Fight
The next day, at breakfast, Tom approached Augusta Macmillan. Her dark blonde hair was already tied into a strict knot ad she glared at her toast, as if it had personally offended her. Careful to stay out of punching distance, Tom cleared his throat. Augusta shot around, like an angry snake. “What do you want at this ungodly hour?”, she growled, clutching a glass of pumpkin juice so tightly that Tom feared it would break.
“Ehm, hello. I’m Tom Riddle. We met on the train.”, Tom stammered. Augusta still looked like an angry general. She could send soldiers into their muddy death in the trenches, there Tom had no doubt. The dark-blonde girl squinted at him. “Yeah, right. Your crazy friend threatened me. I’ll get back at her for that at some point.”, Augusta hissed. Tom gulped. “Well, you said that you broke Fran Lestrange’s collar bone, right?”, he asked carefully. Augusta shook her head. “Claudius, not Fran. He’s Fran's older cousin. Third year. The tall, skinny one. Tanned skin. Why do you care, John?”, she answered and a mean grin filled her face.
“Tom. My name is Tom. And I have a few problems in Slytherin house. You see, I come from a muggle family, so they hate me and want me to... suffer. Some guys called Mulciber and Crabbe want to beat me up, because I threatened Fran Lestrange and I thought, maybe you could spar with me? So I don’t get rusty?”, Tom inquired. Macmillan seemed to think about it for a moment. “So you say I get to beat you up and you won’t complain about it? Sounds good to me! Meet me on the Quidditch pitch after our lessons. We have history of magic in the last lesson, and you guys have defense against the dark arts, according to Minerva. It’s Saturday, so we only have two lessons. Don’t be late, or I won’t stop when you lie in the dirt and scream for mercy.”, the girl replied darkly. Tom understood why she had not made it into Hufflepuff.
History of magic was Tom’s first lesson of the day and Professor Binns was utterly useless, though he looked like he would hopefully die soon. At least that way Tom could use the lesson to explain his plan to spar with Augusta to Constance and Alphard. Both of them seemed terrified at the idea. Alphard began to write a eulogy for Tom and Constance looked like he had just punched her. “I can’t even begin to explain how bad that idea is. She will rip you to shreds”, the girl whispered.
Alphard nodded. “Look, I get that you don’t want to be murdered by your not-mom or Mulciber and Crabbe, but that doesn’t mean that you have to let Augusta do it. She is insane! She once kicked the head of house Shacklebolt between the legs, and that man is at least two meters and an Auror! He hunts dark wizards!”, he added. Tom simply shook his head. “It’s a sparing match. Me and the other boys at the boxing club for noble lads do that all the time. There are rules!” Alphard and Constance looked at him, like he was already dead.
After their lesson in defense, that mostly consisted of Professor Merrythought reading out the names of creatures and them having to state how to avoid them (Tom, who had inhaled the book, already knew all the answers and earned Slytherin ten points), Tom rushed back to the dorm to change into his boxing clothes and fetch his gloves. Then he jogged down to the big Quidditch pitch. It was quite impressive, like a small stadium. Three poles on each end reached for the sky and stands surrounded the sandy ground. And on that ground Augusta Macmillan waited for him with evil eyes and balled fists. She did not wear gloves and her knuckles were only covered by a thin layer of cloth. Her punches would hurt. And it was against the rules. Tom gulped, suddenly beginning to regret challenging her.
The stands were full. Apparently the fact that the muggle-born first year Tom Marlovo Riddle had challenged the feared Augusta Macmillan to a fight, had spread through the whole school. Constance and Alphard had written “GO TOMMY!” underlined by a snake on a bedsheet and Miss Noodles, wearing a green hat, wrapped herself around them. Minerva and Lance stood next to them and waved green cloth handkerchiefs. Tom could not suppress a grin. The Lestranges, who stood next to Malfoy and Avery, did not seem to agree who to cheer for. While Fran, Abraxas and Gordian all raised a gigantic sign that said “Die Muddy!”, Claudius let a glowing green text emerge from his wand that read “Slytherin Nr. 1! Punch her nose off!”
But before Tom could examine the multiple flags and banners more closely, Augusta began to chuckle. “You came. You really came. All right, Tim, let’s go!” She cracked her knuckles and Tom slid into his stance. “My name is Tom!”, he hissed. Augusta shrugged, spat into the sand and charged. Unlike Abraxas Malfoy and Gordian Avery, Macmillan seemed to know what she was doing and even though Tom had been taught to never hit a lady, it was quite easy to ignore that Macmillan was a lady. Especially when Tom could not dodge her second attack and had to block it with his forearm. He had been right: Her punches did hurt. Up, on the stands a group of Gryffindors cheered.
Tom wiped Augusta’s Arm to the side and punched her right in the face. A collective “Uuuhhh” went through the spectators. The dark blonde girl spat blood onto the floor and went in for another attack. Her first punch, aimed at his head, was easily parried but her second came so quickly after, that it hit Tom square in the chest, throwing him to the ground. “Get up!”, Grandpa Thomas’s voice called in his mind and Tom rolled out of the way of a vicious, totally not rule conforming kick and got back on his feet. Cheering and booing could be heard from the stands.
Augusta now had her back turned to him and Tom did not waste that chance. His gloved fist collided with the back of her right shoulder and she stumbled forward. Her stronger arm had gone limp. With a roar, very fitting to her house crest, Macmillan shot around and threw a punch. “Dodge”, grandpa Thomas called out and Tom jumped to the side. Blood dripped from Augusta’s mouth and her hair started to escape the knot, making her look like a rabid animal. Tom took a step backwards. Every breath hurt. His left forearm was bleeding. Macmillan had gotten him good.
The girl charged again, like an angry train, and Tom just knew that her next punch would brake bones, if it would hit. Tom stepped aside and punched Augusta into the ribs, as she shot past him. She stumbled and dropped to the floor. But before Tom could reach her she stood again. Sand clung to her hair and she looked absolutely vicious. Her next attack was not a punch and Tom had made the mistake not to expect it. Her shoe collided with his shin and he screamed. Augusta gave him a bloody grin, raising her fists, but this time Tom was faster. If Macmillan would ignore the rules, so would he. He swiped her left foot away with his right one and punched her in the face again, as she stumbled. Then, before she could recover, he punched her in the stomach and swiped her feet again.
Augusta Macmillan fell into the dust. “All right, Tom. You win.”, she mumbled and gave him a bloody grin. He offered her a hand and pulled her up. The crowd in the stands roared. “Same time next week?”, Tom offered. Augusta nodded. “And then you will go down!”