Pomona Sprout burst into the staff room, cheeks flushed and panting. She had stray leaves, a few bowtruckles, and her wand in her hair. She was also missing a shoe. The remaining sock trailed a track of mud. There was a bit of a panic in her expression, which spread immediately when she spoke. "Potter," she wheezed, "I just saw P-Potter and Albus…"

Minerva set down her cup of breakfast tea, and steeled herself. Those two names in combination with one another were enough to bring back a conditioned sense of pooling dread. As haunting a pair as James and Sirius, or Tonks and Charlie, or Fred and George.

Pomona had tears in her eyes as she whispered in horror: "I saw them setting up dueling wards with the Weasley twins. Albus allowed them on the grounds. They were plotting something."

Silence answered her, and it only served to make Pomona more frantic. "Did— did you not hear me? Potter, and Albus, and the Weasley twins!Plotting! Together!"

"Don't fret, Pomona dear," Filius said soothingly even as he extended an expectant hand to Minerva, eyes gleaming in delight.

The odds were not looking good for her. But she refused to hand over her galleons so soon. Minerva pursed her lips. "Not yet," she argued. "I didn't say if, I said when."

"And I said if they did stir up trouble, then they'd team up with the Weasleys. They're natural allies."

"It's going to be a long year, isn't it?" asked Minerva with a sort of sinking resignation.

"Long doesn't even begin to describe it," said Filius. "We'll have to do what we did when the Marauders were here."

"Shove all the stress down and let it come out in spurts of anger and alcoholism?"

"Your words, not mine. And that'll be three galleons, to me, old friend."


Lured by the impending doom Sprout promised, Minerva gathered her nerve and began the long trek to the Black Lake. Really, her life had felt like one perpetual free-fall of disaster ever since Albus had knocked his knuckles bloody on her office door earlier that summer.

Someone had to put out the fires that kept popping up. If not her, then who? Really, why did it always fall to her to be the voice of reason? It's not as though she enjoyed nagging others, they just forced her into that role in their own incompetence. There were many other things Minerva would have liked to do besides babysit wizards who were long past the stage where she could have given them help.

Minerva thought suddenly of Hermione Granger, and swore internally that she would not allow the same to happen to the young prodigy. After all, if Albus could go gallivanting across the globe and name Harry Potter as his apprentice and Defense Professor, the least she could do as Deputy was take Miss Granger under her wing. She resolved to bring the matter to him later that week.

For now, it was late in the morning on the first Saturday after the start of term, and despite the early hour, hundreds of students had gathered around the grounds, eager to watch, as Seamus Finnigan had said, "shit go down."

The scent of fresh pine filled the air as a cool breeze drifted from the forest to where the students and professors had gathered. It was, all things considered, a beautiful morning; however, Minerva took one look at Albus and Harry grinning like a puppies that had been given permission to run through every muddy puddle they could possibly find, and immediately wanted to turn around.

But no, she was a Gryffindor through and through. She marched up to the pair of them. While part of her heart warmed to see the blossoming friendship and obvious familial care between the two, Minerva had to look away, as they were wearing matching robes of a lime green so neon that it hurt to see. Nevertheless, Minerva prevailed. She squinted at the two of them. "What are the rules to this duel, Headmaster?"

"Rules?" Dumbledore asked, as though he had never heard of such a thing.

"Yes, Albus," and Minerva was embarrassed to say that some of her professionalism cracked due to impatience. "Those pesky little things that will keep you and Potter from destroying the castle or the thousand students within."

"I am flattered to hear you think so highly of me."

Her composure was beginning to feel stretched. "Albus, the last time you really 'let loose' the city of Dresden was destroyed in a catastrophic firestorm. In fact, they're still rebuilding."

"Are they really?" he asked, seeming intrigued despite himself.

Harry laughed at that, and he sounded so full of joy, that Minerva startled.

"I'm afraid I cannot let Albus take credit for all that, Minerva," said Harry warmly. "History rightly lays the blame at the feet of Grindelwald for the ruin of das Elbflorenz."

Despite knowing it was uncouth to speak ill of the dead, Minerva said, "I hadn't realized Binns taught much beyond the Goblin Wars."

Whatever Harry was about to say was lost; Colin Creevey's camera flashed, and Minerva turned. The students cheered, creative banners flew, and Weasley fireworks exploded in an endless loop. The students began chanting an Italian folk song that Minerva hadn't heard since before her Hogwarts days, when the second World War had been raging: "Una mattina, mi son svegliato. O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella CIAO CIAO CIAO!"

As they did so, a familiar, brooding figure on a Firebolt flew down to the ground. If the ambiance was loud before, it was sensory overload now, every thought was drowned out by the arrival of Viktor Krum; he immediately walked over to Hermione Granger, who embraced him excitedly.

"Good for her," Minerva said to herself, nodding in approval.

She saw Fleur Delacour, unmistakable in her incandescent beauty, made even more radiant by the happiness obvious on her face as she leaned her head against Bill Weasley's shoulder.

The more she looked around, the more notable figures Minerva noticed were in attendance. There was the Cambodian Minister of Magic standing next to… was that who she thought it was…? It was. What in seven hells was Carmen Meyer, the warden of Nurmengard doing here? Other Ministers for Magic were in attendance as well; Minerva identified Minister Ramsey and Kothari rather quickly as well.

Had Dumbledore invited all of the ICW to attend?

Even Newt Scamander sat beside Hagrid on the grass, his once strawberry blond hair now lined with streaks of gray, his still-boyish face smiling as he chatted enthusiastically with the groundskeeper.

Barnabas Cuff, the tall, unfairly handsome and snake-like editor of the Daily Prophet, stood beside Rita Skeeter, who popped gum and looked around as though Yule had come early. Well, Minerva supposed, war did make for strange bedfellows.

Minerva then saw Viktor Krum, the Weasley twins, and Dennis Creevey shake hands and the most unwelcome feeling of perpetual freefall returned. Whatever that was, she did not want to know.

It was a chaotic mix of perfectly crafted strategic intentions with haphazard execution that Minerva had come to expect of Albus. Which meant that once again, it fell to her to keep the ship afloat.

Minerva put her wand to her throat and cast a silent sonorous, projecting her voice out to the students and observers gathered outside a protective bubble which enclosed the makeshift dueling arena. "The rules are as follows," she said in a firm tone that had even the Weasley twins settling slightly, which she was pleased to see. "First wizard to win three rounds, wins. To be disarmed is to lose. Cast nothing without counter. Most importantly, I retain the right to adapt these rules should it become necessary."

"You tell them, beautiful," shouted Fred Weasley roguishly. "Minnie makes the rules!" He and his twin both winked in unison, and the two of them grinned at her like the red devils they were.

She ignored them and took careful, measured steps back until she was outside of the dueling wards. With an excited smile that escaped her despite her best efforts, Minerva called, "Begin!"


To Harry, the roaring noise of the students cheering had faded to a dull awareness at the edge of his consciousness. Albus had taken Harry's training as his apprentice seriously in the past month and a half, despite the humor to be found in their transmigration.

Now, for the first time, Harry could have fun with dueling instead of being beaten to submission within three minutes (his personal record when dueling against Albus). This was a carefully orchestrated demonstration of power, but that didn't mean it couldn't be entertaining.

Anticipation loomed over the clearing, across which was Harry's foe.

The spell for Fiendfyre, Albus had patiently explained, had no special incantation. As with all powerful magic, it must be summoned with nothing less than absolute, ferocious willpower.

("You must call on that part of you that hates like hell.")

Albus raised a wand and cast an illusion of Fiendfyre against him.

A flawless illusion of a firestorm lay siege to Harry; a wild army of flaming thestrals galloped forth, heat scorching the earth with every flap of wings. A monstrous phoenix joined it, malicious eyes glowing red, its terribly warped song of destruction searing into his very soul. The fury of it nearly crushed him. A pulsing, dangerous presence. Fire so bright and big that he could barely fathom it.

But Harry had painstakingly prepared for this.

Harry raised his arms and parted them suddenly, like Moses did the sea, an action which summoned a tremendous force of water from the Black Lake and sent it crashing over faux Fiendfyre beasts.

A colossal boom knocked almost everyone off their feet.

With a single spell, Harry appeared to extinguish the flames and trapped Albus beneath water.

For a minute, everyone held their collective breath.

Harry barely had time to catch his own. From the corner of his eye, he could see Minerva McGonagall. Her face showed signs of once being a great beauty, with a little nose and high cheekbones. She was elegant and graceful even with a look of thunder upon her face. Ah….perhaps they could have given her a warning.

Albus surfaced in the air from the beneath the waves like a terrible sea-serpent of legend, mirth etched upon his face.

"Why Harry, I almost didn't see you there," said Harry, feigning surprise at the sight of the drenched wizard. He felt his mouth curve into a smirk. A pride of conjured lions pounced forth from Harry's wand. His bearded hair had fallen out of its strict tie, the greying tresses fly wildly around his shoulders as he leapt into battle.

Albus waved his wand once to transfigure all the lions to stone, the sound like a trumpet clap. With another effortless flick of the wrist, he threw curses at Harry of such dark power they made the hair on his neck stand up as they singed through the air.

Harry conjured a fine slab of marble which shattered upon impact of the black spells.

Albus called to him, "I'm afraid that your student has long since surpassed you…"

"It's not over yet!" yelled Harry, eyes hard, though his mustache trembled with suppressed laughter.

"Oh, but it is," said Albus, entirely too amused for being in the middle of a raging battle. "Surrender now, and I shall allow you your dignity!"

"Bold of you to assume I had any in the first place!" Harry cast a bone-breaking curse as Albus fired simultaneously from the opposite direction. Harry shielded with the earth itself, calling forth dirt to form a quick wall, while Albus caught Harry's spell with his wand and flicked it to the side. It sizzled and extinguished as it came in contact with the dueling wards.

Albus continued to dodge Harry's curses effortlessly, toying with him. He forced Harry to scramble, firing back spells of his own, controlling the entire duel like the lead dancer in a waltz.

Harry shielded with a thick, opaque barrier of magic—a protection which caused Albus' spells to echo with a gong-like tone throughout the clearing. That spell had been one Harry was eager to learn, after watching Voldemort shield against Dumbledore at the Ministry.

Harry held the shield as a barrage of curses struck with extreme, unrelenting pressure and precision. He dropped it for a moment, and in the reprieve he could see Albus summon a storm from above. The sky darkened as black clouds rumbled into existence. The air grew electric. All of Harry's hair stood up on his head from the static. Harry's half-moon glasses rattled on his face as powerful, ominous thunder crashed in the heavens.

Albus lifted his wand to the sky as though summoning divinity. Crackling ions appeared at the tip, siphoning power from the storm itself. Then Albus grinned. He was fire and flame. He was thunder and lightning. He was—hurling a lance of ions at Harry in a single, godlike surge.

Lightning struck Harry's hastily constructed Protego Horriblis.

The shield shattered upon the blow, and knocked Harry to the ground.

To add insult to injury, Albus defeated him with Harry's own signature spell. "Expelliarmus!"

The Deathstick went flying, and for a moment, there was stunned silence.

"In a surprising turn of events," came McGonagall's projected voice, "Professor Potter wins the first round in two minutes, fifty-nine seconds!"

Then the crowd observing exploded with cheers.

With one, perhaps two more duels to go, Harry spat dirt from his mouth, and knew despair.


THE NIKKEI HERALD

WizardWatch Column

Dumbledore, Potter Both Claim Victory in Tight Duel

SYDNEY AUGUR WEEKLY

Your Week in the Wizarding World

SPOTTED: Newt Scamander Returns to Public Eye After 30 Years

CHICAGO CAULDRON GAZETTE

Opinion

'Albus Dumbledore, for all his legend, is simply the dust in the wake of Harry Potter's storm of power.'

MACUSA TODAY

Politics

Minister Ramsey Addresses British Power Struggle: 'I have the utmost faith in both Dumbledore and Apprentice Potter's cause. American Hit Wixen will aid in opposition of the Dark Lord Voldemort.'

THE DAILY PROPHET

Special Edition

The Chosen One: Bringer of Lightning and Justice! Hogwarts' Newest Professor is Simply Electric!

MUMBAI MAGES POST

World News

Minister Kothari: Magical India Must Secure Alliance With British MoM

THE QUIBBLER

Theories and Extrapolations

Unanswered: How Exactly Did Harry Potter Become Dumbledore's Equal?! And Why Is This an Unasked Question?!

INTERNATIONAL POTIONS GUILD

Notable Potions Masters

Master Snape Bested by Student: 'Absolutely humiliating for Potions Masters as a whole,' says Master Slughorn. 'We need to show we are just as capable with our wands as those in other fields of magic.'