Chapter 7: A quick duel
"You little bitch! You think you can just steal my money!" the man shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. Heather's eyes narrowed as whispers rippled through the crowd surrounding them.
"Lord Nott," someone muttered. "A former Death Eater."
So that was who he was. Heather's scowl deepened. The Notts were one of the families whose vaults had contributed a hefty sum to her newfound wealth. She clenched her jaw and stepped forward, glaring at the older wizard. "Get out of my way or else."
"I'm not going anywhere, thief!" Nott yelled, pulling out his wand. The tip glowed a sickly orange, and Heather's instincts told her it was a spell meant to hurt. Maybe worse.
Heather's lips curled into a smirk. "I'm no thief. You went to war and you lost. It's only fair you pay reparations."
Nott's face twisted into a sneer. "We didn't lose the war, you thieving half-blood. You're nothing more than a dirty thief who's violated the laws of magical Britain. Stealing from a lord gives me the right to punish you as I see fit!"
The word "punish" sent a chill down Heather's spine, dredging up memories of her uncle Vernon and the nights she spent trapped in a dark cupboard. Her hand curled at her side, shaking with barely restrained anger. Without another thought, she raised her right hand. In an instant, a pitch-black sword with a green pommel materialized, its edge glinting dangerously. Gasps rose from the crowd as people took a step back, eyes wide with shock at the display of wandless magic.
Nott's eyes darted from the sword to Heather's face, faltering for just a moment before doubling down with a glare. "I don't know what kind of tricks you're playing, girl, but there's no way an 11-year-old is an archmage. You're about to learn what happens when you cross your betters, fraud!" He flicked his wand, sending the sickly orange spell hurtling toward her.
Heather watched it come, moving pathetically slowly from her perspective. By the time it reached her, she had plenty of time to swing her sword and slice the spell cleanly in two. The split magic dissipated into harmless sparks, and the crowd gasped again, this time in awe. A few people even cheered, their eyes wide with astonishment.
Nott's face turned red with fury, and he began casting spell after spell, each one a different color—green, blue, red—each one promising pain or worse. But they were all just as slow. Heather deflected each one effortlessly, her sword slicing through the spells as if they were nothing more than air.
"I tire of this farce!" Heather shouted, her voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. She pointed her black sword directly at Nott, eyes blazing with power. "Either surrender now or you'll regret it."
Nott's expression twisted from rage to something more uncertain. He hesitated, eyes darting from Heather's sword to the murmuring crowd, then back to her. He lowered his wand just a fraction, his hand shaking.
Heather stepped forward, not lowering her sword. "I won't say it again."
Nott's head snapped back and forth as he shouted, "No! I'm not going to be humiliated by a little girl who should have been killed long ago like her blood traitor parents! Avada—"
He never got to finish. Heather moved in a blur, faster than anyone in the crowd could follow. One moment, she was several feet away; the next, she was right in front of Nott, her conjured blade swinging out. The sword sliced cleanly through his wrist, sending his wand and severed hand to the ground. Blood sprayed across the cobblestones and along the edge of her blade. The crowd fell silent, eyes wide with shock.
Nott stared at his arm, eyes wide as if he couldn't process what had just happened. Then the pain hit, and a strangled scream ripped from his throat. He fell back, clutching the bleeding stump with his remaining hand.
"You bitch! You daughter of a mudblood whore! You'll pay for assaulting a lord of the Wizengamot!" Nott screamed, tears streaming down his face as he glared up at her, eyes red and wild.
Heather's expression didn't waver. "You're nothing more than a pathetic man who never grew out of being a bully," she said. Without another word, she brought her foot up and kicked him hard between the legs. The impact made a sickening thud, and the crowd collectively winced. Nott's eyes bulged, and he let out a choked gasp before crumpling to his knees. His mouth frothed, and his eyes rolled back as he passed out, slumping sideways onto the street.
Heather dismissed her conjured sword with a scoff, the dark blade vanishing into thin air. She turned on her heel, ignoring the stunned silence around her, and started walking away. People parted quickly, making a path for her as she strolled back toward Madam Malkin's to pick up her robes.
The whispers started as soon as she was out of earshot. People exchanged wide-eyed looks, murmuring about the duel, the archmage, and the casual way she had dispatched a former Death Eater. Heather paid no attention. The fight was already behind her. She had more important things to do, like finding a place to stay for the night. For the first time in her life, she had money and could afford a real bed, hot water, and electricity.
A hint of excitement bubbled in her chest as she thought about it. A warm bath, a soft bed, maybe even a meal she didn't have to steal. Life was changing fast, and Heather was more than ready for it.
…
Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, rarely did fieldwork these days. But when she received word that one of the Lords of the Wizengamot had been maimed in the middle of Diagon Alley—by the youngest archmage in British history, no less—she knew she had to see it for herself. This was going to be a massive headache, no doubt about it.
As she surveyed the scene, Alastor Moody, with his signature limp and constant, watchful eye, made his way over to her. He had a smirk playing on his scarred face. "Everyone's telling the same story," he said. "Nott attacked the girl unprovoked, right outside Ollivanders, and she put him in his place. Thoroughly. Wish I'd been there to see it for myself."
Amelia felt a twinge of the same sentiment. Nott and the rest of his Death Eater ilk were nothing but trouble. She'd always known their claims of being under the Imperius Curse were bullshit, but the system had let them slip through the cracks. Now murderers and rapists walked free. If anyone deserved a public humiliation, it was Nott. Honestly, she wanted to shake Heather Potter's hand.
Alastor's smirk widened. "What do we do here, boss lady?"
Amelia let out a frustrated groan. "Fuck if I know." She was technically supposed to arrest Heather for maiming a noble. But Heather was also a true archmage, and one who had taken down an experienced Death Eater without breaking a sweat. If that wasn't impressive, she didn't know what was.
"Do we know where Heather Potter is now?" Amelia asked.
Alastor nodded. "Witnesses said she rented a room at one of the hotels in the alley."
Amelia crossed her arms, mulling over her options. "So, we have an underage witch who's an archmage, publicly defended herself against a known Death Eater, and now half of Diagon Alley's talking about it." She looked at Moody. "If we try to arrest her, it could go sideways fast. But if we don't do anything, it looks like we're not doing our job."
Alastor shrugged, his magical eye swiveling as if to scan the crowd. "Might be worth having a chat with her.
…
Heather had just enjoyed her first-ever warm shower, and she was definitely a fan. The steam, the heat, the clean feeling afterward—it was all amazing. She was still in the middle of drying her hair with a towel when a knock came at the door. She groaned at the interruption, but she quickly threw on some robes. She wasn't about to answer the door in just a towel. Creeps were everywhere.
She swung open the door and found herself facing two unusual people. The first was a stern-looking woman with a monocle. Next to her was a man with more scars than she'd ever seen and an actual peg leg.
"Heather Potter?" the woman asked.
Heather nodded, narrowing her eyes. "Who's asking?"
"I'm Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she said. "We're with the Ministry."
Heather's face twisted into a scowl. "I'm not giving you any more money! You've already taken enough from me!"
The woman blinked, clearly thrown off guard. "…What?"
Heather crossed her arms. "The Ministry took all the money out of my vaults and told everyone I was dead, even though I wasn't."
Amelia's monocle slipped slightly as she tried to process that. "That… that would be a very serious crime, Miss Potter," she admitted, frowning. "But that's not why we're here. We came to talk to you about the duel earlier."
"Duel?" Heather tilted her head in confusion.
"With Nott, the Death Eater scum, girl," said the man with the peg leg, giving her a hard look.
"Oh, him." Heather waved a dismissive hand. "I already put him out of my head. Grognak warned me wizards were supposed to be clever, but he wasn't clever at all. His spells were easy to block, and he was slow."
The scarred man burst out laughing, practically cackling. "You're not wrong! Those Death Eaters were always overhyped. I took on dozens of them back in the day, and they're nothing but cowards, hiding behind curses and their so-called 'noble blood.'"
Heather smirked, feeling her annoyance fade a little. "Well, this one was exactly that. He kept going on about his 'right to punish me' and other nonsense. Didn't seem like he could back up a single threat."
Amelia looked between Heather and the laughing man, who was now wiping a tear from his good eye. "This is Alastor Moody, one of our top Aurors," she explained. "We're here because you're underage, Miss Potter. Technically, what you did is illegal, even if Nott did attack you first."
Heather raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "So what? Are you here to arrest me?"
Amelia shook her head. "Not exactly. We just wanted to talk. We understand that you acted in self-defense and that Nott initiated the attack. However, this… display of yours has attracted a lot of attention. You need to know that people in our world will be watching you closely from now on."
Heather shrugged. "Let them watch. If anyone else tries to attack me, they'll end up like Nott."
Alastor chuckled approvingly. "That's the spirit, kid. But remember, some of these so-called noble families have deep pockets and grudges that go back generations. They might try to come after you in ways that aren't so direct."
Heather's eyes hardened. "They can try."
Heather looked at Amelia and Alastor, weighing her options. "Do you want anything else?" she asked, feeling a bit cornered in her own space.
Amelia glanced at Alastor, then back at Heather. "Could we come inside for a moment?"
Heather sighed and stepped aside, allowing them both into the hotel room before shutting the door behind her. The room wasn't much, just a bed, a small table, and the few belongings she'd managed to buy that day. She crossed her arms and faced them. "What do you want?" She sounded defensive, and she knew it, but she couldn't help it. Adults had never been a source of comfort in her life.
Amelia looked around the small room, then turned back to Heather. "We need to understand more about your circumstances. Why are you here alone? Do you have a magical guardian?"
Heather tilted her head. "A magical guardian? I don't know what that is." She paused, watching Amelia's expression shift. "I was living with my awful Muggle relatives until I was nine. Then I ran away and spent the last two years living on the streets."
Amelia's eyes widened, and she looked horrified. "Living on the streets? That's… Magical children don't do well in that kind of environment. Magical guardians are crucial in our society, especially when a child doesn't have parents."
Heather's arms tightened across her chest. "Well, no one seemed to care about me," she said. Her voice was cold, but it hid the hurt she felt.
Alastor's expression turned grim. "That's going to be looked into, girl," he said. "But we need to know more. The Wizengamot is already in a frenzy over an 11-year-old archmage. It would help if we understood what happened to you."
Heather shrugged. "There's not much to say. I had this evil black mist inside me. I devoured it and used it to make myself stronger."
The room went dead silent. Amelia's eyes went wide, and she started to sweat. "Black mist?" she repeated, her voice shaky. "That can't be…"
Heather continued, unfazed. "I met a woman who told me I was an obscurial. She said I would be dangerous and probably die because of it. But I knew I could beat it, and I did." She felt a spark of pride at that, though she didn't mention Shen Yue or the Absolute Yin cultivation method that had made it possible. She figured that was better kept to herself.
Amelia looked both disturbed and amazed. She took a deep breath before speaking again. "An obscurial... That's unheard of. You shouldn't have survived, let alone… overcome it." Her expression shifted between awe and concern. "What you've done is groundbreaking, Miss Potter. But regardless, you're still an 11-year-old girl without a magical guardian. You can't be staying here on your own."
Heather's eyes widened, and she stared at Amelia like she'd just sprouted a second head. "You're kidding, right?"
Amelia's expression softened. "I'm not. It's not safe, and it's not how we do things in the magical world. If you'll allow it, I'd like to be your magical guardian. I'll ensure you're protected, educated, and properly integrated into our society."
Heather blinked, not sure how to process what she was hearing…