Pre-Chapter A/N: Welcome to September, guys! Let's smash whatever goals we've set ourselves this year. More chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio. Experimenting with two chapters a week, we'll see how long I can keep this up for.
XXXXX- HARRY POTTER
"Well, that was weird," I said to everyone else on the table as Moody and Tonks made an about-turn and began to make their way out of the hall.
"Was that the truth? About the other boy?" Cece asked, giving me a look I couldn't quite place.
"Yeah, I grew up with those boys, and if anyone is hunting that group down, then Gladwell will be next on the list."
"How horrible," Angel said, while Cece just gave him a look.
"I don't think it's as horrible as you might think," she said.
"What do you mean? Surely you don't know them?" I asked. I knew Malcolm Gladwell's death was going to make the world a better place than it had been before he died, but that was because I had the benefit of having grown up with him. To anyone else, the deaths should seem like a tragedy. Or at least an unfortunate situation. Definitely not something to be applauded.
"I don't. But I know you to some extent. And what did you call them again? The worst kind of muggles? By the way, the word you use for the unblessed is an interesting one. But that is beside the point. You wouldn't have called them the worst of their kind without reason," she said, her look telling me that she very much wanted to know what those reasons were and why I thought so lowly of them.
"Yeah, you're not wrong. Let's just say that I have some history with them and leave it at that. Now, can we talk about something else?"
— THE SEMI-FINALS —
There were only four duelists left in the running. Contrary to what I had thought after the Round of 16, Cece had won her duel. She'd done it in spectacular fashion, even, overcoming her opponent's use of weather charms and mirrored shields. Now it was time to see if she would be facing me or either of the other two who had made it this far. Aleksander Volkov, who had graduated from Durmstrang this year but not participated in the Triwizard, was one of them, and the other was Ifeoma Okonkwo, a student from Uagadou who was almost singlehandedly going to put her nation on the map with her actions here.
Aleksander stood at a massive six feet—probably six or seven inches on top of that. His shoulders were as broad as I'd ever seen on a human not named Hagrid, and his arms were so muscled they looked like they could crush my head between them just by flexing. And he was the lesser threat. He dueled well. No one who had made it this far didn't duel well. I'd heard it said among some of those who regularly attended these things that any of us who made it to the semis would have been in contention to win in any of the previous years. But Okonkwo? She was special. Around her neck was a wooden totem, an amulet with a centerpiece sculpted to look like a praying doll.
The names flashed on the board, and I hoped to go first. At least if I did, that would mean I'd get the tension out of me and then could relax fully for the next one. It seemed the fates would rather I sat with the knot in my stomach for a while. But at least they were kind enough to give me a good show. Cece and Okonkwo's names flashed on the board. I looked over at the Chinese girl that had somehow managed to worm her way into my good graces with the conversation last night.
"Good luck," I whispered to her as Aleksander turned and practically stomped off once the names were called.
"Thank you. I'll need it," she said. I nodded. No one had any illusions as to how big a threat Okonkwo was. It wasn't just that she was powerful. It was how she fought. She fought in a way that made all the muscle memory we learned about dueling useless. Things like focusing on your opponent's wand to read their intentions became useless platitudes when facing an opponent who didn't use a wand and cast spells by either snapping her fingers or singing in a language you could not understand. I'd only bothered learning Yoruba, so the Igbo Okonkwo spoke was as alien to me as anything else.
Someone would expect that as close as the Yoruba and Igbo people were to each other (geographically speaking), then at least some parts of the languages would have evolved to be mutually intelligible. But that was a can of worms I was not going to be touching with a long pole.
"Any tips?" she asked next. I quirked a brow.
"We both know you'd rather face me than her," she asserted.
"What makes you certain?"
"The fact that you think you can beat me."
"And you don't think I can beat her?"
"Why mess with a sure thing?" I found myself laughing then.
"The totem around her neck is some sort of magical focus. There's no chance it would be that big and heavy without serving some function. Also, she's careful to touch it every few minutes when she duels—as if she's making sure it's there and okay. Wouldn't be doing that if it wasn't doing something. And we both know real wandless magic is impossible. The Romans beat the wandless tribes for a reason. Use the things her unorthodox focus is bad at and show the world why we still use wands," I advised.
"You're good at giving advice. Better than I expected."
"Yeah, and if it doesn't help you beat her, then it should be enough for you to force her to reveal more of her trump cards. Give me a good look at what I'm going to be facing," I said. She scowled.
"Buttock," she said. What?
I was chuckling all the way back to the box as I thought of the translation charms fucking shit up that badly.
—
I noticed Volkov off to the side of the room. With only two of us in here, the room felt much larger than it had in the beginning. But in this case, it served the purpose of not forcing me into close proximity with the person I was going to be dueling in a matter of minutes. I took my seat and watched the wheel spin. Sandstorm. The sandstorm formed faster than it ever had, and as it did so, displays all over the stadium came to life, broadcasting the duel for those who didn't want to strain their eyes trying to stare through the sandstorm.
Just as we had gotten better at adapting to the environments over time, the organisers had also gotten better at creating them. Cece stood in an alert stance, facing her opponent, knees bent to allow her to move on a second's notice and body bent in such a way as to make her as small a target as possible.
From a purely technical perspective, Cece and Angel were probably the two best here (not including me, of course), and it showed in how solid her stance was. Okonkwo, on the other hand, stood still, facing her. She didn't bother with any sort of stance, just waiting for the duel to begin. At this point, I doubted that she actually knew any, and I would have thought her the lesser threat for it if I hadn't seen what she could do to the careless and overeager.
The referee started the duel, and Cece struck first with two piercing curses. Okonkwo's backhand lashed out, slapping both spells to the side quite literally as she snapped the fingers on her other hand. Vines tore from the ground, reaching for Cece's feet. With a twist of her wand, she set them on fire and then jumped to the side once it became clear that they were going to keep coming.
Okonkwo's fingers snapped, and even more vines shot from the ground. Cece moved faster than I'd ever seen her, using cutting curses to good effect. I didn't know the specific curse she was using. It left her wand as an arc of black magic that both cut and eroded the vines from where they shot out of the ground. Well, it was clearly a cutting curse, just a darker variation than usual. Probably something native to Asia.
Okonkwo was nonplussed. She wriggled her fingers and sang something in Igbo. The ground beneath Cece's feet seemed to begin to shake. She was quick to roll to the side, and it was good that she did so, as two ends of a giant Venus flytrap-looking plant closed around the space where she had been. Okonkwo snapped her fingers, vines shooting from the ground to catch the spells Cece tried to pin her down with on their surfaces.
The Venus flytrap thing turned on its own, the vine that produced it coming further out of the ground before it turned in Cece's direction. Too busy trying to bypass Okonkwo's unorthodox defence, she was barely able to shield in time as the flytrap opened up and belched out a torrent of purple flames.
They splashed against the hastily formed shield, appearing to eat through it slowly and surely. Cece's expression barely shifted as she spun her wand, pushing the shield forwards before dispelling it. Instead, she fought the flames by trying to control them, pushing them backwards with a gust of wind and then trying to encase them in a barrier of some sort. Maybe it would have worked, but she had an opponent to face, and no one sane would let her just turn away from the duel to do that. Okonkwo snapped her fingers, and her equivalent of a bludgeoner hit Cece straight in the side, sending her flying arse over teakettle off the platform and into the sand.
Not past the boundary that would have ended the duel, but those who found themselves on the sand did not tend to make their way out. She struggled to her feet. Okonkwo snapped her fingers again. This spell took longer to work than the others, but what did it matter with a stationary opponent? Two more of her Venus flytraps formed on either side of Cece, turning to aim at her.
I couldn't hear the words Okonkwo said to Cece, but it was clear that it was some sort of warning to surrender. I didn't hear what Cece said back either. But I did see her struggle to her feet and walk off to the side, running her wand over her midsection as she did so. For some reason, Okonkwo did not react to this, speaking still. Her eyes were still pinned on the position where Cece had been lying. So that was why Cece had been asking me about the illusion I'd used to defeat the blizzard girl. It was impressive that she'd been able to reverse-engineer it so quickly, though.
Okonkwo sighed at something and snapped her fingers. The Venus flytraps opened up, bathing the sand with purple flames. Well, that was probably in violation of the rules if Cece had still been there. Cece had managed to do something about her injuries, at least. She was no longer walking with a heavy limp. Okonkwo quickly realised something was wrong, though, and narrowed her eyes before covering them with her hands.
When she removed said hands, they were glowing an eldritch blue. She looked about, her eyes snapping to Cece's location. I could see the despair forming in Cece as her trump card failed to buy her more time. Okonkwo snapped both of her fingers and the ground around the arena shook as multiple of those Venus flytrap things formed in a matter of seconds. All of them aimed at Cece.
"I yield." The stadium's speakers projected those words as Cece sighed and lifted her hand. I couldn't judge her. She didn't have any tools for dealing with that purple fire. Looking at the sand they'd blasted, I could see some of it developing a glassy quality.
"Our turn, I guess," I said, turning to Volkov. The Russian wizard gave me a long look, seeming to contemplate all the possible responses before settling for a curt, "Indeed." Not a particularly loquacious one, this Aleksander Volkov fellow. Or at least, not particularly loquacious when it came to me—not a fact I could blame him for. We were about to duel, weren't we? Everything that needed to be said between us would be said on that stage.
I walked forward, moving straight ahead for the tunnel that led to the stage. Volkov followed. By the time we had arrived, both Okonkwo and Cece were gone. The former celebrating her victory, and the latter receiving medical attention, no doubt. That was the dichotomy of life in this world. This was not like my old one where power could be shared, given, or granted. Here, there was only one type of power that mattered, and those who had it would always be superior to those who didn't. It was refreshing in a way.
It meant I just needed to keep my head down and do my bit, and I'd make it all the way to the top here. That hadn't been guaranteed in my first life. Keeping your head down and doing the work was almost certainly one way to guarantee that you never made it to the top. The Associates who made partner were never the highest billers or the hardest workers. They were those who grew their book by spending time out of work, finding clients, bringing business to the firm, that sort of thing. And the Partners who stood out from the rest were just the same.
In this world, though, a muggleborn girl with no renown could lead a revolution that tears down the very nature of one of the largest magical societies in the world and then birth a dynasty of her own.
"Aleksander Volkov. Any relation to Natasha Volkov?" I asked. Because while I doubted it was a very rare surname, it was still quite the coincidence.
"She is my great-grandmother," he said. I clapped my hands together. Excellent.
"Then I hope we can become friends after this is over," I said.
"I will not hold your inability to best me against you, Harry Potter," he said confidently, and I cackled. Well, that was one way to go about getting things started.
The wheel spun, landing on water. Been a while, I thought to myself. How many rounds had it been since I'd fought in the water environment?
"Contestants, begin," the referee called.
Our opening salvos missed each other by a hair's breadth as we danced about the arena, sending spells as quick as lightning. Volkov's reflexes were nothing to scoff at, as he managed to either dodge or block every spell I sent his way.
In the same vein, though, I managed to keep ahead of his own attacks. The first to make a mistake would be the one to lose, it seemed. I tilted my head to the side to avoid what would have been a particularly painful bludgeoner before returning fire with three gouging curses. Each one took a chunk out of the stage as Volkov practically slid to the side. For a man his size, he was impressively agile. It was like watching a pickup truck drifting around corners on a canyon road.
His return salvo, a blasting curse followed by two bone breakers, hit naught but air as I turned on my side, minimizing my profile and allowing them to pass me by. At the same time, I flicked my wand thrice in the motion for the piercing curse. He slashed his wand upwards, forming a shield charm that absorbed all three with no difficulty. I slammed into it with a blasting curse that made it rumble and then sent a barrage of tickling hexes, making sure to sneak in Sirius's favourite shield breaker, the siege engine. He recognised it—of course he did—it was of initial Russian origin. He blocked the tickling hexes, dropped the shield for a second, allowing the siege engine to hit him and do nothing, before he lifted his shield again.
I stopped and just stared. That had been impressive. As impressive as it was quick. Undoubtedly.
"Do not stop, Potter. This is just getting good," he said, ripping the ground that made the platform apart with a single wave of his wand and turning the rubble into a set of steel spears with one motion, banishing them straight at me. I waited until they were close enough to me, and then I slashed my wand to the side, overcoming his intent and turning the rubble into a set of colorful butterflies.
The way they flew around me was a thing of beauty, embodying every colour known to man. Of course, this wasn't the place for appreciating nature, and I bent backwards at my waist to avoid the next spell he sent. A thick black curse that seemed to scar the wards where it hit them.
"Warning: Volkov," we heard the referee's voice. So that one had been against the rules. Interesting. Volkov himself didn't seem all that bothered by the warning. So he'd expected it then. Well, it did make sense. Unless you did something especially egregious, you were going to get three warnings. And if you could use a spell that won you the duel, then what did a single warning matter? You'd already won.
"Well, let's take this to the next level, shall we?" I invited, spinning my wand in my grip. He was better than I expected, to be sure. Quicker than anyone I'd fought here by some margin.
"Show me your power, Potter. Bring me your best so I can crush it." Well, he wasn't going to be avoiding any supervillain comparisons speaking like that. Still, I prepared to turn things up a notch.
A/N: Ifeoma Okonkwo is my fun OC here. It's canon that African magicals use wandless magic. The canon for this story is that magic can only be used outside of the body by either the most skilled wizards (and even then for very few things) or with a focus of some sort. It doesn't have to be a wand. So here, she uses a focus, but no wand. Next four chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)(same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.