CH 224

The street was otherwise empty, other than for the Grangers, the Greengrasses, a few hags, some hooded men, and her.

"This is a formal duel between the Most Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin and the Ancient House of Volf over the rights to the debts owed to both houses by one Miss Clare Cooper. The combatants have agreed to extended class B rules. I am Andrew Richardson of the House of Richardson and will act as official witness. All combatants have agreed to limit their casts to non-immediately-lethal spells. When my conjured handkerchief lands on the floor, the duel shall begin." He threw the small strip of cloth into the air with a flourish.

Clare watched the handkerchief fall to the floor, breath held, heart beating wildly in her chest.

It landed.

And chaos started.

Clare's eyes widened trying desperately to understand what was happening. Spells flew everywhere, shields blocked some, others were dodged. Dan and Lord Greengrass shouted encouragement while Sunny and Emma just stared.

Clare gasped when a purple spell seemed to almost hit her lord but was battered away with so quickly that it had looked like he was playing squash.

The duel dragged on and her heart raced, faster and faster. Were they equal? Was her lord losing? She couldn't tell. She didn't know. What if Volf got a lucky shot? What if—

Then, suddenly, as though from no-where, half the street lunged up, turned into a giant snake, breathed a massive column of flame at a wide-eyed Volf, and crashed down on him with all the power of a landslide.

The ground shook.

The dust cleared.

Robert Volf lay unconscious on the ground, blood everywhere, arms and legs bent out at spine-shivering angles.

A few of the men in hoods darted out of the shadows and started to drag him away.

The contract in Lord Greengrass's hands glowed white for a moment before disappearing in a flash of light and re-appearing in front of Lord Slytherin who snatched it out of the air as quickly as he'd swatted away that one spell.

Clare felt her knees go weak.

Emma grabbed her before she collapsed. He'd done it.

The air slowly settled and Lord Slytherin walked over to them. "Miss Cooper."

She looked up at him. "My lord?" He held up contract from Volf.

She lowered her eyes. Of course. Now her lord owned the sex contract."

She heard a ripping noise. She looked up, shocked, bits of parchment floating down around her like confetti.

Slytherin levelled his wand at the papery mess. "I hereby declare the contract originally signed between Miss Clare Cooper and Robert Volf of the Ancient House of Volf and now held by Me, Lord Slytherin, to be paid in full."

The bits of parchment all glowed blue for a moment before vanishing out of existence.

Clare felt something she hadn't known she'd been feeling before lift off of her. She gazed at Slytherin in wonder "You…"

"I am not that kind of man, Miss Cooper. I fully expect you to work hard to pay off your other debt, but I will not hold someone who means me no ill will to such a deplorable agreement." She nodded quickly, a wide smile forming on her face. "Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord. I will work hard for you, my lord."

Slytherin inclined his head. "I know you will, Clare." He turned to the rest of the assembled group. "Let's go home, shall we? I think we've had enough excitement for one day."

And the group left for the floo, walking down the otherwise deserted Knockturn Alley. Knockturn Alley, where Clare hoped never to return to, but still often seemed to find herself in anyway.

"By the way, Dan, Emma…" Slytherin suddenly turned from where he'd been leading the group. He flicked his wand in a strange motion. "…I don't suppose you could build a submarine could you?" — DP & SW: TFoP —

Later that evening, in an all white room smelling of disinfectant and All Magical Mess Remover, a tall man with aristocratic features, long blonde hair, and a silver-snake topped cane, slowly walked along the rows of otherwise empty beds to the occupied bed at the very end of the ward.

The old figure in the bed, covered in bandages, splints, and straps, looked up as he approached. "Lord Malfoy," the figure said, in a wheezy, half dead voice.

Lucius Malfoy inclined his head slightly to the bed-bound man. "Robert Volf. I see that, in the end, you did end up duelling him."

Robert Volf nodded and then erupted in an uncontrollable fit of coughing. Lucius Malfoy waited for the fit to die down before he continued. "So…" he ran his fingers along the metal bed-frame. "…You have it then?"

Robert Volf leered. "Have it? Have it? Of course I have it. And as you can see," he smirked, "he was fighting properly this time." He reached for his wand on the side table with a huge groan, brought the wand to the front of his balding head, and drew a long, silvery memory strand from it.

Malfoy brought out his own wand and conjured a small vial. The memory flowed into it and Malfoy reached out to take it, but Volf snatched it away first.

"Uh uh uh, Lord Malfoy." Volf grinned. "Our deal."

Malfoy sighed and produced a medium sized purse of gold from the pocket of his robes. He chucked it onto the bed with a flourish.

Volf picked it up with a victorious smile on his face.

Malfoy held out his hand for the vial.

Volf handed it over.

With a swish of his cloak, Malfoy turned and marched out of the room. Trust someone as tasteless as the Volf patriarch to make such a show of such a small amount of money. He flooed back to Malfoy Manor and immediately barricaded himself in his office.

He walked over to a cabinet on the far side of the room and carefully opened the doors. Hundreds upon hundreds of vials greeted him on the other side, all carefully labelled and sorted — only the most recent results of many centuries of memory collecting by his ancestors — duelling styles from Europe to Africa and Asia, from wars and bar room brawls to international standard duelling tournaments.

If anyone was anyone in the world of professional fighting, their name was here. It was an indispensable tool for the professional duellist as he had once been in his youth — to be able to freely study and practise a specific opponent's subtle tells and tiny weaknesses. Everyone left traces, everyone left signs, unnoticeable though they might be to the eye of one who hadn't spent all the time he had at the task of studying them. He clutched the conjured vial in his hands tighter. And tonight he was going to find those tells and rip off Slytherin's mask once and for all.

He lifted the first batch of memories, poured them into his office's pensieve, and got to work.

The clock ticked. Minutes became hours. Lady Narcissa came and asked after him. He shooed her away with a peck on the cheek and an assurance that this had to be done.

The hours continued and the vials started to be whittled down. He started pulling more and more outlandish names from the cabinet. His eyes drooped. He swayed as he walked. The darkness beyond the office curtain started to give way to the first light of dawn and still he carried on.

Then, finally, he emerged from the pensieve once more, but now all sleepiness had gone.

His heart was beating faster and faster.

His brow was sweating. His hands were shaking, clutching two separate empty vials.

No. It wasn't possible. How could it be possible? And yet… and yet Lucius knew he was not wrong.

The implications were too horrible to even consider, but consider them he had to.

He stumbled over to his writing desk, reached for the warded bottom draw and withdrew a nondescript black notebook. He opened the book to the first page, picked up a quill and wrote in an unsteady hand, 'My lord, I have discovered the identity of Lord Slytherin.'

It should not be possible for the written word to convey impatience, but nevertheless, the single word written back managed it. 'Well?' it said.

Lord Malfoy took another long, deep breath before writing the next three words.

'He is you.'

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