CHAPTER 744: HALLOWEEN FEAST — THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS!

For a few days, the School could talk of little else but the duel between Darcie and Black.

However, fate seemed to have decided to go against Black in this, too.

All the magical abilities that Darcie had displayed could be figured out by the students, even if the masterfully executed spells, and the timely use of potion, were out of their league.

A bunch of sixth and seventh-year students, shamelessly part of Darcie’s fan club, had even circulated pamphlets, explaining everything.

Contrastingly, not much was known about what kind of magic Black had used to push Darcie so far, making her bleed.

What were those blue flames?

What was that blue, flaming armor?

How could he use magic, if magic it was, without his wand?

There were questions after questions on Black’s doings without a possibility of answers. And this was the exact situation a few people had been looking for, it seemed.

Under the golden glow showering out of the levitating pumpkins and surrounded by the smell of Halloween feast, Darcie sat at the Slytherin table with Daphne and Hermione by her side.

In her lap, the Evening Prophet was lying open.

By now, the newspaper had covered extensively about the Intra-School Competition and the first duel from various accounts and perspectives.

That meant, not once, it had gotten the facts and figures right.

Today was special, though.

A staff, under the promise of anonymity, had revealed something to the newspaper.

"Something’s wrong with that kid, let me tell you," the anonymous staff member of Hogwarts was saying. "His smile is dark."

Darcie and the girls exchanged looks and figured out the identity of the anonymous figure instantly.

"He cheated," Gilderoy was claiming. "If I was refereeing, I would have caught him on the spot. Like the times when I caught several dark wizards in the Scranton Valley. My books say it all.

"Anyway, I have written to the Headmaster to keep an eye on that kid. If he can use such cheat against our Darcie, what else he can dare not to do?"

Darcie chewed the cupcake, folding the newspaper.

She looked up and saw Lockhart seated among the Professors, smiling, telling another tale, perhaps.

"... our Darcie...?" she mumbled to herself.

Sitting next to her, Daphne and Hermione’s mouth twitched.

Two weeks had passed since the beginning of the Competition.

However, the duels of the 1st group only happened on Saturdays.

As such, and coincidentally, only Darcie and Black had stepped on the dueling platform among the group of boys and girls.

Harry, Ron, Draco, Daphne, and Hermione were eager to test their abilities, especially after what Dumbledore had told them that day after the duel.

They also dreaded the possibility of facing each other.

Unlike Darcie and Black, they all considered themselves good friends. They weren’t sure if they could go all out if one of them had to duel another...

"I know exactly what spells I will be using," Hermione told them, taking out a thick roll of parchment. She unrolled it, showing them hundreds of spells, each combined for a different scenario. "Professor Flitwick said I will win easily. BUT..."

As Hermione ranted, her voice gaining pitch, faster and faster, Darcie leaned over to Daphne.

"Did you talk with Professor Dumbledore?" she asked, eying another cupcake.

"No..." Daphne frowned.

Daphne wasn’t particularly good in duels.

She did want to win, taking it as a preparation for the future.

She wasgood in the study of magical creatures, as she had been studying under Madam Villanelle for long now.

Daphne had shown interest in revealing the matter of her being Hallow of the Cult of Scion of Death and the Spell that accompanied it to Dumbledore.

When she told Darcie this, the young Malfoy had nothing to say but giggle at it.

"Grown-ups won’t understand," Darcie told her the same, repeating her words. "Even if one is as grand a wizard as Professor Dumbledore... He did say that the myths are inside us, right? Then shouldn’t it be us who gets to decide how to use it?"

Daphne felt conflicted.

What was the use of a Spell, if she couldn’t practice with it?

What was the use of such a Skill, if she couldn’t use it in a duel?

The Battle of Legends

was as fresh as the pies in front of her in her mind. That day...

Darcie sighed, seeing the expression on her friend’s face.

As Hermione took out another bundle of notes, Darcie leaned over a touch more and whispered, "I have an idea... but... it’s kinda unorthodox..."

...

Darcie and the girls crawled toward their dormitories after eating too much.

They were, like always, followed by a huge crowd of first years, who hadn’t yet made peace with the fact that they were studying at Hogwarts at the same time as Darcie.

Behind them were members of Darcie’s fan club, wearing a badge showcasing Arlen Black. It kept flashing between Black’s beaten face and the word — nuisance.

Then suddenly, as all of them took a sharp turn, they paused.

Even before they could process what was they seeing, the smell of blood hit their noses.

Darcie’s wand was already in her hand, a distant rumble thundering in the back of her mind.

She had basically turned this swift movement of taking out the wand into muscle memory. Who knew what kind of disaster would strike the school next time? Such a thing could mean the gap between life and death.

Today, though, she held herself back from firing a Spell.

In front of her, standing pale-faced and dumbfounded, were Harry, Ron, Black, and... her brother, Draco.

They were looming over Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s cat, hanging by her tail from the torch bracket.

The animal was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

Above her, glowing bloody red, was the message.

Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

— THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE —

"What sick joke is this?" Darcie asked, stepping forward. She was looking dead in Black’s eyes.

Black scoffed, smiling a little. "That’s the difference between mine and your jokes, Broken Fingers," he said. "My jokes never get sick."

The crowd of students, who were already out to get Black, fumed at his name-calling.

Sensing the boiling crowd, Harry and Ron silently took off the badges from their robes, which kept blurring between Darcie’s Celebrity image and roughly drawn twisted fingers.

Black’s badge was still clearly visible, though.

Draco pushed him aside and said, "It wasn’t us..."

"What’s going on here? What’s going on?" Attracted to the raging crowd of fans, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through them.

Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

"My cat! My cat! What’s happened to Mrs. Norris?!" he shrieked.

And his eyes fell on Black.

"You!" he screeched. "You! You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll —"

"Argus!" Dumbledore had arrived at the scene.

He was followed by Madam Villanelle, Umbridge, Snape, McGonagall, and Lockhart.

The Headmaster took one look at the cat and the message, his blue eyes shaking. "Come with me," he told them. "You, too, Ms. Darcie."

Lockhart hopped to the front and grabbed Black by the back of his robe. "Let’s go! You will run nowhere!"

"..."

As all ignored Lockhart and headed toward his office, Black’s eyes suddenly fell on Umbridge’s face.

He had expected to see a smirk there, like always.

But what he saw made him raise both his eyebrows.

Hidden in the shadows of the corridor, under the flickering torches, Umbridge was crying.

*****************

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