Disclaimer, If you recognize it I don't own it.

Harry's most recent sojourn into the depths of the ministry was far more pleasant than any of his previous experiences, even though the tests were repetitive and boring. He made no effort to hide his skills in Potions or DADA, but was sure to make a few errors on the OWL tests. He felt he was guaranteed O's in Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and DADA, but was uncertain as to whether his Potions NEWT was O standard or merely E. Even the Dark Lord wasn't perfect at everything after all, and while he possessed the knowledge, skill and competency in some areas came through repetition he did not have.

His examiners were polite and helpful for the most part. The potions proctor was a bit acidic, but given that he was a graduate of Snape's tutelage it wasn't unexpected. He completely blew the DADA proctor out of the water with surprise and almost literally blew him through a wall. His young age made the examiner underestimate him despite his well known accomplishments.

After two days of testing, Harry returned to the Dark Lord's home for another duel.

Harry and Voldemort once again faced off and said the ritual words to mark their duel. This time however they were not alone. Some of the senior Death Eaters had expanded the main hall and added bleachers for observers. Most of the Death Eaters and spies were in attendance and some of them were making book on the outcome. All betting was anonymously via charmed parchments, none of them wanted to be caught betting against the Dark Lord, but after having seen Harry regain consciousness first the last time… There was some betting to be done.

Again Harry started by conjuring several thousand ping pong balls, while Voldemort started right in on the offensive spells. Harry concentrated on dodging and only threw back a few offensive spells, preferring instead to work the environment to his advantage. Voldemort worked to counter a few of his changes, but didn't see the point when he could just kill Potter outright.

Voldemort dodged a few lightning bolts when Harry summoned a localized hurricane, but was otherwise unimpressed. Wind and rain had no effect on magical spells and with his defenses he didn't even get wet. The storm vanished and Harry cast a powerful freezing charm on the room. The temperature dropped and the thin layer of water turned to a thin sheet of ice.

"Very cunning Potter, but it will take more than a slippery surface to slow me down. You have yet to even hit me!"

"I could say the same for you. You've certainly put in a good effort though."

"I may not have hit you, but you can't even seem to mount an offense you've been too busy dodging mine! You've resorted to parlor tricks."

"Laugh while you can, you sick bastard." And with this Harry revealed that his sanity was not in nearly enough doubt. He vanished his clothing and moved naked across the battlefield. He was down to nearly half of his ping pong shield when he made his next move. "Lubra Sexo!"

The icy floor was suddenly coated in a thin layer of slick lubricant. Voldemort, not recognizing the spell, tried to set the floor aflame like in the last duel. He was unsuccessful as a now naked and lubed up Harry glided effortlessly around he battlefield. He conjured more ping pong balls and set to moving quickly while casting a constant stream of curses.

Voldemort and Harry traded curses and hexes for several more minutes. The Dark Lord was unused to tracking a moving target while also moving and thus preferred to stay relatively still and relying on a near perfect defense. Harry utilized years of quidditch practice and broom flying to know how and when to shoot curses through his plastic body guards. Harry was hit with a reductor curse in his shoulder before he decided to get desperate. He would inevitably slow down with his injury and become easy pickings for the older better protected Dark Lord, unless of course he did something stupid and suicidal.

Harry made a couple quick sliding feints across the hall to get into proper position before he made his move. Stopping less than fifteen feet in front of the Dark Lord, Harry cast the strongest most useful shield he knew before flinging himself straight at the man. Voldemort cast a steady stream of curses, including a cutting curse that cost Harry three toes and just missed his pink bits.

As soon as he got inside the Dark Lord's shield, Voldemort jumped to the side. Harry dropped his own shield and cast a few well placed banishing charms as the Dark Lord was in mid air. He was hit by two of them and sent spinning across the room. Harry summoned his wand and was surprised when it flew into his grasp. He got to his now maimed feet and aimed both of the wands at his opponent.

Voldemort was deadly even without a wand however and began making Harry's life hell. Between his maimed foot and his injured shoulder, his movements were slowed. Voldemort's abilities with wand less magic were nothing short of godlike. With the exception of the three unforgivables he only took longer and spent more energy casting almost anything he needed.

With both brother wands at his disposal Harry changed tactics to a solid defense and offense approach. His wand was used to protect and Voldemort's to attack. Voldemort was the one on the run now, though he focused on bringing the playing field back to normal before mounting another offensive. He melted the ice and succeeded in vanishing some of the lubricant. The floor was now merely slippery and treacherous instead of smooth and perfect for sliding. Denied his unfair advantages, Harry went all out in casting to harm.

Voldemort fell back and needed to defend himself. He ducked and dodged as Harry blew great craters in the floor. He levitated the occasional chunk of rock into the paths of Killing curses Harry threw at him.

Harry threw a volley of explosion hexes in front of Voldemort, trying to maneuver him as he wanted. Utilizing two wands Harry was able to shoot out six of them in under a second. Voldemort was too busy rolling to avoid them that he failed to notice he had just rolled into a corner. Harry threw cutting and bone breaking curses into the corner and smiled and some of them collided with their targets. He shot a collection of binding charms with the next array of bone breakers and was pleased to see the Dark Lord fall covered in chains and ropes, both hands pulped from his bone spells.

Harry walked over and looked down at his opponent. "Looks like today was not your day. It is time to end this. Goodbye Tom Marvolo Riddle, may God have mercy on your soul. Avada Kedavra."

The green light of death hit him in the head. His face looked surprised before his head whipped back and he fell to the floor. Harry turned to the collected Death Eaters. There were a few large chunks blown out of the stands and he could see a few bodies from people who didn't move fast enough to avoid deflected curses.

"Is there anyone here who is halfway decent with healing spells?"

"I work at St. Mungo's sir…" One of the masked men tentatively raised his hand.

"Can you help me reattach my toes?"

"If you promise not to kill me. I suppose since they were put on ice immediately it should be possible."

"Get down here then and I wont kill you."

"God Damn it! You killed the bookie. How am I supposed to collect now?" One of the others yelled. He was quickly killed by his neighbors who had lost their bets and were happy not to pay.

Harry and the Death Eater were busy with his toes when a groaning sound came from the corner. Harry whirled around. "Avada Kedavra, damn it! Stay dead!" Voldemort went still again.

Harry struggled back into his clothes and went in search of some more potions while the collected Death Eaters went to examine their fallen leader.

Harry was sitting in a chair in the library reading a book he picked up in Diagon Alley when Voldemort walked in later that night. Harry motioned to the side table where Voldemort's wand lay.

"Was the second one really necessary?"

"It couldn't hurt."

"No, I assure you it hurt immensely."

"I was referring to me not you." Harry said cheekily. "Besides I thought you were convinced that the prophecy meant we were to use magic like proper wizards?"

"It appears I was not entirely correct."

"How goes the search for a master swordsman?"

"My servants found a French muggle who is scheduled to compete in some worldwide muggle event this month. I think the competition is called Olympia, it is a greek name anyway. Last year he was the world fencing champion."

"Sounds like someone who knows what he's doing then. We'll just have to see how long until you are fully healed."

"I thought you'd be more squeamish about mind raping a muggle."

"I thought you said he was French?" Harry said as if it explained everything.

"Anyway…"

"Hey, at least we are one step closer to fulfilling the prophecy."

"As far as I can see it we are back where we started."

"No, we've become equals, and I've demonstrated that I have the power to vanquish you. I have the power of being a metamorph that you do not. Now we just need to work on the dieing at the hands of the other part."

"I hardly think you've vanquished me. I feel awfully alive right now."

Harry handed him an oxford English dictionary. "Look up the meaning of the word vanquish. It only means "to defeat in battle". You were defeated, ergo I vanquished you."

"Perhaps so. Where did you find that spell to slick the floor? I expected it to catch fire like the oil did. A cunning misuse of a spell I'll admit."

Harry lifted his book so Voldemort could see the title, The wonderful world of Witches. "If I ever succeed in killing you I plan on cashing in on my fame a bit. That was a spell usually reserved for lovers in the bedroom. You know the old saying. All is fair in love and war. Sexual lubricant would be a bad thing to have catch fire. I just used it to my advantage."

"I thought you claimed to hate your fame as 'the boy who lived'."

"I do, but this will be fame I earned for something I actually did. I have no problem enjoying the parties they throw after I win a quidditch match."

"I will admit I never in my wildest dreams expected to see a sexual spell used in battle."

"Hey, I am a sixteen year old male. Hormones make me do crazy things."

"Yes, about that… Must you torture my death eaters?"

"You do it all the time."

"But I use spells! You use your blasted metamorph abilities to start a strip tease as a sexy young woman only to become Severus Snape as soon as you remove anything interesting. There are some things even I don't do! No one should be subjected to a naked Snape."

"It's their own fault for looking. I am of the opinion that my psychological torture will stick with them far longer than your Crucio spell. I've suffered both, but I've never woke up screaming from a nightmare involving being Crucio-ed. Nightmares of a naked Snape however… Those will never go away."

"Have you no shame?"

"Nope, what good is shame? It is a worthless emotion forced on us by society. If I wanted to walk naked down Diagon Alley, why should anyone else be able to tell me how to feel? So I got rid of it."

"Just what else did you get rid of? I've been meaning to ask."

"That's an awfully personal question! Asking me what my biggest flaws used to be… If you must know I also rid myself of rage and fear. Rage overrides a man's ability to think. I kept hatred and anger, they are very necessary, but rage only leads to destruction. You may think fear is useful, but as I've said before; fear profits man nothing. It only causes one to freeze up when he needs to be able to think, it is almost the opposite of rage."

"Fear and rage, while I may not agree, I understand. Why in the world did you decide to rid yourself of shame? It's not even something most people would consider."

"I just don't feel like letting anyone else influence how I should feel to that extent. Something as minor as a look that flickers on someone's face can cause a feeling of shame. Shame and guilt are the two easiest ways of manipulating someone and I will not be manipulated anymore. It is a completely irrational thing."

Harry and Voldemort met again a week later, after stealing a thorough knowledge of fencing. The muggle was surprisingly unharmed by the mental intrusion. Much to Harry's regret he was obliviated and released to compete. Harry argued that he was French, but Voldemort failed to see this as a valid reason to waste his time with an execution.

Harry's weapon of choice turned out to be a saber, while Riddle favored a rapier. They faced off and worked through a warm up set of maneuvers before returning to their places for a proper duel. They both decided to fight Florentine style with a dagger in their off hand. Their wands were left on the sidelines,

Lunge

Block

Slash

Parry

Riposte

Cross Step

Cut

Sexte

Feint

Croisé

Lunge

Bind

Passata-sotto

Over and over the two opponents danced in a flurry of steel. Small knicks and cuts showed on both fighters. Voldemort lunged forward with his dagger while dropping his rapier and sending a wand less banishing charm at it. The rapier shot forward and lodged itself in Harry's calf.

"Bad form old man!"

"Hello, evil…" Voldemort reminded him. He hit Harry with a few more wandless banishing spells, causing him to drop his weapons. Voldemort moved in towards his downed opponent.

"I promised you one honorable duel, not three. I may kill you with my hands, but I am always a wizard." He said as he slipped his dagger in between Harry's ribs. Harry gasped as he felt his heart beat against the cold steel. Voldemort turned to walk away as Harry pulled the knife from his breast. He focused his magic towards his chest, hoping for just a few more moments.

Harry stood, and tackled the older man to the ground. He placed his hands around the Dark Lord's neck and held on for all he was worth. He was hit with a variety of painful curses from Voldemort's hands, but stubbornly clung on. After two minutes, Voldemort stopped struggling, having used up his available strength.

Harry's magic had slowed the blood and healed some of the damage, but he was still in a bad way. Harry kept his choking the Dark Lord for what seemed like forever. When he finally released his neck after nearly fifteen minutes, Voldemort gasped for breath and his eyes opened. Harry immediately clamped back down and banged his head against the floor a few times. Eventually he passed out from blood loss and the spell damage.

Harry woke up to see his favorite mortal enemy sitting beside his bed.

"You have a very strong grip." Voldemort said, "Though I've discovered that asphyxiation and anoxia give one very painful headaches when you recover."

"What went wrong this time?" Was Harry's groggy response.

"It would appear we were both wrong."

"I guessed that smartass. I meant have you figured out how we are going to solve it now? I thought I finally had you. You literally should have died by my hands. My bare hands."

"The only thing I can think of is that we are still not equal."

"That makes more sense than my theory."

"What were you thinking?"

"What if there was a third party in the prophecy? What if there is some "other" who is supposed to finish this? We can't kill each other, we can't be killed by anyone else, and there is one other who has to kill one of us."

"No, if that were true there would be some way of identifying them."

"If you say so. So how are we not equal?"

"Have you ever considered building an army of loyal followers?"

"No, I am a pretty private person. It isn't my style really."

"Too bad, you are going to need one hundred thirty nine faithful minions and five disloyal spies. Gather them quickly."

"Wait, five disloyal spies? You know who they are?"

"With the exception of Severus, none of them are competent at occlumancy. I'm being spied on by Dumbledore, the Ministry, the French Ministry, the Unspeakables, and the Hufflepuffs."

"Why are the Hufflepuffs spying on you?"

"Are you kidding? Those guys are scary devoted to each other. They are the grunt workers of the wizarding world but they stick together. Apparently there was a muggle born Hufflepuff a ways back who introduced something called "unions" to the others. Since then… No one messes with them. They are spying to make sure I buy my supplies from the right people."

"Well, I've got a few rules obsessed fan boys I'm certain are reporting to Dumbledore on me. I know a French Veela who might help, and a couple aurors. I have no clue how to get someone in the Unspeakables. Say, do you mind if I turn Steve Clark to my side? He'll cover being the Hufflepuff spy and your spy."

"And be your spy in my camp… Take him, I've been meaning to give him a promotion anyway since you told me he managed to avoid my little initiation treats…"

"Great, he's not a bad guy. So how about the rest of them? I can't exactly return to the wizarding world and tell them you told me to recruit an army. Have any tips for me?"

"I might have a few ideas. Have you ever read a story by O Henry called The Ransom of Read Chief…"

Later the next day a group of death eaters portkeyed into Hogsmeade and caused havoc as they approached Hogwarts. They didn't kill anyone or cause serious injuries, just raised a big ruckus. They dropped a stunned and bound Harry Potter at the gates before shooting up a Dark Mark and apperating away. There was a note pinned to Harry's chest.

"Dumbledore,

I'm through playing with your golden boy. If you think I would fall for that worthless prophecy you tried to trick him with, you are wrong. I see past your schemes old man. Take your pathetic toy back, I don't want him. Sure it was amusing to watch him constantly avoid death, but it got old fast. If you want him dead you are going to have to do it yourself.

Voldemort"