Chapter 45: The Return
The Portkey activated on time. I had been hoping to go straight home after that, pick up my trunk, take the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade, and walk the rest of the way to Hogwarts. Life, however, had other ideas.
First, the moment we arrived, we were hit by a volley of camera flashes. It was so unexpected that I instinctively reached for my wand and sent a Knockback Jinx toward the flashes, while also starting to cast a broad Protego over us. Or rather, I was in the process of doing so when Flitwick caught my arm, and the Knockback Jinx hit the floor instead.
Only then did I understand.
"Draco, easy. And as for you, ladies and gentlemen..." Flitwick's voice carried a particular dryness. "...kindly think about what you are doing. This young man has just returned from his first Dueling Championship. Right now, any suspicious sound is reason enough for him to cast first and ask questions later."
My Master shook his head.
"And then you arrive with your camera flashes."
"Ahem. I apologize. That was an oversight on my part."
Amelia Bones, who was present, lowered her gaze slightly, acknowledging the lapse.
"Mr. Black! Rita Skeeter, the Daily Prophet. Might I ask you a few questions?"
I let out a long, pained sigh.
"Miss Skeeter, could we perhaps not do this here?"
I gestured at the room around us, implying that the International Portkey Arrivals Hall was hardly the ideal venue for an interview.
"But the readers have a right to know!"
"I am not refusing. I simply feel that an arrivals hall is not quite the setting for an interview."
"Well..."
"I have already given instructions. A meeting room has been prepared where we can speak properly."
Madam Bones indicated that everything was in order.
"Splendid!"
Rita was enormously enthusiastic, as were the other reporters, and before long we were all shown into the prepared room: myself, my mothers, and Flitwick on one side, the press on the other.
"Mr. Black, the readers have a right to know!"
Rita pushed to the front of the group. She was dressed in something distinctly bold: a gown with a slit, with what looked like the upper half of a jacket or hooded robe over it.
"I am listening. And please, none of that 'Mr. Black' and 'Miss Skeeter.' We are not strangers."
"Oh, I was counting on that!"
She gave a vigorous nod, and her Quick-Quotes Quill began scratching away rapidly.
"Now then, the first question is one I am sure is on everyone's mind. How long have you been dueling?"
"Six months."
I shrugged.
"Six months?! As I understand it, you are already a considerably more experienced wizard than most, owing to an anomaly in your core development? Surely you were casting and training all that time?"
"Oh, absolutely, Rita."
I shook my head.
"I trained and I cast, naturally. As you all know, the Reasonable Restriction on Underage Sorcery exists primarily to protect Muggle-born students from accidents with magic. Those of us fortunate enough to have at least one magical parent can reach St. Mungo's in seconds by Side-Along Apparition if something goes wrong, whereas Muggle-borns have no such recourse."
I gave an easy shrug.
"But what about dueling? Surely one of your mothers introduced you to that noble art?"
"Well, Mother Narcissa is a Healer. The idea of waving her wand in combat doesn't sit well with her, though, as any self-respecting witch, she is perfectly capable of defending herself. Mother Bellatrix is a combat witch, and for her, dueling is..."
I shrugged.
"...in any case, both my mothers decided to teach me what they know and do best, rather than areas where their expertise is less complete. And that is perhaps one of the reasons I was able to achieve such results in only six months. There was nothing to unlearn. Master Flitwick simply had to instill the specific rules and conventions of formal dueling, and then proceed to drive them into me by throwing me into practice bouts again and again."
I smiled at my Master, who smiled back rather sharply, evidently recalling those sessions quite vividly.
"And what were you training in before that?"
I shook my head.
"Rita, asking a wizard something like that... Let us leave it at this: my gift awakened, and we devoted most of our efforts to cultivating it. My gift is, above all, dangerous to me, so I needed to know a great deal. My mother taught me directly and we engaged tutors, all to ensure that when the time came to work with my gift, I wouldn't hurt myself, first and foremost."
"And... though you won't share details, have you seen results?"
"Yes."
That was all I said.
"Very well."
"Rita, that is quite enough. You've already asked far more than your fair share. Draco, I am Carol, from Witch Weekly. After such an extraordinary showing, winning two age groups and giving an outstanding performance in the third, do you have plans for the future? And, according to my information, you were frequently in the company of quarter-Veela Fleur Delacour. What is the nature of your relationship?"
"Well... my plans center on development. I want to pursue a Mastery in Charms and Spellwork as quickly as possible, which means work, and more work. As for Miss Delacour, it is really quite simple."
I looked around the room with a slight smile.
"I am considering her as a possible candidate for a betrothal contract."
The room gasped.
"Pure blood forever!" Rodric Quartz, Daily Prophet, said. "But she is a quarter-Veela! A Frenchwoman at that! How can you even consider..."
"Mr Quartz, the answer is quite straightforward. There are no pure-blood families left on these islands with sufficient distance in our bloodlines to make a marriage beneficial to my House. That leaves me a choice between young women with no ties to the ancient families, or seeking a bride abroad."
"But a quarter-Veela!"
I frowned slightly.
"Mr Quartz, I have answered your question. As for the bloodline of my future wife, whether that proves to be Miss Delacour or anyone else, I will not be seeking anyone's counsel on that matter. The House comes first, and as for these..."
I waved a hand in the air.
"...slogans, leave them to people who understand nothing about Healing. A wizard of any quality is defined by the strength of the magic in his children, not by which boxes they check on a registry."
"Even so..."
Rita chose that moment to cut back in.
"...readers will naturally want to know: why did you use only four spells in your own age group? Was it a way of showing contempt for your opponents?"
"Not at all."
I shook my head.
"...I was simply somewhat overconfident, and so I made a small wager that I could win my age group using only that many. Who the wager was with, and what was at stake, I will not say. I will say only that in the quarterfinal I came very close to losing it, and only a particular trick allowed me to win against a thoroughly worthy opponent without forfeiting the wager as well. Had that bout gone on much longer, I would certainly have had to show considerably more."
"And what can you tell us about your opponent in the final?"
I winced slightly.
"I hear there was some unpleasant business around that?"
"There was. Briefly: before our bout, his instructor approached me. I cannot say precisely what he wanted, since I declined to speak with him privately. Then, after I had won, the boy came to find me, accompanied by two large gentlemen and the same instructor, and said something to the effect that I was supposed to have surrendered or lost, and..."
I gestured dismissively.
"...the Russian equivalent of the Auror Office is dealing with the matter now. He managed not only to say enough to earn himself a sentence, but to do enough to earn one as well. His confidence in his own immunity was, it turns out, connected to some rather unsavory criminal business."
"I see."
"Rowdy Smitt, Britain Today. How would you describe your opponent from the next age group?"
I shrugged.
"Strong. Courageous. Skilled. Cunning and resourceful. The duel with her was genuinely interesting. I took a great deal away from it, and it was thanks in no small part to Marie Becker that I was able to hold out against my next opponent for as long as I did."
"Interesting. And what can you say about him?"
"Hmm. I would say that the bout with him was..."
I snapped my fingers.
"...bracing."
"Bracing?"
"Yes."
A slightly crooked smile.
"Exactly that. It was precisely then that I understood something. I may stand out from my peers and other students at school because I was able to begin practicing magic earlier than most. But against someone who had worked with absolute dedication, who had literally clawed his way to that podium..."
I shook my head.
"...Six months of experience is not enough. For that matter, it was already clear with Marie that my experience was falling painfully short. I won only because I happened to notice, at the right moment, the same trick I had used myself to beat my semifinal opponent."
"A trick?"
"Yes. Feigning exhaustion in order to explode with a sequence of spells at a precisely chosen moment and win. If I had been just slightly less observant..."
I spread my hands.
"...I would have been forced to hide behind my shield the way I was in the next bout, and there... there is no saying how that fight would have gone."
"Witch Weekly again. Draco, what qualities would you want in a partner?"
I responded to that one with nothing more than a shrug.
"Carol, you are asking that question in the wrong place, but far more to the point, at the wrong time. I will tell you the truth, though it may not be what many people want to hear. No matter how much I might like a girl, if the likelihood of us having healthy, magically strong children together is low, I will not pursue that relationship."
"That sounds rather..."
"That is simply how it is."
I shrugged.
"People are fond of saying that pure-bloods are lucky, born with silver spoons, permitted more than anyone else. But we also carry more restrictions, at least those of us who wish to continue our line."
"Pure-blood forever. How do you reconcile that motto with your apparent readiness to ally yourself with Muggle-borns, halfbloods, and..."
His mouth twisted.
"...creatures?"
"Mr. Quartz, if I were you, I would pray that this newspaper never reaches the hands of Mr. Delacour. In fact, given the general pattern of your questions and that particular choice of words..."
I shook my head.
"...for even that insinuation, I promise you this: I will pour considerable resources into dismantling you, both your career and your personal reputation. In a year's time you will be living in a Muggle sewer, wandless, eating plague rats."
"Mr. Black, no threats, please!"
"Threats, Madam Bones?"
I looked at the representative of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the very picture of innocent surprise.
"I am simply going to make a few sizable charitable donations. To his publication. To certain other institutions. And within a couple of months, that well-groomed gentleman will look rather different. Within a year..."
I shook my head.
"However, should you succeed in obtaining forgiveness from Miss Delacour and her parents, then very well, I will cease directing those charitable contributions toward the systematic destruction of your livelihood. And while I have everyone's attention..."
I looked directly at the nearest camera.
"...the affairs of my House, how it is run, who belongs to it, and who I choose as my family, are no one else's business. Anyone who opens their mouth on that subject will be shut down. After all, two, perhaps three, of what Wizarding Britain calls its greatest wizards of the century were half-bloods. I refer to Dumbledore and Voldemort, and Grindelwald, in case that was unclear. Though so little is actually known about the latter that he may well be pure-blood for all we know. And as for the pure-bloods themselves, if my great-great-great-grandfather's standards were still in force, half the Lords in Wizarding Britain would be quietly struck from the Sacred Twenty-Eight."
"What do you mean?!"
"Oh, Rita, it is really very simple."
I smiled, not especially kindly.
"Today's generations are beginning to forget that in ancient times, the purity of blood was measured not by the number of magical generations in your ancestry, but by power. The stronger you were, the purer your blood was considered. That has shifted somewhat over the years, but..."
I shrugged.
"...in time, when I come into my full strength, no one will dare say a word about the bloodlines of my wives or my children. Simply because if they do..."
"Enough! This press conference has wandered considerably off course. I am bringing it to a close now. Everyone out."
"A shame. A real shame."
I shook my head.
"Still, I expect I will give plenty of further occasions for press conferences of this sort in the future, so I imagine we will revisit any number of interesting topics. And for certain reporters, I can certainly make time during the summer holidays for a conversation in... a different setting."
On that note, we parted, and I went home with my mothers, where I received a brief and largely ceremonial scolding, followed by a great many kisses and assurances that they would indeed make that journalist's life an absolute misery. They also promised to have a word with Rita about the article, to ensure it came out even better than the last one. After that, I was packed onto the Knight Bus and sent to Hogsmeade.
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