Chapter 20
Chapter 20
A silver fox shot through the underbrush like the hounds of hell were upon its bushy tail. And anyone who could have seen the dark shape of its pursuer would have believed in at least an enraged Tengu chasing a cheeky Kitsune that ate both the canary and licked up all the cream.
The dark shape of a Raven grew closer, lower…
But as it swooped down to lift the pesky creature into his impressive claws, the silver flash moved. And so where the massive black bird was just moments ago, the fox’s jaws slammed shut. But they were empty.
The bird knew better than to be caught unawares.
Draco was angry.
Furious.
His only consolidation is that the subject of his ire is at least not some pathetic muggle.
And not some random magic user either…
As in that case he would have just torn their mind apart searching for new abilities and techniques of this world, leaving them a drooling, mindless idiot.
But that wasn’t an option.
Because Draco was many things, but a kin-slayer was not one of them. He knew better than that. He wasn’t Voldemort to spite the Great Laws of Magic in such a way. (And look where that got him…)
Of course there were exceptions. Loopholes so to speak.
Two relatives could duel to their hearts’ content, even to their deaths in challenge for a ‘winner takes it all’ and ‘may the strongest survive, may the weak perish’. But that was only an option to take when magically of age.
And that age?
The first magical age of maturity? That was eleven. The age when a child steps onto the path to become a man. When they gain the ability to answer and throw challenges, but not to their deaths. The age when they lose the defense of their mother’s skirt and their father’s sword. The age when a magical child could safely live away from their parents without strain on their magical core. The age that Hogwarts’ (and other magical schools’) acceptance letters are sent out.
The second age of magical maturity? That is fifteen. The year of OWLs. The year the connection between a teenager’s magical core and their parents’ is severed. And at fifteen, one’s magical core can take the strain of another’s. Of their own child’s. Fifteen is the year most magical engagements were finalized in the wizarding world. And some times even marriages.
And the third age? Seventeen? The age when wizards completed their NEWTs. The age when a young mage develops their affinities. The age when their power levels are finalized if they do not put any extra effort into their magical development. The age an Heir can become a Lord. Legally at least. Orphans gained that capability much earlier. And most importantly? They could challenge to duels of magic. And they could die.
But if a magical adult targeted a magical child? A child of their own blood?
That was the exact kind of thing Magic could never stand for.
If the Dark Lord wanted to kill Harry Potter so badly, he just had to wait until he reached his final Magical Maturity and issue a challenge as to an equal. But he was Lord Voldemort. Even Great Laws were beneath him…
They weren’t.
He found that little fact out the hard way.
And so did Harry Potter.
The same Harry Potter that knew so little of Magic and his new world that he remained ignorant to the true powers that protected him until his very end. The idiot believed that he will ‘miraculously’ survive a duel with the Dark Lord. Never realizing that his ‘luck’ was officially over as soon as he reached seventeen. And if an Expelliarmus against an Avada was the peak of his skills? Well… Too bad. He should have actually prepared during all that extra time he had while under protection. And if not? If he was incapable? Then he should have found the deepest bolt-hole and stayed there.
So like a smart Slytherin he was, Draco learned from the mistakes of others.
He had absolutely no desire to make his own