This is a re-write of the final fight scene in the Sergio Leone western The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

Harry Potter in Classic Movie Moments

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

I use my left-hand thumb and index finger to remove the cigar from my mouth. The ragged man at my feet shivers as I pull air through my nose, and snot gurgles when I gather it into my throat. Without taking my eyes off of his eyes, I turn my head slightly so that I miss him by a few inches only when I spit it out before I replace the cigar to my lips.

"Come on, Harry. We're friends, right?" he pleas nervously. "Right? Besides, don't you have enough gold already?"

My response is short and cold. "Dig," I say as I levitate a shovel into his lap. As what comes to being friends – no. He may have saved my arse once; I've saved his three times. At best, he's in debt to me. But friends? No way.

"What? With that?" he complains. "It'll take ages to do it the muggle way."

"I'm not going to give you your wand, stupid git," I say. "You'd turn it against me the first possible moment."

"Expelliarmus!"

I'm fairly sure my bodily expressions don't give away my surprise when my wand suddenly leaves my grasp. Weasley is at least as surprised as I am, but he lets it show like an idiot.

Then, with a clang, another shovel flies by and hits a tombstone that stands beside me. Even though my insides are in turmoil, I force myself remain calm as I slowly turn around to face the newcomer.

"Hello, Potter," a man with a sneer says. Oh, what I'd be willing to pay just to wipe that triumphant smirk from his face.

"Malfoy," I say as I greet him with a slight nod. "You're not easy to lose."

"Neither are you," Malfoy says. "Not with a tracking charm that I put on Weasley."

Damn it! I checked myself for tracking charms, but I forgot to check the idiot.

Malfoy flicks his wand and takes the two stray wands: mine and Weasley's, into his custody. "This time, I'm the one holding all the cards."

"Yeah, you do," I say. "All except one. The important one."

"Let's see. I have you two disarmed," he smirks as he begins counting with his fingers. "I know it's in this graveyard because you are here. And I know it's in the grave of Alastor Moody, as I overheard you talking about it." He straightens up and fakes a surprise. "And look! There it is: a tombstone with Alastor Moody written on it. How lucky. Now, if only I had a shovel." His expression turns into a more menacing one as he levitates the two shovels in front of Weasley and me. "Start digging."

With a grunt, Weasley takes the shovel and hits the sandy ground with it. I follow a few seconds later. "It's not in here, you know," I say.

Malfoy remains calm. "Silence! Keep digging."

With two strong men shovelling, it doesn't take long before a hollow sound greets my shovel. A moment later, Weasley forces the lid of a coffin ajar. Six feet above us, Malfoy trains his wand at us with a greedy gleam in his eyes. When the coffin opens, the gleam turns into bewilderment. There's no treasure. Just bones. "Where is it?" Malfoy cries.

"I told you it's not in this grave," I say.

"Don't play with me!" he screams. "Tell me, or I'll kill you right here!"

"If you do that, you'll never find the gold," I say. "Look around! There must be a thousand graves in this cemetery. The gold is protected against summoning spells, rendering your wand useless. You'll never find it without me."

Malfoy glares at me. If looks could kill, I'd be dead already. "A deal then?" he says grittingly.

He moves back when we climb out of the grave.

"First, you give us our wands back," I say. He keeps me in his wand point as he backs up to a round opening in the middle of the graveyard, and after a moment of hesitation, places our wands on the ground, before moving further away.

"Weasley, pick up your wand," I say. "Slowly. And remember; one false move, and nobody gets nothing." He takes it warily, and quickly backs away from both me and Malfoy.

I move to take my wand and pick up a white brick of stone the size of a fist on the way. "Next, after you two have returned your wands to your holsters, I'm going to write a name into this brick. The real name that is written into tombstone upon the gold."

I can't believe it, but they do what I ask. I use my wand to carve a name into the brick. Then I levitate it in the very middle of the opening and return my wand into the holster on my hip. At last, I withdraw to the edge of the opening and flip my poncho over my shoulder to have free access to my wand.

Malfoy quickly picks up my scheme. I have to give credit to Weasley who is not much slower. A wary step after another they move, keeping an eye of each other and me. Everyone understands that it's going to be a duel to the death, a duel with three combatants, with only one survivor.

At last, everyone stops as no one can move further away from one another – not if one wants to avoid getting closer to someone else. We each now stand in a corner of an equilateral triangle. Malfoy glares at me. Weasley glares at Malfoy. I give a glance at Weasley who must sense my eyes on him as he quickly looks at me before we both turn back at Malfoy who frantically tries to keep us both in his view.

One minute.

Eyes turn from opponent to another. Glares turn into quick gazes, glances. Hands wander closer to wand holsters, only to stop when everyone realizes the others are doing the same.

Two minutes.

Malfoy's eyes dart from me to Weasley and to me again, in faster and faster pace. His pompous arrogance is gone, and what is left is nervous determination.

Five minutes.

Weasley's eyes are moving, too, and each time his eyes linger on Malfoy a moment longer than on me. He wiggles his fingers slowly to keep his blood flowing. The last few weeks I've been forced to travel with him in search of the treasure, detesting him, hating him, and each of us trying to outwit the other. I hate to admit I've become accustomed to his company. In a way we have bonded, but I'd be crazy to call us friends. In another time, another universe, things might have been different. Perhaps, given the chance, I'd be tempted to spare his life today.

As long as I don't die myself.

Seven minutes.

I know that I'm the fastest on the draw. I'm sure Weasley knows it, too. Malfoy may think he's the fastest, but he's not. Anyway, it's always a mistake to rely on your draw; to rely on that you're faster than the next guy. I mean, isn't that how Tom Riddle got killed?

Fifteen minutes.

At this point, everyone knows this is a game of patience. Not one of us is quick enough to take out two opponents. Not even close. The first one to move may be quick enough to kill one of the others, but the third one will, without doubt, kill the first one. So, the last one to draw will win. Right?

Twenty minutes.

Malfoy bends down a little, almost unperceivably. Our eyes meet again. It's the first time I see fear in his gaze until he whisks it away again to Weasley. And Weasley is sweating, but he's afraid to wipe it away of his face as the movement might trigger a killing curse to his direction.

Twenty-eight minutes.

Not long anymore.

Malfoy has entered a trance-like state. He doesn't move his eyes anymore, or any other part of his body. Yet I'm positive he's aware of us and is ready to react whenever someone moves. Ron, I mean Weasley, on the other hand, seems to be in trouble. He's been still so long that his one leg has gone numb, and he's fighting to keep it steady.

Thirty-one minutes.

Weasley's hand twitches a fraction of a second before he moves for his wand. Malfoy reacts, and has it ready before Ron. Weasley, that is.

"Avada kedavra!"

"Avada kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Malfoy's wand flies to my direction but I pay no attention to it. My disarming charm stole it out of his grasp before his killing curse was complete. An incredulous expression fills his face when the realization hits him, only a second after he got hit straight into his chest by Weasley's killing curse. If I had the time, I'd be happy watch how life leaves his body. But time is something I don't have.

"Expelliarmus!"

Weasley whirls at my direction, his second killing curse on his lips when my disarming charm hits him. After all, the disarming charm is much quicker to complete than the killing curse. His wand gets whisked away, and it clatters in gravestones behind me. And then, everything is still and silent.

For a moment.

"You cheated!" Ron accuses.

"I'm alive," I say in my defence. "And so are you, for now. Quit complaining." Shite! When did he crawl under my skin to get into first name basis?

He glowers at me, and I toss one of the shovels to him. Grudgingly, he takes it into his hands. "Dig," I say.

"Where?" he asks. "Moody's grave is empty."

"The gold is not in Moody's grave," I say as I levitate the white stone brick for him to read. His face contorts in fury when he sees it blank, without a name. "It's blank because there is no name. The gold is in the grave next to Alastor Moody's grave, in a grave of a nameless Death Eater." I shoot a stinging hex at his legs, making him jump, and then I point at a simple, blank tombstone beside Alastor Moody's grave. "Dig."

And he does. He grumbles and he swears, but he digs.

Before long, his head disappears into the grave as he digs it deeper and deeper. He cries in excitement when his shovel meets a wooden lid of a coffin. As he begins to uncover it with new vigour, I turn around and walk away to our horses. Weasley had it right at one point; I've lost my interest in the treasure. I already have more gold than I can spend.

I mount my horse and tie the other two, Weasley's and Malfoy's, to my saddle from their leashes. Then I urge my mare to a slow gallop without a second thought to the ragged man who is about to be rich in a minute.

And I muse; maybe I can get a second chance with his vivacious sister before he finds his way out of this God-forgotten desert town.