Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Ah, yes. I doubt that will be as bad as what you went through after the broom incident."
"Fine then." Dumbledore fixed him with his over the glasses firm stare again. "Now, I don't need to remind you about the consequences of what will happen if what we're doing becomes known?"
John mentally rolled his eyes. "Yes, Headmaster, I understand." And he did. The headmaster had tied himself to John, and if either of them went down, they'd take the other with them. John knew the headmaster did things in the name of fighting evil that would be heavily frowned on if they came to light, and Dumbledore knew that he, John Potter, wasn't the true boy-who-lived, something he wanted never to come out. He might not be a Slytherin, but this kind of mutually assured destruction arrangement was brain dead obvious even to him.
"Why don't you try it on?" Dumbledore asked. John dutifully stood up and slipped on the duelling robes. It fit perfectly. No surprises there — they were the ones his father had bought him for his birthday, slightly altered by the headmaster. Runes covered the inside lining, embroidered in the lining's own colour, making them very difficult to see, and at regular intervals, thin strips of similarly coloured enchanted parchment had been sown. "What're the parchment strips for?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, one of my more clever little ideas, if I do say so myself. Have you ever signed a notification contract?"
John shook his head.
"If you perform a certain action that's against what's written in a notification contract, your name appears on another piece of parchment, letting the other party know of your transgression. Quite useful to make sure people are sticking to their agreements."
"So," John held the open robes open, making the parchment strips a little more obvious. "Why?"
"I managed to alter the way the contract spell works so that instead of writing my name, it writes something else, in this case, it will write runes. The parchment strips sown into your robes are spaced so that when the runes appear, the parchment runes will line up with the runes already sown into the robe's lining, triggering the blast."
"So, you're going to trigger it?"
"Indeed." Dumbledore brought out a Gringotts contract parchment. "I just need you to counter sign here and everything will be set." John picked up a quill. absolutely no chance accidentally die from this?"
"And that I
there's might
"John, if there was such a chance, I would not have even suggested it."
John nodded and placed the quill on the signature spot, quickly reading the basic contract.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore agrees not to eat red Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans during the Hogwarts Duelling Tournament on April fourth, 1992.
Signed: Albus Dumbledore
Signed: _
Percival
Wulfric
Brian "Red beans, huh?"
Dumbledore smiled.
John signed.
The day of the tournament dawned and for the first time in a week, the oppressive lock-down magics filling Hogwarts lifted. Harry walked alone down to breakfast as though today were just another day. He still hadn't had any luck with the mirror. If this kept up, he'd have to start considering more extreme measures.
The duelling teams of all four hoses sat together, all dressed in formidable looking duelling robes, even his fellow first years. He caught sight of Su Li at Ravenclaw table, staring down at her food as though she expected it to start flinging spells at her if she looked away.
Harry settled himself at the edge of the rest of the Slytherin duelling team.
Romulus Volf frowned. "Where're your robes, Potter?"
Harry glanced down at his standard plain black Hogwarts robes. He'd cut a slit from the waist down at the both the front and back so they sort-of imitated the duelling robes of those worn around him — but even then, they still looked pretty scrappy, especially with the muggle jeans under them, well fitting that they might be. "I'm wearing them."
Volf scowled. "Stop dicking around, Potter. I know you have better."
"Yes, I do, but I will wear these for the moment."
"Why?"
"Its all part of cunning Slytherin plan." Harry shrugged. "Besides, I thought you were complaining you weren't going to get to actually duel in the main event?"
Volf grumbled a bit but didn't object any more.
At the far end of the table, Daphne held court with Hermione around the other Gray students, both doing a good job of not showing the anxiety Harry knew they felt. He'd warned them to be on high alert during the tournament. If something was going to happen, the tournament could be a perfect time for it.
Breakfast came and went. The team rose from the table, receiving a round of cheering and applause from their fellow Slytherins as they left the great hall. Harry might currently be isolated, but that wouldn't stop the house supporting their team.
The stroll down to the duelling arena was relaxing and Harry couldn't help reflect on this moment in the second timeline. He'd been in the stands, watching his brother—who'd had the advantage of time-travelling from the first time-line—plough through the first five members of Ravenclaw before finally succumbing. James and Lily Potter had been in the stands on the other side of the arena and Harry had so desperately wanted to go and talk to them, but was too afraid. They'd looked so proud of his brother. That memory had been a hard one to stop caring about, but constant exposure over ten years of hell had done it. Before he knew it, Harry was ensconced in the Slytherin holding area under the large, currently open-air, duelling arena.
From outside he heard a magic enhanced voice bellow, "Welcome, My Lords and Ladies, wizards and witches, to the annual Hogwarts Duelling Tournament!" An approving roar from two thousand throats filtered through the ceiling and walls to them.
Harry gripped his holly and phoenix feather wand and grinned. They wanted a show? He'd give them a show.
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