Professor McGonagall glanced at the two wands kicked aside and felt her mouth twitch. She truly had no idea what to say. These two were born to be each other's nemesis. They reminded her of James Potter and Severus Snape in their school days, with one difference. James had a few reliable friends at his side. Harry, on the other hand...
Suddenly she frowned. "Potter, did you not say you were borrowing this classroom to practice with Weasley? How did it become Mr. Malfoy instead?"
Harry's eyes dimmed for a moment. He answered without much spirit, "Ron is not very interested, so I went to Malfoy. He agreed right away. We have been training here since last week."
Tom had judged Ron correctly yet again. Not that he was hopeless, more that he was too content to drift, with no real drive.
"So you have fought once before?" Professor McGonagall caught the key point at once. Harry and Malfoy hunched their shoulders.
Last time had been worse than today...
"Enough." Seeing their expressions, she sighed silently, most of her anger subsiding. "Wanting to improve is good, but you must pay attention to the way you go about it.
"Remember, you are wizards. Do not behave like Muggle street thugs. I cannot stand to watch it."
"I must warn you as well. You are not permitted to use Dark magic or any spell with severe side effects. And whoever loses is not to come crying to me or Professor Snape, nor rally friends for help. This is your choice. Understood?"
When both boys nodded, Professor McGonagall left the classroom.
Let them fight. When teachers interfere too much in students' grudges, it backfires. Better to let Potter and Malfoy settle it one on one. It is fair. The loser can only blame himself, not anyone else. Just as long as they do not disgrace the school beyond its walls.
The moment she left, Draco and Harry exchanged a look and spoke in unison.
"Potter, same time tomorrow?"
"Of course."
...
Malfoy returned to the Slytherin common room, cursing Harry all the way. That bastard was improving too quickly. In last year's Dueling Club Draco could beat him easily. Now he could hardly keep up. His savage threat earlier had been pure reflex. He already regretted it.
What if he lost tomorrow?
"Oy, Malfoy, brawling with Potter again?" Blaise Zabini's sharp eyes took in Draco's torn robes and bruised cheek at once. He smirked, delighted to rub salt in.
"Shut it and fetch me some bruise balm," Draco snapped.
Blaise spread his hands. "I do not have any on me. I will bring some later. From the look of you, today was not your day, was it?"
They all knew Malfoy and Potter had been arranging fights since last week. Draco was far more bedraggled now than he had been then.
"Do not remind me." Draco dropped onto the sofa, scowling. "Potter suddenly picked up several new spells and he uses them like second nature. It was as if he had..."
"The brains for it?" Blaise snorted.
Theodore Nott shook his head. "Potter does not have that kind of brain. He almost certainly learned them very recently because Tom gave him a notebook."
"Tom's notebook?" Draco shot bolt upright. "Explain."
Blaise idly fiddled with a set of wizard's chess pieces. "Potter helped Tom with something. We saw Tom compiling a notebook a while back, and later he gave it to Potter."
"No, that is not fair."
Draco panicked. If Potter could call in outside help, why could he not? He would get a notebook from Tom as well.
He raced back to the dormitory and checked what pocket money he had left, to see what gifts he could still afford for Tom.
Unfortunately, the next morning, when Malfoy marched out with a heavy present and asked around for Tom, he could not find him anywhere.
Tom had gone home. Not only had he left himself, he had also taken the Greengrass sisters and Hermione with him.
In principle, no one should leave for Easter, but Tom was not a man of principle. Staying at school was inconvenient for everything, nowhere near as free as being at home.
No Slytherin student dared snitch, and it would have done no good anyway. Tom had hitched a ride with Fawkes this time. Dumbledore already knew.
"Chiu, chiu..."
A crisp birdsong rang out in the room, and Tom looked up in surprise.
"Fawkes, you are still here?"
"Chiu!" Fawkes flew over and pecked him in annoyance. Scoundrel. Use me, then try to send me away?
"Argh!"
Rayquaza swept in, shouldered Fawkes aside, and the two little ones immediately started squabbling.
Tom:
Very well. Now Dumbledore would not even know he had slipped out. Hopefully the old man did not need to be elsewhere this holiday, or Tom would still end up being dragged back.
Sunlight poured through the half open window. April was London at its most pleasant. Daytime hovered around fifteen to seventeen degrees, neither cold nor hot, with a breeze that smelled faintly of damp earth.
Tom spread the Marauder's Map across the table, put on a pair of heavy, dark spectacles, and examined it inch by inch.
These were the x ray spectacles he had confiscated from Nicolas. Their proper use was to analyze enchanted items, to read the crafting method, the runic arrays, and the materials used. Nicolas had used them to admire pretty girls instead. Truly... well, that was not the worst application either.
After a while, Tom's expression turned thoughtful.
Leaving aside what one might say of the Marauders' character, the magic and ancient runes bound into this map, at least the portions he could tease out, were enough to prove that this group's magical attainments were far beyond their peers.