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"Lost what?" Oliver asked. He took the gloves and apron from the House Elf. "yYou don't have to worry about me cheating," he said. "I'm not like that low bag of dungbomb rejects."

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Stephen gave Ryuuji a look that was half irritation and half amusement before strapping his own pair of goggles on. "All right. I assume you wish to have this duel in the popcorn room so that your -- what did you call him, 'fallen hero'? -- can witness your attempt to restore honor to his name, or whatever the point of this is. Shall we?" He motioned toward the popcorn room, ready to let Oliver precede him.

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"I only hope that I can properly honor Professor Snape's memory by serving you a crushing defeat," he said as he walked into the room. The popcorn wasn't labeled, so he set his cauldron down in front of the greasiest kernel he could find. "I think this one must be Professor Snape. It has the same sheen his hair always did."

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Stephen shrugged, carrying his own cauldron to a respectable distance from Oliver, facing his opponent. "I am sure you will make him very proud, Mr Wood." He was having a hard time refraining from laughter. "Now, what Ryuuji has brought us are the ingredients for a Calming Draught. I propose that each of us brew a draught and then test it on ourselves. The most effective potion will be considered to have won the duel for its maker. If I lose, I will resign my post in favor of yon popcorn, and if you lose, there will be no more of this yammering. Agreed?"

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"And if you lose, Oliver, maybe you can get Professor Snape to teach us how to make fat-free popcorn." Ryuuji suggested mock-innocently, even as he snapped on a pair of goggles as well and slid the spidersilk gloves on. He lounged against a case, leaning against the glass and watching the other two, dead in the center. Like a referee, except he was Stephen's second so wasn't anywhere near as neutral as a ref should be.

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"That's not funny," he said, giving Ryuuji a dark look. Oliver arranged the ingredients in the order he would need them. Chocolate-induced insanity aside, Oliver had completed Potions his first time at Hogwarts and was slightly familiar with the potion. He looked at Stephen. "Ready when you are."

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Stephen looked curiously at Oliver. Did the boy really think he could win this thing? "Very well. Let us begin." Rapidly and with precision, he assembled and combined the ingredients of the Calming Draught.

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Oliver began to work on his own potion. He could remember the general idea well enough, but the specifics escaped him. He knew he had to stir the potion briskly six times, but was it clockwise or counterclockwise? Trusting in the guiding force of his popcorned protector, Oliver mentally flipped a coin and started stirring. When he was done he noticed that his potion was navy blue, while Professor Maturin's was more a periwinkle. I'm sure it's supposed to look like this, he thought. I can't be wrong.

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Stephen noticed that Oliver's potion looked ... wrong. Dangerously wrong, perhaps? Stephen had chosen the Calming Draught as a target because it was difficult to get horribly wrong. There were, however, several gradations of wrongness one could hit between there and here.

He cleared his throat. "Mr Wood, I understand by the terms of this duel you will feel bound to drink that, but I really think you should not. Perhaps we could call it a draw --"

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"No," he said. "I'm not backing down. I need to prove myself as a student worthy of Professor Snape!" Without another word he took a long swallow from the potion.

"That wasn't so ba--"

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Stephen watched Oliver down the potion and slump to the floor, asleep. "That would be one way to calm him, I suppose," he said, wryly. "Well, bottoms up." He drank his own Calming Draught, which was of course perfect and made him feel much better about the entire farce of a duel. "Sure he will feel better when he awakens. He should be taken to the hospital wing, I think." And he directed the house-elves to deliver slumbering Oliver unto the tender mercies of Mistress Weatherwax.

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Oliver jerked when the first house elf touched him. Leaping off the floor, he scooped the poor thing up, pulled back his arm, and hurled it into a glass case. The rebounding elf narrowly missed his head as he bent down for the second one. "Eat Quaffles, you dirty Death Eaters!" he howled as he flung the second one out the door.

The remaining house elves decided that this would be a good time to make a break for safety. As they ran for the exit Oliver launched himself at the closest one, tackling it to the ground. "Let's see you get one by me!" he cried as he punted the elf back into the room. "Your Quidditch skills will be no match for mine, Lord Voldemort!" he said as he posed triumphantly. His eyes had been closed the entire time.

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"...Lord Voldemort?!" Utterly confused by Oliver's sudden jump into motion, assuming that the boy had been asleep, Ryuuji ducked out of the way of the House Elf that managed to hit the glass case he'd been leaning against, flipping off against the ground to land behind Stephen.

Deferring to the older man, as the one who was technically in charge, Ryuuji quickly hit the second Elf with "Wingardium Leviosa", making it hover like a Bludger, and asked Stephen, "Stephen - is he hallucinating?"

And if so, WHY was it about Quidditch and Voldemort? Ryuuji knew from personal experience that Voldie sucked at it.

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Stephen's calming draught was perhaps almost too good. "I suppose he might be having some sort of dream," he said quite casually. "How droll."

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"Gryffindor will win the Quidditch Cup against the Death Eaters!" Oliver shouted. He made motions like he was flying a broom. When he heard Ryuuji's voice he spun around. "Working for those louts, are you, Flint? You can't beat me this year. Take your Dark Mark to someone else's Quidditch pitch!" He blindly tossed another elf across the room.

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"Now, Mr Wood, you should be more considerate of the house-elves," said Stephen mildly. "They are after all in charge of food. Do you really want to make them angry?"

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Flint? Dark Mark? Ryuuji didn't have the Dark Mark. He'd stayed neutral despite everything, all the Death Eaters in the room were currently popcorn, and he definitely wasn't a Quidditch player.

Ducking the third elf, Ryuuji reached out to catch it by a spindly arm, other hand grabbing a thin leg. Man. Now he was treating it like some kind of doll! Putting it on the ground with a quick, muttered apology, Ryuuji looked to Stephen again.

...Did Calming Droughts completely destroy Stephen's ability to think? Because if so, Ryuuji was never taking any. Ever.

"OLIVER! Wake up! You're dreaming!" He yelled loudly across the room. Though, if this was a potion-caused dream-hallucination, that might not be enough to snap him out of it.

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"Work on your aim, Angelina! You haven't gotten any past me all day!" He started to move out of the popcorn room.

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"Why on earth is he calling you Angelina?" Stephen looked at Ryuuji. Calm though he was, he was fairly certain it was disrespectful for a student to address a TA and Prefect by an improper name.

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"Because he's a lunatic that's severely injured House Elves." Ryuuji responded as he looked at the Elf that had so narrowly missed him before bouncing off a glass cage. Striding over to pick up the creature carefully, he told Stephen, "Stephen, you take care of Oliver. Wake him up, knock him out or feed him some of your Calming Draught. I'm taking her to the Hospital Wing."

At least, he thought the House Elf was female. He wasn't about to lift up her tea towel and check.

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"Knock him out?" Stephen looked bemusedly after the departing Ryuuji. "I hardly think it appropriate to use force against a student, otherwise I'd have given him a proper duel in the first place." He turned his attention to Oliver. "Now, Mr Wood, you are making quite a spectacle of yourself, and it really will not do at all, you know. The elves seem not to wish to play Quidditch with you. Would you fancy a nice game of chess, or piquet?"

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