined many things for the aftermath of the case, but feeling so angry hadn't been one of them. That rage was unexpected.

Immediately after the hearing, she had to deal with the crowd outside the courtroom, support the Minister while he told rubbish to the journalists, go to the Director and report the result of the hearing, and face her colleagues and her team.

At the end of that endless day, she had gone home, exhausted. All she wanted was having a shower and sleep, but she hadn't considered the rage.

It had come stealthily, crawling inside her from the stomach. At first, she had just felt uncomfortable, it was a discomfort she couldn't quite explain. Then it had become more insistent. It had deprived her of her sleep and put her tiredness aside. Sara had found herself walking up and down the length of her flat, slamming doors and drawers in search of a vent she couldn't possibly find, in the grip of a mean and resentful fury.