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Chapter 20
Might as well be a man about it, thought Harry. He chose his words very carefully to try and lead Riddle to a conclusion.
Dear Tom,
I was visiting with one of my friends last night and a thought came to me. You and I have never really been placed in a fair fight situation together. Surely you didn't consider trying to kill me at age one a fair fight, did you?
Using Quirrell to do your dirty work didn't really seem like your best effort. Maybe he was just too weak. Maybe you chose poorly. You would know better than I.
I hope you found out that I was ready to kick your sixteen-year-old arse when I was twelve. You demonstrated your perverted idea of a fair fight by sicking a forty-foot basilisk on me. By the way, once I killed the basilisk and got back to fighting just you, you went down with one hit.
We tried again when I was fourteen and had a broken ankle, but our wands seemed to be mismatched for fighting each other. Then again thirty-to-one seemed a bit perverse too. Bow my arse - you started early.
Last summer, I would have enjoyed getting into a fair fight with Bella. She went down pretty quickly when I cursed her. I suppose you miss her, don't you? She probably was the only woman who you didn't have to torture to get to open up to you.
Too bad. You should have seen her head bounce when I cut it off with a quick little move that Antonin showed me. It probably wouldn't have worked out with her sister either. Don't give it another thought.
So what do you say? I formally challenge you to a duel. Does one-on-one with pistols, or swords suit you better? Enfields or Colts, Katanas or Dirks? Any of them could work for me. Have you got any mates left? Maybe six-on-six with wands or sticks?
Could you even consider a fight without cheating, or will I need to watch out for a surprise attack from killer sea bass?
There are no tricks to this. My parchment doesn't have some hidden portkey. The owl doesn't have some homing charm. I trust that your reply won't either. There is some honor about a proper duel, don't you think. Give it a bit of thought. Leave a note on the door of the Three Broomsticks sometime tonight. It will get to me.
Next Saturday morning at 8:00. My venue, your choice of weapons. Let me know. I'll get back to you.
Harry Potter
Harry believed that he had at least an even chance with pistols. He had practiced during the summer and was accurate, even if he wasn't fast. Given that there had been no recorded use of a pistol in any of Voldemort's killings, Harry felt that he would have the advantage if they were selected.
With respect to swords, they were much closer to a traditional wizarding weapon. Harry felt very comfortable with either of the models that he had referenced. The shorter dirk would almost certainly involve injuries to both the victor as well as death to the loser. At less than 20 inches, it was very much an up close and personal weapon.
The one on one duel with wands was the fight that Harry didn't want to have. There was the issue of the brother wands, and the reality that Voldemort simply knew more fighting spells than Harry would.
Harry felt that a six on six fight could fairly certainly be won in an apparation proof setting. He was equally certain that it would involve serious injuries or deaths on both sides regardless of how much armor that he furnished. The prophecy was vague on this aspect. Harry's magnified power in the presence of those that he loved was most likely the power that he knew not. However the prophecy did not specify that Riddle would be beaten by that power, rather that it existed.
Asking the others to join him in such a duel was out of the question. Harry even had doubts that he would be comfortable if the others volunteered to stand with him.
Harry selected one of the school owls at random, and asked her to be extra careful. She looked at him, and nipped his finger before taking off into the late January evening.
Harry went to find Moody and told him that he'd need his services tomorrow morning before breakfast.
Harry walked the halls of the castle for a while after releasing the owl and talking to Moody. The wheels were in motion all right but which way would they turn? Had he just taken the steps to actually having a life worth living, or simply signed his own death warrant? He walked back to the room, and put on his game face. He spent the next hour quietly watching the fireplace. The witches assumed that he was still hurting and let him be.
Katie and Tonks were discussing the Puddlemere United team while Hermione was engrossed in her research. Susan and Ginny were playing a game of chess together.
It seemed like there were a lot of unspoken subjects hanging in the air – Dumbledore, the day's events, Voldemort's reaction, and the dance. Little had been said about any of them.
In reality, they were waiting for some guidance from Harry. Their enrollment in the apprenticeship program seemed to be unraveling, and no one had yet spoken with the witches about future plans.
Regarding the attack, it was apparent that there was some secret between Harry and Dumbledore. Hermione, Tonks, and Ginny knew about Harry's morphing ability, while Susan and Katie did not. For a man who was so critical about others keeping secrets from him, Harry seemed to be mastering the habit himself.
At nine, Harry went back in front of the fire and tried to get some sleep. He was very sore, and more than a little nervous about the next day.
In spite of the best efforts of the five women in the room, (Katie had begun to spend Friday and Saturday evenings with the apprentices) Harry did not sleep well that evening. As with Dumbledore, the wheels of his fate had been set in motion.
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Dumbledore Minerva, and Moody looked over the photos that had been developed from Colin's camera. The first few were innocent enough, showing the students on their brooms. The fifth photo would strike terror in anyone's heart. Colin had taken a photo from about 300 feet of the village. A careful count identified well over a hundred dementors and at least an equal number of villagers out in the streets. Looking at it, Minerva marveled that there had been any survivors, let alone a stunning victory.
The next few photos were similar, but in greater detail as Colin had flown lower. Several Patronus forms were visible. The next few illustrated the dementors being scattered by the forms. There was a photo of Ginny Weasley casting a Reducto charm at someone.
It was the last four photos that were truly interesting. One showed Hermione casting a giant Patronus. Another showed Susan Bones stunning a Death Eater that turned out to be Narcissa. The third one was likely the only one of its kind in existence – a clear photo of Voldemort taken from about 75 feet.
The final photo showed Dumbledore casting a Patronus. There were two unusual details of the photo that caught Minerva's eye. The form that was cast was a stag, and the Dumbledore in the photo had two arms.
"Interesting photos, Dumbledore," said Moody. "The Creevey boy can probably sell them to the Prophet or the Quibbler and retire off of the proceeds."
"Would you like to explain the last photo, Albus, or should I simply ask Mr. Potter?" Minerva didn't know what to think, and wanted to hear it from Dumbledore himself.
Dumbledore replied, "Harry and Miss Tonks share an extremely rare skill. Yes, that was him, but for now, I would like to leave the wizarding world with the perception that they have. The photos indeed have significant value and rightfully belong to Mr. Creevey. I don't think their value will diminish much in a few days. As such, for now, I would like to leave them in my office, and ask that you do not mention Harry's gift to anyone."
They nodded, and bid the old headmaster a restful evening.
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At 5:00 Harry woke up. In spite of not sleeping much last night, he found being in the proximity of the five young women quite comforting. They had somehow all managed to hold him somewhere during the evening, an arm, a toe, or even his hair. Carefully avoiding everyone, he got up, showered, and dressed. He put on his Horntail trousers and the remains of his old vest, wishing that he'd thought to order two last time. He'd have to try to get another this afternoon. Picking up his blood staff, he opened and quietly closed the door.
Hermione, Susan, and Ginny watched him leave in silence. Adjacent to each other, they held hands as he closed the door. There was no rivalry today. They knew that they all loved him, and each prayed that he'd return soon and whole.
He met Moody at the front door. There were no smiles. Moody had guessed what Potter had done, and was not being judgmental about the young man who had the courage to actually do what few would even consider, and most of the skills to back up his actions.
They walked the half mile to the train station in silence and stopped. Moody carefully looked around for a few minutes before proceeding. They walked to the Three Broomsticks.
Tacked to the door was a letter that simply said Potter.
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Harry looked around in the early morning light, but saw no one. He glanced skyward, but saw no one. He didn't want to grab the letter and be transported back to Riddle Manor or the Little Hangleton graveyard, but he didn't want to wait around and have either of them be targets either.
Meanwhile Moody was running his eye and wand over the envelope, still tacked to the door. There were no traces of curses or jinxes on the envelope. He could see no runes, and judged the envelope to be a reasonable risk to touch. He made to pull it down, and Harry stopped him.
"I'll get it Moody."
"Let me help, Potter. I know it's ultimately your fight, but I'll help."
Harry understood that Moody's days as an active warrior were over, but he still wanted to remain useful. Without being patronizing, Harry said, "OK. Thanks."
Moody carefully picked up the envelope and placed it in a plastic bag. He handed it to Harry.
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On the way back, Moody asked, "Is that from Riddle?"
Harry replied, "I expect so. I challenged him to a duel."
Moody was silent for a minute. He had known many brave men in his life, but he had never heard those words before in connection with Voldemort. Rather than say something judgmental or trite, he asked, "What can I do to help?"
"I'll read his reply and have a better idea. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention this to anyone today."
Moody nodded. "I understand. Do you want to walk around more, or should we go back in?"
In truth, Harry did want to be alone for a bit to collect his thoughts. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Thanks Moody. I'll find you and let you know what he said."
"You're welcome." The old warrior limped back into the castle. He carried himself with more pride than he had in years. Potter wasn't letting him hang around out of sympathy, or memory of what he had done, rather respect for what he could do.
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"You what? Are you mentally defective, or are you under the Imperious curse?"
"Probably."
The lithe witch couldn't think of a response, so she slapped his face, surprisingly hard. She was so angry at him. How could he do this to her? Didn't he love her? Didn't he know that she loved him?
As he walked away, she stood there speechless with tears rolling down her cheeks, splashing on the stone floor. As he turned the corner, a howl of anguish was building up in her. She slumped onto the floor and wept.
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