Harry Potter and the Champion of Darkness

Chapter 9: Two Duels in One Day

Time passed slowly for Brother Death Eater as he stared at the ceiling in his room. How he wanted to act, how he wanted to taste the soul of the girl he must drink in order to attain perfection. She was a human weakness and must be concealed with a deluge of hatred and hostility.

Brother Death Eater stared out the window to his left, and saw the fire dancing in the sky. The sun was dipping below the western horizon, and soon, night would fall. The power of darkness enhanced his powers, and with the cloak of night, he would assault Hogwarts and claim the life of the girl he left behind. Harry Potter was not in Hogwarts, this much he knew, and no one would be able to oppose him. He had ways of facilitating his approach, and he knew he would not be denied his feast.

The gray-eyed abomination pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. Feeling things again still hadn't lost its allure. He enjoyed being able to feel the touch of his hair in his fingertips. Listlessly, he coiled a lock in his finger, feeling the tightening squeeze of pressure in the tip. His fingertip had swelled red as the blood was cut off for even a moment.

Blood.

Life flowed through him, he came to realize. What powered this life was not a soul, however, but many souls. There meaning and individuality had been swept away in a raging tide of hatred, leaving Brother Death Eater in command of all their power. Never before, either in life or death, had he felt such a rush of power. He commanded absolute control of his own abilities, and were these abilities ever enhanced due to his rebirth. He held up a soft, smooth hand that had felt the touch of love once and allowed his own hatred and malice to flow from the core of his being, down his arm and out his very fingertips. A black tendril of smoke flickered out from each of his fingers, coiling and enveloping his arm with midnight rage. The billowing darkness continued to wrap around him, his fingers expelling the cloud without stopping. He could feel the comforting coldness wrapping around his body protectively.

It occurred to him then that he was the darkness. Whether he be the Dark Lord's Champion, or the Champion of Darkness itself, it mattered not. All that mattered was blood and revenge.

Brother Death Eater would not rest until he had both.

* * * * * *

The four friends, if you could call them that, strode out onto the beach just as the sun finished its descent over the horizon. Harry and Draco were dressed as they always had been before, a nice touch decided on by Malfoy that Harry could not refute. They proudly wore their Hogwarts robes on this empty beach and the crashing of waves accompanied their own deep breathes of anticipation. Only one other time had Harry willingly accepted a duel, and the boy standing next to him, wearing the proud insignia of the Slytherin house, had thrown that at him. Harry gripped his wand tightly from under his robes and looked back to Hermione and Sean, who had followed behind the two determined duelists. Harry still did not miss Hermione's look of disapproval, even though it had been clearly etched upon her face since the first moment she had heard of this duel. Harry didn't need to be a psychic to see the surface thoughts that were going through his best friend's head. She was worried about him, and Malfoy. Even if these two beach bums had bitten off way more than they could chew, she feared Harry and Malfoy might do too much to them.

It hurt Harry when he realized that could only be her thought process. Had he really sparked such a mental association within Hermione's head as someone excessive, that might have to be restrained from doing harm to other people, and perhaps harm to his friends? Had he really gone from the wide-eyed Boy Who Lived to Harry Potter, He-Who-Carries-Narhassa's-Will?

"As I thought," snorted Malfoy snidely as he paced in front of Harry. "They have chickened out, and you have wasted my time once again, Potter."

Harry could not let that one pass without rebuttal. "I seem to recall someone a few years ago who chickened out on a duel as well."

Malfoy waved his hand, though a thin flush of color appeared within Malfoy's cheek. "That was all part of a very evil plan to get you expelled!"

"It didn't work too well, now did it?" questioned Hermione bossily, as she stood next to Sean. Sean smirked at that, while Draco simply grunted.

"I trust you didn't bring me out here to relive cherished first year memories?" inquired Draco, in lieu of a response to Hermione. "I'm getting rather fed up here. Where are these beach bum wizards? You know... Malfoys traditionally only wait for executions."

Harry shrugged with confusion. "I don't know. They said they'd be here."

"Yeah, well, they sure are..." Draco trailed off, and each of the four magic-users lifted their eyes from the water at the sound of a very strange noise coming from a very strange place. Up above their heads, in the night sky above, lights flickered. Quite unlike the stars or the moon, however, these lights were moving toward them and sputtering like engines. Before Harry could voice anything, about six mopeds landed upon the beach, about thirty feet away from them, kicking up sand as they went. The lead moped stopped and the two riders dismounted. With a quick click, he removed his helmet. Predictably, it was Sandy.

"Ah, I see the famous Harry Potter brought his famous entourage..." he baited, glancing over Draco, Hermione and Sean. Pointing out his hand like a gun, he targeted Draco. "Lemme guess, Ron Weasley..." he then pointed toward Hermione. "And you must be Hermione Granger."

Draco narrowed his eyes and rolled up his sleeves. "Alright Mudblood, you will eat that insult."

About six bikes in total landed on the beach and formed a group near Sandy, who brazenly smirked at Harry. Harry couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive. How did Sandy learn of Ron and Hermione? Apparently, that same question was on the tip of Hermione's tongue as well, but she also couldn't respond before the second rider removed his helmet.

"I did a report on you in Foreign Studies... the Famous Harry Potter," stated Janus, arrogantly pushing his silver hair out of his eyes. For the first time, he did not seem to be wearing glasses and Harry now saw why. Even in the dying light, he saw that the boy had pink eyes, no doubt very sensitive to light. "You've done so much... saved the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort, killed a Basilisk, and even won yourself a Triwizard Championship."

Hermione spoke first, beating Harry to the punch. "Well, anyone can read a newspaper."

Janus crossed his arms smugly and continued, but not before taking a deep breath. "Harry Potter, born June 30^th, 1982, son to James and Lily Potter, killed 1983 by Lord Voldemort. Became a first year Gryffindor Student September 1^st, 1991 where he was also made the Gryffindor Seeker with a current record of 10-3, pending the outcome of your Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game in precisely four weeks and five days. He is 5'8, 160 pounds, give or take a few, and currently lists the Stunning Charm and Patronus Charm as his most memorable and difficult spells to date among various other C brand Hogwarts spells common to a 1^st through 5^th year." Janus took a gasp for air and cough out the last sentence. "His particular weakness is Potions."

Harry blinked his eyes and barely remembered how to breathe. Sandy and his friends were already laughing, while Janus cocked his head questioningly to Hermione, a snicker of triumph on his face. "How'd I do?"

Harry had to admit, Janus' rambling was precisely accurate, as well as he knew anyway. How he had found out all this information, Harry could only guess. He had always thought the Philosopher's stone was a secret - well, perhaps that is why everyone in the Wizarding World found out.

Meanwhile, Draco just smirked, a strange yet typical expression. "Well, I also did my homework on you too."

Now it was Janus' turn to blink, while Draco commanded the attention of everyone else. Draco took a huge, deep breath, mocking Janus.

"Stupid silver-haired git, whose name isn't important enough to remember. No one cares when he was born and he probably doesn't even know his father. Attended some second rate Colonies school, probably Castagloria, substandard in all respects to Hogwarts. Fancies other men, wouldn't know fashion sense if it bit him in the arse. His strength is wanking off while his weakness is a member that is so small that a squirrel tried to take it, mistaking it for an acorn."

Draco took a second, deep breath and leered contentedly at Janus, who shrunk back under the verbal assault. Harry couldn't help but chuckle uneasily, though a stout elbow from Hermione showed him that his best friend did not approve of his actions. Sean, who had remained silent this entire time, also managed a laugh, despite the situation. Sandy seemed the most visibly moved by Draco's humor, laughing louder than any. Janus finally recovered and rolled up his sleeves.

"Yeah well... um... your mommas so dumb it takes her sixty minutes to watch two hours... um, wait... that's not... I mean..."

Draco merely shook his head. "What incredible wit..."

Even Hermione couldn't help but join in the laughter, turning Janus' cheeks the color of his eyes. The flustered boy balled up his fists while even his own six friends carried on at his expense. Sandy's laughter, however, was short-lived as he approached Harry, the mirth in his eyes quickly fading.

"Well, let's do it... what rules you go by, Survivor or Two-Man Team?"

Harry blinked, for in truth, he had no idea. This would be his first fair duel with mentionable rules. He glanced back to Draco, who was looking condescendingly at Harry. Without even a verbal prompt, Draco took Harry's flank looking bored.

"Survivor," he stated thickly, smirking at Harry for his own naiveté. "One on one, the second jumps in when the first is beaten," He then glanced over to Sandy, in a remarkable show of generosity toward Harry. Why he made it seem as though he was explaining this to Sandy needlessly, and not mocking Harry's ignorance was unknown to him. "Got that, Mublood?"

Sandy scowled and crossed his arms, apparently taking offense by the insult. How Draco even knew this kid was a Muggle born, if he even was, was quite beyond Harry's frame of understanding. Perhaps a pureblooded wizard like Draco could smell Muggleborns.

"Of course I got it... let's go."

Sandy's friends backed away from him and Janus, and both wizards took up a defensive status. Draco and Harry stepped away, moving down the length of the beach.

"Don't read anything into this..." warned Hermione, as she backed away from the two duelists, "but, good luck, Harry."

Harry puzzled that comment over for a moment. What did she mean, don't read into it? Was she simply implying that she didn't approve of this duel, or was it something else? Something a bit more personal, perhaps?

Draco shot Hermione and incredulous look. "Am I invisible?"

In a rare chance to irritate Draco, Hermione simply smiled loftily and turned her heel, walking away with Sean in toe behind her. He managed to shoot Harry a quick thumbs up before they took their positions, watching.

Draco, who cleared his throat loudly and commanded attention, forcefully dragged Harry's attention from their duo of cheerleaders. Feeling a bit dazed and confused, Harry shifted his feet in the sand.

"Loose the shoes for better mobility," observed Draco, who had already kicked off his sneakers and socks. "And, don't use the Stunning Charm."

Harry complied, seeing logic in Draco first idea, but he just didn't see eye to eye with him on the second. "Why not? You heard that kid... it's my best spell."

Well, that wasn't entirely true, Harry realized. He could simply roast both boys with a blast of lightning by using his Narhassa powers, but Harry was no fool. The ramifications for tapping into his Narhassa energy would be serious injury to those two boys, and Harry didn't want that.

"I think he's protected from it," opined Draco, nodding to their wayward foes. Harry's eyes went out of focus, glancing beyond Draco to the opposite side of the beach. It was difficult to see in the gloom, but he was able to make out Sandy drinking from a flask and wiping his mouth quickly.

"He just drank something," noted Harry, grimly.

Draco didn't seem surprised at all. His face remained stony, but his cheekbones pushed out with a slight tense. "Bugger... these guys are taking this duel very seriously," explained Draco, frowning with disappointment. "Bet that Mudblood was brewing that potion since you met him this morning."

"What's it do?" questioned Harry, returning his eyes squarely to Draco.

The pallid boy relaxed a moment later, as if convinced of something else. "It's a Contingency Potion. We studied them this year. Weren't you paying attention?"

Harry glared at Draco. The Slytherin knew that Potions was his worst subject, and apparently, so did Sandy. They had not expected Harry to catch on. "Pretend I forget and explain it to me," prompted Harry urgently.

Draco raised an upper lip with a form of disgust. "Shouldn't be hard to do that." With a snort of impatience, Draco continued. "Basically, after its brewed, you cast one spell into the potion. When that potion is drank, under a certain set of circumstances, the spell cast on that potion activates itself from within the body... what I'd do if I was dueling you would be to drink an Enervation Contingency Potion, set to the condition of you stunning me. When your spell didn't work, I'd blast you into oblivion."

Harry blinked once and rested his hands upon his hips slyly. "You've thought that through, haven't you?"

"Of course," stated Draco plainly, his smug voice creeping off his tongue. "Do you have any idea how many times I've beaten the piss out of you in my mind?"

Any reply was stolen from his tongue by a call from across the beach, fifty feet away. "Hey, you two ready?"

Sandy and Janus had finished their business and were now ready. Sandy stood in front of Janus. It was the first time that Harry had noticed it, but Sandy and Janus were not wearing robes like Harry and Draco. Sandy was dressed in a light, expensive leather jacket. Even from afar, a slight glimmer emanated from his shoulder. It appeared to be a crystal, shaped as a water drop with fine cursive stitching beneath the icon, spelling the word Water in azure thread. Janus, too, had a similar patch, though his was brown and sphere shaped, with the word Earth written beneath his picture. They certainly weren't as detailed or as personally stylish as Harry or Draco's Gryffindor or Slytherin patches.

Perhaps, after they mopped the floor with the two other boys, they'd have to explain what those patches meant.

Harry strode out confidently, his robe whipping in the fierce, oceanic wind. With a firm hand, he pushed his disobedient black bangs out of his eyes and drew closer to Sandy, setting his face into an intense scowl of concentration. The boys approached slowly, the wind calming from a dull roar to intense quiet as Harry turned on his focus. The boy was a few inches taller than him, and a year or two older, but Harry had experience. There was no way this wetback colonist had seen the things Harry had seen or experienced the pain and suffering of the Cruciatus Curse. There would be little this boy could do to hurt him.

They stood face to face, locking each other with fierce expressions. Harry almost forgot he was on the beach with the bleeding amber tip of the sun just about to duck behind the watery horizon. As relaxed as he felt, he might as well have been in Dueling Club again, squaring off against Malfoy.

Sandy snapped his wand to attention, and Harry followed suite, their eyes never breaking contact. Harry's wand was thin and ancient looking compared to the glassy black wand Sandy sported. Had the boy even polished his wand for the occasion? Harry could see the focus and determination in the boy's hazel green eyes, as if victory was the only language he spoke. At the same time, they turned heel and began to pace away. The sand gave way under Harry's feet, and his heart began to slow into a meditative thump. He could feel the handle of his wand go moist as he tightened his grip.

And he whirled around then, after ten steps. Sandy, apparently in sync with Harry, rounded on his heels as well and both boys leveled their wands at each other. Harry chose his favored dueling stance, his left hand over his head, his body sideways to his foe, and his wand outstretched, prepared to deliver hell.

Sandy's style seemed more relaxed and even lazy, with his wand held loosely in front of him, and his left hand coiled behind his back, for what reason, Harry didn't know.

Harry wasn't sure when he was supposed to begin, but decided that he'd be quick enough to recite a counter curse if the boy started first. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed Draco pass him on the side. He allowed his eyes to wander from Sandy to Draco, and the American boy's second, Janus. Apparently, the two seconds were going to meet on the side, with their own wands drawn. They confronted each other and both nodded once, their wands extended. Then, they made contact, a wooden crack echoed across the beach. Harry tensed, as did Sandy, both boys returning their undying attention to each other.

"One," snapped Draco's voice, over the wind.

They tapped wands again. "Two," affirmed the smaller, silver-haired boy.

With much more vigor, both boys slammed wands and backed off, rushing back behind their firsts. "Go!"

Apparently, both boys had the same plan of delaying, for neither Sandy nor Harry began casting right away. Sandy began a slow, cautious pace to his right, as the sounds of his American friends cheering him on began to erupt from his side. It was clear that the older boy had home field advantage. Harry also moved to his right, gradually putting the ocean from his side to his back in an attempt to keep the distance between them square.

Sandy whipped his wand forward, straightening his arm. "Disconjerti!"

Three rings of clear liquid shot forth from Sandy's wand, expanding in diameter and streaking toward Harry, kicking up sand as they went. Harry stalled, having never seen this spell before, however his Quidditch reflexes availed him when his arcane knowledge failed him. He wove quickly to his right and dove headfirst through the rings, avoiding their edges with keen agility.

Time seemed to slow as Harry dodged the last ring. He was still airborne, but felt as though he had all the time in the world. Locking his wand forward, he uttered the first curse to come to his mouth, something he had learned in Charms this year.

"Dragoria!"

Sandy spun around, bringing his left hand into bear. Two silver projectiles shot from Harry's wand, each arching out to the side and converging on Sandy.

It now became clear why he had coiled his left hand behind his back... he had been hiding a second potion in his hand. Harry half-expected him to drink it, but instead, the boy flipped off the cap and splashed himself, staining his body a shade of magenta. The two bolts of energy collided into Sandy, but to Harry's disbelief, reflected off of the boy and turned back on him!

Harry hit the ground with a solid thud as he rolled to the side, barely avoiding his own spell. Now, purely off balance and on the ground, Harry could barely stand up before Sandy was at him again, thrusting his wand forward and his left hand to the side, like he were fencing with a rapier.

"Expellarmus!"

Harry grunted with the impact of power as he was launched into the air, spinning head over heels backward, over twenty feet. His wand shot out of his fingertips, skipping off the sand on the edge of the water. Harry grunted as he slapped into the ocean. Hardly over his head, in fact, only in a foot or two of water, Harry sat up and spat angrily, he reached out into the darkness, preparing to use a bit of wandless magic. He couldn't see his wand, but that hardly mattered. Seeing this done once before with minor success, Harry called "Accio Wand!"

He heard his wand whip off the ground, whizzing at his head. Sensing his own magical device, he snatched it deftly out of the air, and rose, water dripping off his robes, making them cling uncomfortably to his body. Sandy had made a critical mistake, however, and was not pressing his attack. Instead, he was raising his arms and inciting his friends.

"Harry Potter, indeed!" chuckled Sandy, who turned back to Harry's rising form. "Guess I can take on the Brits Dark Lord too? Come on, Weasley, finish this up for your little friend."

"No!" called out Harry, who waded out of the water and back onto the beach and took the place of a very eager looking Draco, who apparently was ready for blood at being called "Weasley" again. "I'm not done yet, cheater."

"Cheater?" questioned Sandy arrogantly, training his wand at him. "How can you cheat when there are no rules?"

Harry bit his lip with impatience. What sort of competition of skill was this, he wondered with scorn, when the winner would be determined by whoever brewed this most potions beforehand? This was such a pointless waste of time. "You need potions to win!" protested Harry, though he knew his argument sounded less mature and more like a whine. "This duel is off..."

"The hell it is!" exclaimed Draco, glaring at Harry. "Ok, forget him... you and me now," demanded Draco, fixing Sandy with a deathly stare.

Sandy, however, just laughed. "You heard him..." he whirled on Sean arrogantly, his eyes alight with victory. "Your Waveracer, now."

Harry could feel the injustice swelling in his face. No longer was he standing on the beach, being bullied by this older, cheating boy. He was in Potions Class, two years ago, being mocked, ridiculed and unfairly treated by Professor Snape, loosing points from Gryffindor left and right.

Harry turned to see the look of shock and disbelief on Sean's face as he stared at Harry blankly. It had been Sean's property that was put up for collateral, and it wasn't Harry who was loosing anything from this fight.

"Sandy!" barked Harry rolling up his sleeves with hostility. He was not going to loose Sean's property, not tonight, not ever. He tossed his wand aside with fury, his face darkening as a feeling of cold rage built in his chest. "Double or nothing... I win, nothing happens, you win... you can have my wand."

Sandy scoffed with disbelief while the rest of the crowd hooted and hollered at the prospect of their friend winning the wand of Harry Potter... oh my, how well would THAT sell.

It wasn't even a question to consider for the spiky haired boy.

"As you will have it," agreed Sandy, smirking callously. "Go ahead and summon your wand back, and we will begin anew."

Harry balled up his fists at his side. "No need."

Sandy blanched with total dismay now, his haughty attitude quickly fading. "What?"

Draco, who grabbed his shoulder from behind, in a very tight, hardly consoling grip, stole Harry's momentum. "Harry, don't... I know what you are about to do. Don't do it."

"Leave me be, Malfoy," snapped Harry, returning his stare to Sandy. "I'm fine."

Hermione and Sean both remained silent, Sean through stunned suspense and Hermione for outright disapproval. It was no mystery to Harry that Hermione had lost interest in this fight when she realized how much of a cheating jerk Sandy was.

Yet, it was again strange why Hermione was not jumping to defend Harry as well, but instead, was settling for watching from the sidelines, like some aloof, uncaring spectator. The Hermione Harry had known for five years would have been slapping Sandy for his cheating in a duel. The Hermione that watched him now, with that impassive stare, was the same Hermione that had bashed Ron behind his back, and had allowed him to follow her to Dumbledore's office.

What was she on about lately?

The thought nearly sobered Harry up, but not quite, for the sound of Sandy's laughing voice cut through the air like poison to his ears. "What, you want to fist fight or something, Potter? Your call."

Harry, instead of replying to that, crossed his arms, leaving his wand in between them. "Make the first move."

Sandy, stunned into confusion, didn't react at first. However, in the end, he just shrugged and raised his wand. "Very well, good-bye. Stupefy!"

A purple ray of energy shot forth at Harry, as if traveling in slow motion. Harry raised his hands into the air, picturing the wealth of Narhassa energy that flowed within his veins... the essence of the Fallen Angel herself. He could feel the power flowing through his hands, green, clouds of energy that coursed through his fingertips.

The spell slammed into the force projected from the palm of Harry's hands and was cunningly deflected back toward Sandy's fans. The unlucky figure who caught it was masked in the gloom, but he saw the person crumple to the ground.

Grunting with anger, he felt his walls and his resistance to Narhassa's will falling. With gnarled fingers, taut and shaking to their limits, Harry unleashed hell, the white flash of his lightning bolts illuminating his face ashen for a split second.

Harry watched the spectacle with glowing green eyes as the current snapped and flared at the dumbfounded older boy. This boy hadn't the first idea what he had just gotten himself into...

* * * * * *

Ron's feet remained rooted to the grassy ground beneath his bare feet. His long, red hair blew in the gentle wind atop the plateau. His arms tightened as he contracted the muscles within, controlling his breathing with the techniques Felmarthe had explained to him, with his ease of charisma and his grasp of the concept in a way that might very well put most other druidic mentors to shame.

"Do you feel it, Maldaras?" asked Felmarthe, stretching his arms to the sky, his wild black hair falling about his shoulders as he slowly turned, the muscles in his chest working with perfect harmony.

Ron squared his shoulders away and tore off the cloth jerkin he wore over his chest, also exposing himself to the warmth of the jungle in the early morning. They stood upon a ledge of ground, perched precariously in the middle of a raging river, a sort of druidic arena. From behind the river, eyes watched him and Felmarthe as they prepared their exercises. Whether they were the simple servants of nature, druids or master druids, Ron couldn't guess, though he had a hunch Felmarthe knew.

"The sun feels good on my skin," noted Ron as he returned his attention to Felmarthe. "Though the failures of my previous tasks weigh heavy on my enjoyment."

Felmarthe glanced over his shoulder, running his hand through his course mane of black hair on the top of his head. "Often, the mind, body and spirit only move forward after a step back. Keep heart, and you will see through."

Ron nodded, the words of his best friend consoling him deeply. He squared his feet, feeling the essence of nature seep from the ground into his feet and energize his whole body, running like a wave of delight to his heart and spreading to his fingertips.

Felmarthe bowed low to Ron, his emerald green eyes never leaving Ron's own blue ones. How many times had they practiced dueling in the past, Ron had lost track. Like all times before, Felmarthe had won... but this time, Ron had a plan and he was certain he would succeed.

Ron coiled his left hand like a snake, raising his elbow to his temple and outstretching his arm, the standard formation of Claw. His right hand, elbow pointed down, locked firmly, his palm facing Felmarthe, who had mirrored Ron's stance perfectly.

"Good luck, Maldaras," offered Felmarthe.

Ron merely nodded, for he didn't take this fight quite as lightly as his best friend.

As always, Felmarthe made the first move, dropping to a crouch and pushing off the ground, propelling himself into the air with his druid powers. In a split second, he had cleared the twenty feet between them, the sole of his foot streaking dead on for Ron's head. Ron channeled all of the power he had taken through his feet and placed it onto his arms. He locked them tightly and leaded back, bracing to take the impact of Felmarthe's foot. It stung, no doubt about it, but it hardly moved him back a step as the fight shifted focus to closed quarters, Felmarthe landing on his other foot and splitting widely to regain his balance.

With lightning reflexes, Ron's foot came up with a taunting jab to Felmarthe's face. The other druid saw the hit for what it was and simply accepted it. Ron, balancing on one foot, jerked his leg back and attempted to drive the heel of his foot into the top of Felmarthe's head. The other druid rolled to the side, pitching out his arm and snagging Ron's balancing foot. With a pull backward, Ron's balance was forfeit and down he went, into a grapple with his friend.

Still pressing his small advantage, Ron managed to fall onto Felmarthe, sliding down his back and locking his arms around his waist. Continuing with his downward momentum, Ron pulled, flipping the other druid over his groin and, just before Ron hit the ground himself, he drove Felmarthe's shoulders fiercely into the ground executing the piledriver to perfection.

Not to be outdone, Felmarthe locked his legs around Ron's neck, for a moment, cutting off his breath. He twisted his shoulders, pushing off of the ground and toppled Ron off of him into the grass next to them. As quickly as Ron had the advantage, he lost it, for Felmarthe rolled onto Ron, his knees pinning against Ron's neck.

He would not loose this fight so quickly, decided Ron, and he began to use his arms, attempting to drive a solid flurry of blows into Felmarthe's chest, from his right and left hand interchangeably. Felmarthe had tightened his chest muscles, and the first hit was like striking a stone wall, though the other boy had grunted painfully. Using his own hands, Felmarthe snagged each of Ron's wrists and pushed them into the ground next to him.

The lack of oxygen was beginning to make him desperate, but Ron was convinced not to panic. His legs were sticking out from behind Felmarthe, but were more or less free. Using all the discipline he could muster, he popped each leg out of his groin socket with little effort and pulled his legs back at an impossibly acute angle. The lack of a secure joint would make the hits weak, but they were the only chance he had. He launched each of his feet into the side of Felmarthe's head, crunching his ears with a sudden, precise hit. The druid grunted under the impact, but his own legs could not aid him in his defense. Cutting at Felmarthe's head like a pair of scissors, Ron's legs slammed the sides of Felmarthe's head again and again, until the boy was forced to release Ron, rolling off of him with pain.

Rolling back onto his shoulders, Ron jerked his legs back into their sockets and pushed off the ground, kicking up to his feet. Felmarthe, his ears still ringing from Ron's punishment, was a second slower than him.

A second Ron would not let him forget.

He rushed forward, his left leg leading the way with a fancy triple kick to Felmarthe's face. The flat of his foot struck Felmarthe square in the nose once. Ron jerked his leg back, stalling his forward momentum and took a chance. He drove his left foot into the ground, a foot from Felmarthe and channeled all his energy into hips. With a fearsome pivot, Ron propelled his right leg around his body, its speed fantastic and deadly. Felmarthe, blinded by Ron's first attack, could only watch with dazed confusion as Ron's right foot swung around and prepared to crack the side of his temple...

Just before contact, however, a voice broke through his mind with triumphant force, as if having been hammering in the back of his skull for hours.

"... Ron!"

Ron's kick missed Felmarthe, who had suddenly become insubstantial. In fact, the raging water around him, the grassy plateau, even the clear-blue sky faded away, as if being flushed down a toilet.

Ron jerked his head up from the book in front of him, gasping with disbelief as another location, strangely unfamiliar at first, replaced it. He was lying on his chest, within the Gryffindor dormitory. The lights were all on, and someone was shaking his shoulder, confronting him... disturbing him.

"Ron! Are you..."

Ron snatched the wrist belonging to the person shaking his hand. With an unbelievable heave, he flipped his arm in front of his head, all of his muscles contracting in his arm at once. His elbow had struck the book, which had knocked it off the foot of the bed. Startled by Ron's amazing surge of strength, Neville Longbottom flipped over Ron's back and landed facedown on the bed next to him, hard.

"You prat!" yelled Ron, as he leapt onto Neville's back, now recognizing him for who he was, and hardly caring. Ever since Neville had betrayed the Gryffindor's to Redetyor a few weeks ago, no one thought very highly of him. Still maintaining his grasp on Neville's wrist, Ron twisted it behind his back in a hold Felmarthe had shown him. Neville screamed with pain, his legs flailing helplessly behind him. "I almost had him!"

Neville gasped and wailed, unable to form words in light of Ron's fearsome hold. All Ron had to do was tighten his grip and pull, and he could snap Neville's arm like a twig, and he knew it.

"Next time I'm sitting on my bleeding bed, with my head in a book, don't you dare interrupt me," he exclaimed coldly, pulling lightly and sending a whole new shockwave of pain down his arm. "I don't care if I've been there for one week straight and my body has begun to decompose and the horrific smell of death fills this room... don't you dare shake me!"

Tears of pain streamed down Neville's face as he furiously began to nod his head. It all caught up to Ron a split second later with the icy realization of what he was doing. Neville hadn't meant to interrupt him... he had been concerned about him. He had been about to ask him if he was alright. Ron had to confess that he had no sense of time right now, for all he knew, he could have been there for hours.

Ron released Neville's arm and got off his back. Neville, in a real hurry to get away from Ron, pushed off the bed, cradling his arm against his chest like it were broken. He rounded on Ron, his eyes wide with betrayal and confusion.

"Look, Neville... I'm..." began Ron awkwardly.

Neville, who had begun a strange bout of shaking, rushed out of the room, opening the door to their dorm with a firm shoulder check.

Ron sighed and sat back against the pillows of his room, watching Neville go and slam the door behind him. He sighed and removed his golden glasses, clearing them of the moisture build-up his own sweat had caused. It all felt so real to Ron... and even though he was back in Harry's cloned body now, he had never felt more like Ron than when he was reading Maldaras: The Essence of Terror.

What had made Maldaras become the thing he had...? So far, it seemed like him and Ron had much in common. Unless he was projected into the book, however he wanted to look, Maldaras had red hair, though he wore it down to his shoulders, much longer than anything Ron had ever grown. And, of course, Maldaras was much better built, but everything else had been normal. Ron half-wondered if Maldaras had blue eyes as well.

His involvement in the book was one-way, however, Ron realized. He didn't act like himself in the story... for he was still bound by a linear plot. He might have been able to experience who Maldaras was, but he couldn't give back to that character. He couldn't personalize his own decisions. For that, the book was a one way interaction. Still, it unnerved him greatly... whatever Maldaras felt, Ron had felt too. He had wanted to beat Felmarthe with all his mind, heart and body. He had felt oppressed by his best friend, and wanted to show the world that he, Ron Weasley, could beat Felmarthe.

Or, was his name Felmarthe?

Ron shook his head at once, denying the possibility that had just crossed his mind. No, he realized. The book couldn't know that...

He glanced down at the book, which lay neglected on the ground at the foot of his bed. It had closed in the fall, its black leather covering with the title Maldaras: The Essence of Terror reflecting in the dull lamp light of the room.

He glanced out the window of his room. By chance of random positioning, the full moon was shining directly into the room... the sky was dark, and looked to have been dark for quite some time. He had been reading all day since morning, and decided that he needed some air fast. Perhaps Seth was still awake, though Ron doubted he'd check.

Ron slipped out of his room was amazing stealth, moving over the ground at twice his normal walking speed, yet hardly even making a sound. Neville must have run into the bathroom, for the common room was completely empty. He stepped out from the portrait of the Fat Lady, which was thankfully asleep and made haste down the winding staircase and was outside without so much as a portrait or a door breathing a sound of warning to any who might have heard him.

He was outside long before he realized that he had forgotten the Invisibility Cloak all together.

* * * * * *

Staring at the very same moon, Brother Death Eater made his way through the forbidden forest, having Apparated from his room at Hogsmeade to the Forbidden Forest, right on the boundaries of Hogwarts' anti-teleportation wards. Flipping his long, snake-headed cane, Brother Death Eater walked with no real sense or care for speed and time.

The sun would not rise over Hogwarts in hours; he had all the time in the world.

The last boughs parted, revealing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in all its splendor. The high rising Astronomy and North towers kissed the starlit sky, hardly a light remained lit, yet the black castle stood out so profoundly against the snowy ground. Brother Death Eater pulled his head back to the security of the forest, hot steam escaping from his nose and his mouth. He would have it his way tonight, and blood would stain the snow crimson.

Brother Death Eater returned to Hogwarts tonight.