“But that was a secret!” James sputtered, exasperated. “I made that pretty clear, didn’t I?”
“I don’t remember you saying it was a secret,” Ralph said, firming his jaw and refusing to make eye contact. “But even if you did, it wasn’t a secret from her, was it? And I’m not about to go blabbing to anyone else about it.”
“Wait a minute,” James said, stopping in the corridor and narrowing his eyes. “This is because you fancy her, isn’t it? You wanted to step on me so you’d look better in her eyes. Is that it? Well, it didn’t work, did it? She thinks you’re a right clod.”
Ralph stopped and half turned, glancing back over his shoulder.
“You don’t have any bloody clue what she thinks of me.” He glared at James for a moment, and then deflated slightly. “Look, I’m sorry I said anything to Millie. The point is, nobody has any clue what they think of me. Not even me, most of the time. But I’ve been giving it some thought, and it’s time I start acting on my own. Not just as the Slytherin pal of James Potter, or the half-Muggle son of a squib. Me.
So I’m trying to do the sorts of things I never would have done before.
One of them was becoming Head Boy, and I think that’s turning out pretty all right. Another one was telling Millie you wanted to break it off with her, and maybe that wasn’t such a great idea. But it was my idea, and that’s pretty much the point. I’m trying to figure out the best way to be Ralph. I’m sorry for some things, but I’m not sorry for that.”
James opened his mouth to reply but was suddenly distracted by Ralph’s knapsack. The name stitched across the top in green block letters was different. James assumed that Ralph had mistakenly grabbed somebody else’s pack, until he read the name that was printed there.
“Ralph,” he said, squinting distractedly, “why does your backpack say ‘Dolohov’?”
Ralph jerked upright and took a step backward, turning fully to James as if to hide the stitched name. His face reddened, but his determination returned. “Well. It’s my name, innit?”
James studied his friend’s face in confusion. “But… but you’ve always said you liked the Deedle better. I mean, I can sort of understand wanting to make your own way and all, but you said Dolohov was the name of killers and Muggle-haters.”
Ralph shrugged and looked away, toward the glaring white-frosted windows that towered on the corridor’s north wall. “So maybe I changed my mind. It just took me a few years to get used to it. There’s more to a name than the worst people who had it.” He turned back to James again. “Do you have a problem with it?” It was a challenge as much as a question.
James took a step back, dismayed at this sudden change of events. “I don’t… I mean, it’s your choice, I guess. It’ll just… take some getting used to. You know?”
Ralph nodded, his face stoic, the challenge still in his eyes.
“Well, you do that, then. Get used to it. Dolohov’s a good name. It has a great history behind it, going back loads of generations. So there are a few bad branches in the family tree. That doesn’t mean I have to be one. And it doesn’t mean I should be ashamed of my heritage.”
James nodded, prickling a little at having the wind taken so effectively out of his sails. “Sure, Ralph. That’s…”
But Ralph turned and continued on his way, stalking away from James, leaving him in the hall as doors began to creak and slam all around, announcing the start of classes. James realized that he still had his mouth open. He closed it, stared in confused surprise at his departing friend, and then remembered his own classes. With a start, he ran to catch up.
Defence Against the Dark Arts was just beginning as he slipped into the doors, attempting to make himself as small as possible as he ducked behind a knot of standing students. Graham smirked at him from over his shoulder. Across the room, Millie stood with her Hufflepuff friends, deliberately ignoring James’ late entry, or so he imagined. Perhaps she simply hadn’t seen him, or truly didn’t care. He bristled uselessly at the thought.
The floor of the classroom had been cleared of desks, making room for a small dueling arena. Today was apparently going to be a practical session, with students facing off against Professor Debellows or each other. James dropped his knapsack against the wall and drew his wand. Dueling was one of his favorite school activities, and he welcomed it most especially on a day like today, with the thought Millie’s aloof disinterest and Ralph’s disconcerting new name nagging at his attention. The big boy himself stood with some fellow Slytherins on the other side of the door, his face hard as he watched Professor Debellows.
“Today, students, you will not be dueling each other. I intend to challenge you with a more demanding opponent. And no, this time that doesn’t mean you will be dueling against me.”
A sigh and murmur of relief swept over the room. No one had ever bested Professor Debellows in a duel, but many had limped away from such confrontations nettled, embarrassed, and occasionally trailing colorful smoke.
“No, today I wish to observe your technique closely as you do your best to face a more advanced challenger. To that end, Professor Odin-Vann has very graciously agreed to stand in as your opponent.”
James blinked and glanced around. Indeed, Professor Odin-Vann stepped out onto the dueling floor, looking barely older than the seventh years standing nearby. He wore a long black coat belted tightly around his waist, giving his thin frame a sporty, eager look. James, knowing something about the young professor’s spellcasting abilities, was surprised. Dueling definitely did not seem to be the man’s strength.
In fact, from what James had seen, the professor seemed almost incapable of casting spells under even the most mundane pressure. Had he agreed to Debellows’ request simply because he hadn’t been quick enough to think of a sufficient excuse? Was he about to be dreadfully embarrassed by this demonstration of his stress-induced impotence?
If so, Odin-Vann was hiding his discomfiture very well. He turned on his heel, spun his wand deftly in his fingers, and then bowed with a rather strained smile, clicking his heels together.
“Mr. Warton,” Debellows called out, consulting a clipboard in his huge, meaty hand. “You are up first. Please take position.”
Graham shrugged and sidled out onto the dueling floor, moving opposite Odin-Vann. He bowed perfunctorily, and then lowered to an alert half-crouch, raising his wand diagonally at eye-level, focusing past it to his opponent, just as Debellows had taught them.
James glanced back toward Odin-Vann. The professor stood flat-footed, his wand at his side, his head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed.
His posture suggested that he was contemplating a piece of obscure artwork rather than preparing to defend himself or launch an attack.