All things considered, it was a slow day around Hogwarts. A slow week really. In fact, Ophelia thought, it could be rounded up to a slow month.
That's how she found herself in the Slytherin common room, all the furniture pushed back against the walls, watching a good proportion of the House establish their own medieval hierarchy. First years dueled fifth years, seventh years dueled fourth years, age didn't factor into the matchups whatsoever. They were utterly lawless, and reveled in it. Ophelia would have felt the need to step in when a fresh faced first year girl got matched with the burly seventh year Quidditch team captain, where it not for the fact that her interruption would not have been welcome from either side. She settled for sitting at the edge of the fray with her face buried in her hands and her wand calculatedly out of reach. Tom made it painfully clear what he thought of that, but tucked it into his pocket nonetheless with the air of a long-suffering, yet tired, parent.
Maybe she was being a little overdramatic. Maybe. That still didn't mean she wanted to run the risk of accidentally-on-purpose intervening.
"Come on, little coward," Rabastan taunted. "And you call yourself a Gryffindor. We need another person to even out the numbers."
"To even out... what, exactly?" Ophelia asked. She thus far assumed they were being guided only by god's of chaos and anarchy.
Rabastan folded his arms over his chest and looked like he thought she might be a few players short of a full quidditch team. "Are you really asking that?"
"They need an even number of people if they are going to duel in a tournament," Tom explained.
"You say that like you're not involved," Rabastan said pointedly.
"I'm merely letting life take its course," Tom stated with a shrug.
Ophelia seriously doubted that the teachers would accept that as a proper response, especially coming from everyone's most adored prefect.
"I want no part of this. Dueling for fun isn't what I'd consider a good time," she said.
To exemplify her point, she dug herself further into the couch, like a fox burrowing into its den.
Rabastan wagged his finger condescendingly. "You just don't want to be shown up by an eleven year old."
Ophelia couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of her chest. "Maybe you kids need to fight to establish dominance or whatever, but I'm perfectly content in my knowledge that I'd wipe the floor with all of you and don't feel the need to prove it," she said sweetly, with enough joking pretension to give him a run for his money.
"Are you going to take that, Tom?" Rabastan grinned. "She just said she could beat you."
"This might come as a surprise to you, but I'm not actually hard of hearing," Tom told him wryly. "Although... for once, I might agree with you." He turned the full force of his focus on Ophelia, a distinct challenge in his eyes.
She didn't need Legilimency to know where this was going. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no!"
"Let's see if your confidence is justified," Tom said, rising fluidly to his feet and reaching forward to pull her up by the forearms.
She wasn't having it.
"No," she repeated, defiantly burying them beneath her, while he did his best to tug them free.
"You're being immature."
"And you're being tyrannical," Ophelia laughed.
"You're both being ridiculous," Fenella cut in, striding over, her arms crossed imperiously over her chest. "Regardless, you," she pointed one finger at Ophelia, "are taking part of this. You have no choice. I finally have the chance to beat you in a duel fair and square, and I won't have you backing out."
With her part said, she waited for no nay-saying response, only sharing a long look with Tom before storming back across the room to continue her conversation with Walburga.
Satisfied, Rabastan clapped his hands together. "Well, I guess that settles that. Let's finish off the first round then. Oi, Terence, it's your time to shine."
As he waved the first year to the center of the room, Ophelia finally relented long enough to let Tom pull her to her feet.
"She's more a tyrant than you are," Ophelia muttered, nodding at Fenella's back.
"Well, she learned from the best," Tom admitted.
"Ha. Ha."
The real question was if it would be too suspicious to allow a eleven year old to beat her.
One look from Fenella drove all thoughts of letting Terence win away. Fenella would certainly not accept that outcome, so Ophelia would have to wait to lose against at least a fifth year or above if she hoped to be realistic.
Although most concluded their duels when one party was physically incapable of casting a spell, such as by having their arms transfigured into bat wings, or being hit by a babbling curse, the idea of doing the same to some kid five years her junior felt like a bit of a moral grey area. Their wands raised, waiting for the go-ahead, Ophelia decided she'd just disarm him and be done with it.
"Just how many rounds are there, exactly?" she asked Tom after her win, waiting while half of yeh remaining contenders drifted back to the center of the room for new matchups.
Tom did a brief accounting sweep of the room. "Oh, I reckon... four."
"Four?" she wrinkled her nose. No way was she going to try and stick this out to the end honestly.
Due to space constraints, only two of the remaining four pairs could duel at a time, so Ophelia gleefully returned to her seat. Tom, of course, made quick work of his opponent, surprising literally no one. The only surprise would have been if Avery actually landed a hit. She could see why Tom encouraged these competitions. It gave him yet another chance to prove himself worthy of being followed. People respected power. It's why Dumbledore always found his opinions heard, even the whispered ones.
Meanwhile, power was the only coin her uncle traded in, and even the blind could see how well that worked out for him.
As for the other group, Fenella really put Rabastan in his place. It was difficult to tell if he allowed her the win or not, but no one could dispute the fact that he exited the dual a victim of a half failed Transfiguration into a rabbit. The look came off more disturbing than cute, except for his new set of ears that Ophelia got the impression he enjoyed immensely.
When her turn arrived, she was grateful to discover she'd been matched to a seventh year. She couldn't have asked for someone better qualified to lose to. He checked all the right boxes: older, as far as everyone else was concerned higher educated, a known DADA prodigy. Now. all she had to do was "accidentally" be slow at the draw and hope he didn't choose anything too horrible to disable her with. Matching rabbit ears with Rabastan she could deal with, but if he somehow gave her tentacles? She wouldn't be held responsible for the consequences.
Alas, no one said losing was pleasant.
The most peculiar thing happened when one of the bystanders called for a start, as Rabastan had been too overly preoccupied with his newfound appendages to call it himself. True to her convictions, Ophelia did little more than aim her wand vaguely in her opponent's direction before he went flying back into the group immediately behind him, propelled by some unseen force.
Wait... that wasn't supposed to happen.
Ophelia glanced down at her wand in an instant of puzzled self-doubt. Had she done that? Her trigger finger wasn't that bad, surely, that she didn't even notice?
She snapped out of it with the shake of her head, looking over her shoulder for another suspect. As her eyes zeroed in on Tom, who was slightly too engrossed in conversation with the fourth year beside him on the lounge, she reasoned she could spot a contrived alibi if she saw it, and she was definitely seeing it.
The audacity of him, foiling her attempts at inconspicuousness when he knew quite well why it was necessary. Worse yet, she didn't appreciate having her intentions be so evidently transparent. It was a major blow to her pride, truth be told, that he knew full well her intent to lose. It meant she was becoming predictable, since they both knew her Occlumency bested his Legilimency ten times out of ten.
His only detectable sign of guilt was in the slight crinkle by his eyes that hinted at well restrained laughter. Still deep in conversation, he tilted his head slightly until his eyes caught on hers.
Unable to fight down the urge, she looked him dead on and distinctly mouthed, "Tyrant."
He smiled, a real, true smile like she'd never seen on him before. Sure, there'd been times when she'd seen him come close, but the difference between those and this were as starkly different as that between ice and fire. It lit up his face, transforming him and making him nearly unrecognizable. More human.
It stirred something warm in Ophelia's chest to know she was the one responsible. She couldn't help it. She shook her head and felt a smile slipping onto her own face to match his. It didn't stay long, slipping away as realization struck with all the subtlety of a lightning strike.
She'd messed up. Somewhere along the line, she'd royally made a miscalculation. Somewhere along the line, she'd become just like everyone else. She spent so long looking down on those who would do just about anything for the boy in front of her, but somehow she'd become one of them. Swallowing back the wave of horror that realization brought along, Ophelia decided to focus on more productive things, like how much she was absolutely going to obliterate him in the final round, all earlier reservations be damned. Really, she'd rather get into a staring contest with Tom's trusty basilisk than admit that there was a distinct possibility her feelings for everyone's favorite Slytherin prefect was anything but platonic.
Something soft tickled her cheek, so she turned to quickly snatch it between two fingers.
"Ow!" Rabastan winced, trying to pry his fluffy white ears free. "Watch what you do with those, lady!"
She pulled on his ear, forcing him to lean in close. "That's for your part in making me duel with the rest of you babies," she said, and let go.
Batting her once with the ear for good measure, Rabastan strode of to nurse his wounds, or perhaps be rid of the extra appendages all together.
For her part, Ophelia sighed indignantly and sought out her next opponent: Fenella.