Chapter 22 - Be on guard!
*** January 2nd ***
Ministry Official challenges last Potter
In a display of righteous outrage, Walden McNair, last member and scion of the old McNair bloodline has declared a blood feud against the House of Potter, with Harry Potter as the last member of this even older House, claiming that he will put a jar of the last Potter blood on his mantle.
Walden McNair, of the Department of Creature Regulations, has cited the outrageous lies of Harry Potter, claiming McNair to be involved in Death Eater activities, were too much to be left uncontested. (He had been cleared of these accusations earlier this year. See page 2)
Minister Cornelius Fudge has stepped forward and declared his approval of the actions of McNair, citing that Potter has a long story of public lies and attention-seeking to answer for, and this last insult to an upstanding member of society was merely the final drop that made the cauldron boil over. He said he had personally tried to make Potter retract those insulting lies to avoid such trouble, but 'the arrogant boy had declined in a most insulting way'.
In a gesture of sportsmanship, McNair has offered Potter a formal duel to death on January 4th, under old rules and a mutual oath of no curses or hidden weapons being used during the duel. Mister McNair claims his reasoning for that oath to be 'It's unbecoming for a gentleman to beat someone with spells he hasn't even learned, yet.' The Daily Prophet lauds Mister McNair for his gracious offer, but was unable to contact Mister Potter for a comment...
ooOOoo
"Damn, Harry. You really stirred the hornet's nest this time," Henry whistled after Tonks had finished reading the front page of the Daily Prophet to them. They had a marvellous time watching the New Year's fireworks in London, mingling with the Muggles at Piccadilly and stuff. Celebrating till nearly dawn, they set off and had another party at the island, which had less fireworks, but wasn't much less colourful.
"This is a joke, isn't it?" Harry asked. "He wants me to duel him, but no curses? Why would that be fair - he is at least a head taller and weights a good three stone more."
"Harry, don't you get it? That's exactly his plan. He will just cast a protego, walk up and chop you down with his bloody axe," Tonks stated the obvious to Harry, chuckling for some reason.
"Don't go there!" Margret and Hermione said in unison.
Tonks shook her head, morphing into a McGonagall impression. With the well-known stern voice that immediately caused Harry and Hermione - Remus as well - to sit straighter, she told them her assessment of the situation. "That would usually a good solution, except for two things. If he doesn't show up, McNair will just show up at Hogwarts and blast Harry in the back. The blood feud allows him to do that. But the second, more important thing is - why should Harry let that opportunity slide?"
Reverting back into her pink buzz and normal face, Tonks waited a moment to see if anyone had solved the puzzle. With a dip of her head and a hand twirl, she motioned them to give her a guess, at least. "Come on, it's not that hard. Why would Harry have an advantage?"
Hermione was the only one that had something to tell. "When both can't use curses, Harry wouldn't need to be afraid of the Dark Arts and unblockable spells?" she asked.
"Right in one!" Tonks beamed, an action mirrored by Hermione, who loved it when she got something right. "And more important, McNair doesn't know about Harry's fencing. I can teach him how to reliably defeat an axe within a few hours."
Hermione clapped her hands in joy when she connected the dots, and hugged the broadly grinning Harry. Remus started to laugh while Margret smiled slightly. Henry took it upon him to sum up what everybody thought already.
"So he basically has taken his own best weapon away and now stands against someone with a superior weapon? That's rich!"
ooOOoo
*WHAM*
The long broomstick impacted on Harry's shoulder and threw him into the wall. His rapier and wand both cluttered over the floor as Harry held his throbbing arm to his chest.
"Damn, Tonks! That hurt!" he yelled.
"And if this were real, you would be dead now, you pussy!" Tonks yelled back. She wasn't known to be an amiable teacher, but the drill instructor method she had picked up at Auror School was meant to make you survive, not to coddle you. "You waited too long. You have to be faster!" she said while she shot a healing charm at his bruised shoulder.
Harry blushed slightly, knowing that she was right. She had only two days to whip him into shape, and the price for failure was death. At least she was as fair as to put a cushioning charm onto the weight she had stuck on the four feet broomstick, emulating the weapon of his opponent. He reached over to pick up his battlewand and stood up.
Summoning his sword back with a wave of his hand, he caught it and resumed position, getting an approving nod in return. Tonks was hard, but fair.
He took a deep breath and conjured a new protego shield. This had to be the first thing to do, because at the distance a duel started, McNair would reach him too fast to allow for mistakes. If the man hit him with only one hex, Harry would be dead. As long as he could keep magic out of the game, he was sure to win.
Harry settled into the new stance Tonks had showed him a few minutes before. Instead of standing on his rear leg, ready to lunge, he now stood on his front leg, the arm and sword extended fully, straight at Tonks' face. This would keep McNair, who outreached him at least six inches with his longer arms and long axe, at a distance. Most people dislike pointy objects in their face. To improve the impression that he knew nothing about fencing, he let his arm shake slightly, making it look like a desperate attempt to keep the opponent away.
Basically, the only problem was the timing. McNair would try to chop either Harry's arm or his torso. In both cases, Harry had to throw his weight back onto his rear leg, while lowering his arm and weapon, to let the axe swing clear. The power of the axe's swing was too much for him to block it without landing arse over teakettle, but that wouldn't be fencing, anyway.
The trick was to let the plump and sluggish weapon defeat itself. The powerful swing would make the bearer overextend himself, giving Harry an opening. If he initiated the lunge exactly at the moment the axe had flown past, he would have enough time to give the other man a good poke. They assumed that each stab would go at least two or three inches deep. As soon as he drew first blood, McNair would be doomed. He would be slower, and Harry would have even more time. If McNair started to keep the axe closer to his body to fight faster, Harry would outreach him by over a foot, giving him free pass to stab wherever he wanted to.
Hermione had refrained from watching that training for the first hour, knowing well she would fuss over things needlessly. She would look at the thing when Harry knew the technique and then give him permission to go ahead or not.
With a nod, he gave Tonks the sign to continue. Exploding into action, Tonks, who had morphed into a copy of McNair who she knew from the Ministry, swung the make-shift axe at Harry, aiming for his elbow while dodging the tip of his weapon. To her satisfaction, that arm fell out of the way, while Harry made a seemingly afraid jump backward. Before she could stop the momentum of her swing, she felt a sharp sting on her right side by the practice-charmed blade. Pulling back, she made a mad overhead strike with her weapon, which Harry dodged only by inches, falling to the floor.
"Never assume that the other falls down after a hit. Constant vigilance!" She chided her student, who nodded in understanding.
Within moments, Harry was back on his feet, and Tonks resumed beating him into shape.
ooOOoo
Meanwhile, at the Burrow, Ginny was fighting the urge to take a knife to her mother. Instead, she continued cutting the cabbage as the very same woman was trying to talk sense to her. At least what Molly Weasley thought to make sense.
"Really! It was only a matter of time until Harry would end up in a situation like that," Molly ranted as she stirred the stew with much more energy than necessary. "That's exactly what happens when young people stop listening to their betters. First they talk back to their parents, then they disrespect adults in general," she ranted, not noticing how the chopping of her 'wayward' daughter increased in speed. "And then they go down dark paths that lead to them getting in trouble."
Turning around, she pointed her spoon at her daughter sitting at the table, a bit of the stew spilling onto the stove as she did so. "You could have prevented that, Ginevra Molly Weasley! All you had to do was to get close to the boy that spent so much time here in your home and was attracted to you. But no, the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't good enough anymore, you had to whore around with several other boys during Hogwarts, instead of following the right path," she scolded.
"I did not whore around," Ginny spat as she slammed her knife into the cutting block, jumping to her feet in anger.
"Don't talk to me like that! You will pay me respect! Has this dark influence of Potter already poisoned you as well?" Molly shouted back at her.
Ginny took a deep breath to keep her anger in check. Failing to do that, she used it to shout back, instead. "Harry has not turned dark, and I did NOT whore around," she screamed in tears as she whirled around and stormed out of the kitchen, through the living room and out of the door.
She passed her father on the way out, her mother in hot pursuit. Arthur stopped his wife from following the crying girl, blocking the doorway.
"Molly, please. This is not helping. Shouting at her will solve nothing," he pleaded.
"You don't understand, Arthur! She is turning bad, truly. Ronald told me how he found her doing inexcusable things to a boy in a broom closet," Molly screeched as she tried to step past her husband to follow Ginny. Arthur didn't let her pass.
"Molly! It's our daughter you are talking about. I don't believe that she was doing anything wrong."
"But Ronald told me," Molly insisted. "He also told me that this was not the first guy, she hat at least three boyfriends, Arthur!"
"And you had more than six that I know of, Molly," Arthur replied calmly.
"This is different - I was completely in control and did nothing untoward," Molly snapped.
"And so was, she. I trust my daughter unconditionally, Molly, and so should you. You don't know what you are doing. You are lashing out at her for things she hasn't done," Arthur replied sadly. "Do you really think so badly of her that you assume that she would do anything we would be ashamed of?"
"It's her fault. It's because she fooled around with these boys that Harry didn't want to get involved with her and went to Granger, instead," Molly hissed.
Arthur sadly shook his head at her outburst. "And why is this bad? Harry and Hermione know each other for years. It's not that inconceivable that they would fall for each other, one day."
"But Granger is a scarlet woman, through and through. These Muggles don't have any shame - look what their advertisements look like, or their clothes! No good woman would want to be seen in things they wear! Granger even had a thing with Krum going on back a few years. She is just a gold-digger, going from man to man until she found the biggest purse!" Molly ranted her way into a frenzy. Arthur wasn't able to get a word in, edgewise, as she gained momentum and spat her vitriolic theories.
"I'm sure that she is the reason Harry turned dark - he was such a good boy when he was younger and not under her influence. I tell you, I knew she was up to no good - she never tried to learn good housekeeping, but was always on the lookout for new magic - I bet she got curious and Harry followed, blinded by his crush on her."
"Molly! You can't just say such things about people we know - you know that this isn't true," Arthur tried to talk sense to her.
Molly just waved him off dismissively. "Pish-posh. I know I'm right, you'll see. And Ginny will turn out rotten, as well, if we don't take care of her. She's hanging around with these two troublemakers, Ron told me. At least she will be there to pick up the pieces once Granger drops Harry," she said, and turned to walk back into the kitchen. "Go and wash your hands, lunch will be ready in half an hour."
Arthur stared at her back for a few moments, and then decided that his appetite wasn't up to the task. "Sorry, I can't, I just came home to fetch something and will be off again. I think I'll take Ginny with me and have a word with her. Maybe she will listen to me," he said.
Without waiting for her answer, he left his home and went to look for his distraught daughter, with plans to treat her to a nice meal at Diagon Alley and a huge ice cream at Fortescue's...
*** January 3rd, late in the evening ***
With a loud moan Harry collapsed on top of Hermione after having spent himself deep in her. As soon as his chest had contact with hers, her arms hugged him tightly as she rode out the last spasms of his jerking loins. Their lovemaking had been frantic, desperate even, as if they had tried to communicate something with their bodies they didn't trust their voices to.
Hermione couldn't keep herself from crying softly into his neck. Tomorrow morning, he would be in a fight for his life, and she was afraid. She knew that he had spent the last two days training for it and hadn't been touched even once by Tonks or Remus all this day, but there still were so many variables. So much could go wrong.
While her rational mind knew that this was the best chance Harry would get to win a fight that he couldn't escape, all in her screamed to just take the portkey and hide on the island. They talked it over, and she finally stood with her permission to let him do it. That didn't preclude her from dragging him to bed early and throwing herself at him with all she could muster.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I know I'm being silly, you will beat him, for sure. I'm just overly emotional," she told him, afraid she might hurt his confidence with her stupid tears.
"I know," Harry breathed into her ear as he rolled them over, not letting her go and pulling her into her favourite position, resting against his shoulder. "It feels good that you care so much for me. I'm scared, too; it's the first time I'll really turn up looking for a fight."
Hermione gave in to a snuffled snort and slowly slid off him, sighing softly as she felt him vacate her body, and settling herself into the crook of his shoulder. "Right, usually you're just trying to get out alive, and now you actually have a plan. That must be a completely new experience for you," she teased to make light of the topic, and gave a small yelp as he pinched her nipple lightly in retaliation.
"Cheeky much? Remember, if he really gets the upper hand, I'll just blast him with a massive petrifying spell that will blow right through his shield. I'll be alright," he promised her, not mentioning that this tactic was their last resort, with a big 'hopefully' in it - because if it failed, it would ensure him being wide open for a counterattack. It would be used only if he had lots of time, were hit or lost his weapon, the last one not probable due to his wandless magic.
Hermione nodded and snuffled again. "Let's sleep, you need to be fit for tomorrow," she said and snuggled deeper into his arms as he turned off the lights with a brief wave of his hand.
Soon, both shared a light sleep, which was probably the deepest of all people in the house.
*** January 4th, the Ministry of Magic, 9:30 a.m. ***
The Ministry's Atrium was rather well filled, at least the parts that still were open to the public. One side of the Floo portals had been turned off, while the other half was cordoned off to allow undisturbed travel for those who needed to. During the duel, they would be turned off, as well.
In fact, only the side near to the entrance would be available for the audience for this macabre show. The whole rest of the atrium would be the duel arena. This was due to the need to shield the audience from harm; this was easier in a closed room and only one designated viewer area.
Harry was currently in a desperate hug by Hermione, while Margret only joined it occasionally. Henry was giving moral support from afar, while Remus and Tonks were on security detail, watching the crowd for suspect movements. The twins had excused themselves to meet their family in the stands, and knowing them, they probably were doing rounds with hawker's trays by now, selling souvenirs.
A few feet away, McNair was standing, chatting to Malfoy and some other men. A big jar was standing beside him. Remus had told Harry that McNair had asked one of those men that he should drain your blood right after his victory, if McNair wasn't able to do it himself. They all knew that his blood would certainly not end on some mantle, but in Voldemort's hands. 'But first, they would have to spill it,' Harry thought grimly.
"Good morning, everybody," Albus Dumbledore greeted when he had managed to get through to them. "Hello Harry, everything all right?" he asked, the worry obvious in his tone. Harry couldn't help to ask himself whether he was worried about Harry, the boy, or the plans the old man had for him. Those were now endangered as well. He gave the old man a short nod for an answer.
"I'm sorry I couldn't help you, but these things are out of my hands. If I can do anything for you," the Headmaster promised, offering something that Harry eagerly accepted. Pulling a piece of parchment out of his pocket, he gave it to Dumbledore.
"You could countersign it, to make it waterproof," he said, and Hermione began to sob slightly against his shoulder. This document was one of the reasons for her crying bout last night. She had fought it at first, but finally had relented to this when Harry told her that he wouldn't want Draco to inherit the island.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at the document, but quickly conjured a quill and signed it. It was merely a formality, anyway. Since Harry had announced his engagement to Miss Granger, no one would be able to contest this will, even without his Guardian's signature.
With a grave nod, he returned the will and set off to the spectator area, where some Curse Breakers were finishing the warding. In a few moments, they would be ready.
When Rufus Scrimgeur stepped into the open area and waved the duellists over, Harry turned to say goodbye.
"I'll be ok. I love you," he said. Hermione replied with a fierce kiss.
"You know how to give incentive," Harry chuckled after they had parted.
"If you need incentive, then think of the epic shag you will get afterwards," Hermione told him, completely ignoring the gasps of the bystanders and smiling weakly at Harry's chuckle. "Be safe," she said, before she reluctantly let him leave, keeping his hand in hers until the last moment.
ooOOoo
"Gentlemen," Rufus Scrimgeur said as both duellists were standing in front of him. "Do you both swear to not use any curses or hidden weapons during this duel?"
"On my life, so I swear!" both said in unison.
"Do you both swear that there is no poison on your blades and no potions will be used during the fight?" was the next question, and both replied with the same words as before.
When both had also sworn that they wore neither armour nor any magical protection, they were allowed to continue.
Remus stepped closer and handed Harry his sword and the battlewand as McNair was approached by his own second. They had unloaded the secret gun this morning, in accordance with the oath they knew would be due.
Walden McNair received his wand and axe from the unknown man he had talked to before, and soon they stood facing each other, twenty feet apart.
A bell started in the background, and according to the rules, the duel would start at the twelfth toll.
By the sixth toll, Harry was in position; his shaking hand and sword extended toward his opponent, who smiled slyly at his foe's obvious fear.
In fact, Walden had been already surprised that the 'whelp' had even thought of bringing a blade to the fight, but one look at the thin sword told him that he would probably shatter it with a single hit if the stupid beginner across the room would try to parry.
'There he goes, that stupid child is scared to death, and he wants to use the blade to keep me at distance - he probably will try to shower me in hexes to win the fight. This will be pathetically easy,that flimsy thing was probably the only weapon that wimp could lift!'he chuckled to himself. A slight change of his hand position made sure that his wand was fitting well between his hand and the axe grip, so he wouldn't need to let go of the handle to cast.
At the tenth toll, he mentally prepared the shield spell.
At the eleventh, he bent his knees slightly to ensure an explosive start.
When the bell tolled for the twelfth time, Walden McNair yelled the protego incantation, forgoing the wand movement. As he sprinted at the boy, he noticed that his foe had made the same decision, causing a silvery shield springing to life around the boy. 'That was your last blunder,' Walden laughed inside at the stupid mistake the kid had made, as he dove to the left and under Potter's blade. As soon as the flimsy poker wasn't pointed at his face anymore, he swung his axe at the outstretched arm, preparing for the impact.
Nothing.
At the last moment, the boy had noticed his mistake and had made a jump back, lowering his arm; making Walden miss his target. 'I'll show this bastard', McNair screamed inside his head and tried to pull his axe into a curve and a backhanded swing.
Before he had finished that, he felt a sharp pain in his right biceps, causing him to scream and pull the swipe short, completely missing the boy this time. Taking a few quick steps to regain balance, Walden turned and stared at his opponent.
The boy stood there, in the same amateur pose as before, shaking even more and casting a quick spell at him. Walden instinctively raised a new shield while he took a step aside. The spell went wide, not even grazing his shield. He cursed his bad luck. This lucky hit from the boy had lost him the advantage, and he had to recover it before Potter had time to cast - he had heard about Dolohov's fate.
Clenching his teeth and ignoring the pain in his right arm, he dodged another spell to conserve his shield and then took a few steps forward and one to the left. While doing so, he used a weak, but fast blow to bat the boy's blade away. As soon as he had achieved that, he took another step forward to get into striking distance while he swung his axe down to his right and backwards, to circle behind him and end in a powerful double-handed overhead blow.
At least that was the plan he had before ten inches of steel were rammed into his gut while the axe was still on the way down and back. The shock caused him to let go, and his trusted companion in work and play flew away, to hit a Floo Portal with a resounding clank, chipping the wall; while his wand rolled over the floor.
The pain intensified when Potter jerked the blade out of his gut, and a sudden dizziness brought him to his knees with a surprised gasp, while he still stared at the face of the man he had thought to be a boy. The cold, calculating look in Potter's face as the blade again entered his foe's body - this time piercing his heart - told Walden McNair something he would have never believed possible.
He'd been tricked by a Gryff'.
*** London, Bayswater Borough, around 1 o'clock ***
Henry savoured the taste of his steak in pepper crust. He was currently sitting in a fancy central London restaurant, celebrating the day with his wife, eating out. As far as he knew, Remus and Tonks were off to some place in Diagon Alley, doing the same. After all, they had the same good reason to celebrate.
Of course, they could have had the same or an even better meal at home. He chuckled lightly over that thought while he sipped on his Bordeaux. Half a year ago, all he had seen of magic was the show they received when they were told about magic, and the occasional items in Hermione's trunk. Or Diagon Alley, he admitted. Still, he hadn't even noticed magic in his life back then, and half a year later, he considered a magical house 'home' and 'housemaid' elves were a part of his life.
That life also included spur-of-the-moment visits on a tropical island full of pirates. He also fondly remembered the dress his wife wore at that location and the possibilities these dresses in combination with the lush vegetation provided. Margret was oblivious to the cause of her husband's smile - or maybe not, she knew her over-sexed monster all too well - and returned his smile as she daintily took another bite of her 'Trout Fillet in Saint Someone Sauce' - he didn't pay much attention to her ordering.
The only thing that tarnished this nice moment was that they weren't eating out just because his son-in-law-to-be was still alive, it was also due to the fact that they weren't able to completely soundproof the Master bedroom from the outside, he thought with a sigh.
Hermione had kept her promise and dragged Harry up into their room for the 'epic shag' the moment they returned. They probably were at it, still.
*** just a short ride on a broomstick away ***
"So, how long?" Tonks asked after she had put down her thinned mead, staring out of the window into the grey London weather. Normally, she wouldn't drink anything stronger than butterbeer in public, but today was a day to celebrate. Most people would peg her as the type to go out and get herself hammered on a regular basis, but while she certainly livened up a party, she never drank. At least not much. On her fifteenth birthday, she tried that for the first and last time. Let's state for posterity that a drunk or hung-over metamorphmagus was no pretty sight, and leave it at this...
Remus swallowed his Shepherd's Pie before he replied. "How long, what?"
"Till the two come out again? Don't be stupid - I meant how long it will take until you find out what Dumbledore hides, Remy," was the huffed reply. "I want back on the island and leave this weather behind."
Remus could only shrug his shoulders as he put down his cutlery. "Dora, all the kids and I have is that He was an orphan, a cruel kid, and that He had a tendency to hoard trophies. While interesting, I doubt that this will hold the key to victory," he said before he took a sip of his Guinness. Savoring the taste, he paused for a moment before he tried to continue his briefing.
"And there is the part of the ring and locket of Slytherin," Tonks cut him off, waving her lamb chop in his direction as she spoke. Remus briefly smiled as she did so, hoping that this time, she wouldn't end up throwing her food across the table. She just couldn't have a discussion without gesticulating.
"You can make of this whatever you want," he replied between bites of his dragon steak, while loading his fork with some more of the pie side-dish. "I don't have the slightest idea how there could be a connection between those two and our problem."
Tonks twirled her fork of Brussels sprouts pensively. "I just can't forget the circumstances under which we found the locket. I have a feeling we are missing something,"she trailed off, eating her bite. Remus raised an eyebrow in anticipation, but didn't question her. He instead patiently waited for her to finish eating.
"You know, our theory about it being cursed - all evidence points to it, and that makes me nervous."
"I don't think I can follow you, Dora," Remus admitted.
"It's just a feeling. We Aurors say: 'When it looks, walks and quacks like a duck, someone is hiding something' - It's just too perfect an explanation, and simply conjectural. We have no idea what the locket was for."
"Obviously, it was to burn a hole through a person's chest," Remus said after another satisfying gulp of Guinness. To a werewolf, nothing beats the taste of that brew. "A very nasty curse, if you ask me. Even if you get it off quickly, the most probable victims would be devastated about burn scars on the chest."
"Figures that you don't get it. You never were a field agent, and you never worked with Moody," Tonks sighed.
"Enlighten me, then," Remus replied, a little annoyed.
"Don't be like that. I mean, if the locket was a trap, it should open quickly, but the kids banged it around and nothing happened."
"They didn't put it on, so it probably didn't trigger," Remus countered.
"Maybe, but it sounds fishy to me," Tonks replied before she took another swig. "Call it female intuition."
Knowing that nothing would beat the 'female intuition' card, once played. But he couldn't keep from mirroring her doubts as he continued his steak.
*** Same time, in the dark lair ***
Disappointed, Voldemort shook his head. The plan was sound.
Slowly, he walked up and down in his chambers, trying to find the flaw.
'Who would have thought that Potter, a simple boy, would see through our plans so easily and counter them so completely,' he thought. With a jerk, he came to a halt as realisation hit him. The Potter brat didn't - it was McNair's fault.
Overconfidence.
Simple.
Devastating.
McNair was so secure in his skills with that stupid muggle toy that he didn't even take into consideration that it was a stupid weapon for a duel. Of course, it was a tool of destruction against the necks of stupid beasts, but it was clumsy. And slow.
Lord Voldemort was a master dueller, not only because of the power he harnessed, but because of his speed. In a fight, speed was everything.
McNair learned that crucial lesson too late. He didn't even manage to cut Potter just once; a drop of blood on the axe would have been enough for the ritual, the Dark Lord thought as he resumed his slow walk. He turned left and headed for his library, walking towards his big stuffed chair, the reading desk with the tomes he currently studied right beside it.
'It doesn't matter,' he thought as he sat down and reached for the topmost book. There were still other plans in motion.