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Harry Potter and the Silent Guardian : Ch. 187
🕑 Added 2024-07-28 00:03:31 +0000 UTCChapter 187: "Duels and Disruptions"
The arena crackled with tension as the announcer's voice reverberated through magical speakers. "For our next duel, we have Hadrian Potter versus Jack Harris!"
A wave of gasps rippled through the audience as Harry stepped onto the dueling platform. The announcer, sensing the crowd's shock, quickly added, "While Mr. Potter may be only 15 years old, he is far from inexperienced. He is last year's Under 17 European Champion." This revelation ignited a flurry of excited murmurs and concerned whispers among the spectators.
Harry's opponent, Jack Harris, a burly wizard in his early thirties, swaggered onto the platform with a smirk. "Oi, little boy," he called out, his voice dripping with condescension. "Why don't you run along home to your mummy, kid? This isn't a place for children playing at being wizards."
Harry's eyes flashed dangerously. "Funny, I was about to suggest you retire too. It would be a shame to embarrass yourself in front of all these people."
Harris's face contorted with anger. "You insolent little brat! I'll teach you to respect your betters!"
The referee, a stern-looking witch, intervened. "Gentlemen, take your positions. On my mark... begin!"
Harris, still smirking, lowered his wand. "Go on then, Potter. I'll give you a free shot. Try to make it sting at least."
Harry didn't hesitate. In a blur of motion, his wand whipped through the air, unleashing a barrage of spells in rapid succession. Stunners, disarming charms, and leg-lockers flew from his wand in a dazzling display of magical prowess. He chose these simple spells not for their mercy, but for their speed, knowing they would end the duel instantly against an unprepared opponent.
Harris's eyes widened in shock. He had been lazily twirling his wand, not expecting such a ferocious assault. By the time he tried to raise a shield, it was too late. The spells hit him in quick succession, lifting him off his feet and slamming him back onto the platform. He lay there, groaning in pain, his wand rolling away from his limp hand.
The referee raised her wand, ending the match. "Winner: Hadrian Potter!"
The audience erupted in a mix of cheers and astonished exclamations. They may have been disappointed by the quick end of the duel, but Harry's rapid casting skill was undeniable and showed he was not to be taken lightly.
As Harry made his way back to the participants' area, he could feel the shift in the atmosphere. The other competitors were no longer looking at him with dismissive amusement. Their gazes now held wariness, even though they still didn't consider him a serious contender for the championship.
Harry didn't have long to enjoy his win, as the next round of fights was announced soon after. His next opponent was Duncan Macnair. Harry learned from Sirius that Duncan was the younger brother of Walden Macnair, a known dark wizard and suspected Death Eater.
Harry remembered Walden Macnair from the books as someone who was supposed to kill Buckbeak on directions from Malfoy. Macnair would also become a Death Eater of Voldemort's inner circle later. With this information, Harry knew he was up against a dark wizard in the next round. Even though he was sure he could win, he needed to be careful not to fall for any tricks or get hit by a dark spell.
The announcer's voice boomed once more. "Our next duel promises to be a clash of titans! We have Hadrian Potter, the prodigy looking to prove that youth is no barrier to excellence, against Duncan Macnair, a seasoned duelist renowned for his merciless style. Prepare yourselves for a spectacle!"
As they took their positions, Macnair's eyes glittered with malevolent anticipation. "Well, well, little Potter," he sneered, his voice laced with venom. "I'm going to savor every moment of this. My associates will relish the memory of me breaking you. I do hope you don't crumble too quickly – where's the fun in that?"
Harry readied his wand nonchalantly. "Funny, I was thinking the same about you. I wasn't sure whether to deal you a lot of pain or go easy, but your words have cleared my suspicions. Don't worry, I'll try to make it memorable for your 'associates'. I hope your friends don't disown you when they learn you lost to a Potter."
Macnair's face twisted with rage. "A smooth talker, eh? I love making your kind cry with fear. I will enjoy carving that smirk off your little face"
The referee, sensing the escalating tension, swiftly commenced the duel.
Macnair wasted no time, launching a barrage of dark curses that lit up the arena with sickly colors. Harry dodged and weaved, conjuring concrete blocks to absorb the more dangerous spells. The audience gasped as the blocks exploded into dust under the impact of Macnair's curses.
Harry, however, felt no danger. Although the spells were dangerous, they had no hope of hitting him. Not content with just dodging, he retaliated with his own onslaught. Cutting hexes whistled through the air, followed by bone-shattering curses and concussive blasts of magical energy. Each spell was carefully chosen, designed to not just harm but to systematically dismantle Macnair's defenses.
Macnair's eyes widened as a particularly vicious cutting curse sliced through his thigh. Despite his best efforts to dodge, the spell left a deep gash. His shield charm flickered, barely withstanding Harry's relentless assault.
"You'll pay for that with blood, Potter," Macnair snarled, his voice ragged with pain and fury. "You've successfully angered me."
Harry, never breaking his rhythm, retorted coolly, "Oh, was that enough to anger you? I thought you were just warming up. Truth be told, I'm disappointed by the skill shown so far. Come on, Macnair, make me work for it at least."
The taunt had its intended effect. Macnair's rage fueled his magic, and the duel escalated into a deadly ballet. Both wizards were using dangerous spells, and the audience watched in stunned silence, aware that one misstep could result in severe injury.
As the fight wore on, Harry noticed Macnair's movements becoming labored, his breathing ragged. The earlier wound was taking its toll, causing a slight but noticeable limp. It was time to end this.
With a series of complex wand movements, Harry launched his final assault. He feinted left, then spun right, his spells weaving a web of light that shattered Macnair's shields and left him disoriented. Before his opponent could recover, Harry unleashed a pair of precisely aimed blasting curses.
The curses struck Macnair's wand arm with devastating effect. The result was as decisive as it was gruesome – Macnair would need extensive magical healing to regain the use of his arm.
The referee's whistle cut through the stunned silence. "Winner: Hadrian Potter!"
As the crowd erupted into cheers, Harry left the platform without a backward glance at his fallen opponent. Gloating wasn't his style. He caught Sirius's eye in the crowd, his godfather's face a mix of pride and concern. Harry gave him a reassuring nod.
As Harry prepared for his third and final duel of the day, an unexpected interruption occurred. A silvery dog patronus materialized next to Sirius, delivering an urgent message: he was needed back at the Auror office immediately.
Sirius approached Harry, his expression grave. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I've got to go. Duty calls." He squeezed Harry's shoulder reassuringly. "You've been brilliant today. I'm proud of you. Stay safe, and I hope you return with the trophy. Filius, I leave Harry's safety in your hands."
Flitwick nodded. "Don't worry, Sirius. I'll look after Harry, not that he needs it. You should hurry. It looks serious if you're being called back like this."
Sirius ran out, joined by other Aurors who had been participating or watching the tournament.
The atmosphere in the arena shifted palpably. Whispers and murmurs rippled through the crowd, an undercurrent of tension building. Harry had an inkling about what might have transpired, but the reaction seemed disproportionate to his suspicions.
Minutes after Sirius's departure, an official stepped onto the main platform. "Attention, all participants and spectators. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the remainder of today's tournament has been suspended. Further information will be provided as soon as possible. We apologize for any inconvenience and ask that you please exit the arena in an orderly fashion."
A collective groan of disappointment rose from the crowd, quickly replaced by speculative chatter. Harry felt a mix of frustration and curiosity. He'd been ready to win this tournament and take on the world next, and now that opportunity had been snatched away.
As Harry and Professor Flitwick made their way to the exit, Harry's sharp ears picked up fragments of conversation from the departing crowd. The words "Azkaban" and "breakout" were repeated frequently, confirming his suspicions.
Harry thought about what he knew from the books. He remembered that Sirius had escaped from Azkaban around this time in the original story. It looked like a breakout had happened in this world too. At first, Harry thought Peter Pettigrew might have escaped, but he quickly realized that didn't make sense. Pettigrew escaping alone wouldn't cause such a big reaction.
As they walked out into the late afternoon sun, Harry kept thinking about what could have happened. He knew Pettigrew wasn't good enough at magic to escape from Azkaban island by himself. The way the Aurors were reacting made it seem like something bigger and more worrying had happened. Maybe Pettigrew had escaped with other prisoners, which would explain why everyone was so alarmed.
Harry knew he'd have to wait for news from Sirius or Amelia to find out what really happened. But he was sure of one thing: next year at Hogwarts wouldn't be quiet. He reminded himself to practice his Patronus charm more, expecting to see some ghostly creatures at school.
