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SIYE Time:6:22 on 29th March 2024
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Trouble…With A Capital T And That Rhymes With P…
By Spenser Hemmingway

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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-HBP, The Duel Challenge (2006-5)
Characters:All, All, All
Genres: Action/Adventure, Humor, Romance
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 12
Summary: Yes there's trouble my friends...right here in River City...er, Hogmeade, and that rhymes with Potter. It's the duel of the century...or is it really? A one-shot written for the Duel Challenge.
Hitcount: Story Total: 5738



Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.



Author's Notes:
**Harry's challenge to Draco Malfoy is taken verbatim from the Challenge posting.




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Trouble…With A Capital T And That Rhymes With P…

By Spenser Hemmingway


“A man can't turn tail and run just because a little personal risk is involved. What did Shakespeare say? "Cowards die a thousand deaths, the brave man...only five hundred?”–Professor Harold Hill, The Music Man



If you have ever read any of my other stories…well, I have included a coupon here for an excellent nausea potion. Seriously though folks, you probably have noticed that a few (a great number actually) of them involve people getting into, and eventually out of, trouble.

If it involves Ron, then it has to have something to do with Hermione, Quidditch, or Hermione. Speaking of whom…with Hermione, who rarely gets into trouble at all (or at least doesn’t get caught), it almost always revolves around the Weasleys or a certain Potter (I probably shouldn’t mention her off-track gambling addiction…oops). In Harry’s case, the trouble generally involves Voldemort, and/or his relationship with Ginny.

Then of course there’s yours truly. When I get into trouble, and it doesn’t involve power tools, it has to be caused by my writing. Now granted, there are a few people around Hogwarts who never were, and probably never will be, members of my fan club. In fact, it really only has four formal members; two are house-elves and another is the resident drunk at the Hog’s Head.

Anyway, problems generally arise when someone takes offense with something I jot down and then publish. The Hufflepuff House is still angry about my describing how they smuggled the water buffalo into the Transfiguration classroom.

In all honesty, however, it seems that I get into the worst dilemmas when I can’t think of anything to produce in the first place. If my friends hear the slightest mention of writer’s block, they collectively hide under their beds until either I’m inspired, or someone is brave enough to relate an interesting incident from their life. Perhaps that’s why Harry and I hit it off so well. Ginny and he have had so many wonderful (and less-than-wonderful) experiences, I have so much writer’s block, and they love the thought of their sixty-two grandchildren being able to read about them someday.

One time, however, Harry and Ginny actually inspired me to generate a story about something that wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did because of my blasted brain cramp. I am going to nail this story to the wall as a reminder about becoming so desperate that I once had to push the envelope the wrong way. It was nearly disastrous. I’m getting ahead of myself though.

It was the fall I came to Hogwarts from Oregon, and, while I had put out a couple good Halloween yarns that month, I was starting to draw a major blank. In fact, my left eye was already beginning to twitch from writing withdrawal. I was in dire need of either inspiration or someone’s mind to pick.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had left that morning in search of another possible Horcrux up in the Shetland Islands. Ginny was spending the day in the infirmary with Madame Pomfrey, having a large number of glass shards removed, and the resulting cuts mended. She had taken it upon herself to try and teach Luna how to can moonberry preserves, which are a favorite of mine. Luna has been my best friend since about five seconds after we met, and I really appreciated the gesture on her part, but that morning she had pulled a Seamus when the whole batch exploded. Ginny would be fine, without so much as a scar but with Luna doing a major clean-up, neither could help me out that day.

Checking my mental list of who in the school was still speaking to me, I decided my best bet would be to seek out good old Neville. I knew without even thinking about it where he would be on our day off, and a quick jog down to Greenhouse Thirteen proved me right. That particular building held only the rarest and most dangerous of plants, and I remembered that only three or four students were allowed inside, especially without Professor Sprout. Naturally this did not include me, but my hands were shaking enough now that I knew I had to bend the rules a bit.

“Hey Neville, how’s it going, you old horse thief,” I called out at a distance. He was pruning an exceptionally large and very ugly purple plant. Despite my sudden, unexpected appearance, he neither jumped nor seemed surprised by my approach.

“Good afternoon Spenser. Why…why would you think that I stole a horse? We only feed the man-eating rhododendrons ground prime rib.”

“Right…it’s just a figure of speech, and an affectionate one too guy. Sorry.”

“Ah, one of your Americanisms. I think I understand. You know I once watched one of your television programs on a Muggle machine. It was inside a department store in London, and it was very confusing. I think that the title was Leave It to Beaver, and…”

“There was no real beaver in it was there?”

“No…no there wasn’t. I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here Spenser.”

“I know I’m not. I just really needed to ask you a big favor. You wouldn’t have any good stories that you would want to share. There’s this challenge I wanted to enter, and I’m without a clue as to what to write. Did that plant just burp?”

Neville hesitated for more than a minute. Despite what I knew he would say, he really had experienced quite a bit over the years himself, and there had to be a few great stories there. The problem was, he did not think of himself that way, and there were no doubt things in his life that he could not, and did not want to, share. I suddenly realized I had made a mistake coming to talk with him without any warning. Fortunately, he saw that I understood, and finally gave me a shy, appreciative smile.

“Spenser, why don’t you try to find what you need in the Room of Requirement. It really is a magical place, and it may help you with your story. I’m sorry that I can’t help you…unless you want to hear about the fascinating world of Bolivian stomach ferns.” It was as close to a joke as I had ever heard out of him. Well, I was assuming it was a joke at least.

“No problem buddy. Thanks! I think I’m going to do just that.” I was amazed at how I hadn’t come up with a solution that was so simple. “Um, Neville…why are there munched up shoes and a Ravenclaw robe over there?”

“Oh no…Brady! I told him not to get too close until I fed Agnes!”

Burp!


*****



Leaving Neville with a crowbar and two gallons of ipecac, I made my way back into the castle and to the hallway where he had directed me. After being interrupted a few times by teachers and other students (all of whom avoiding the twitching writer), I finally started pacing up and down in front of the wall, reciting something about needing to experience a great story. From what I had heard, you needed to be rather specific, but if you said it properly, you could have results in a jiffy. For me, it took more than ten minutes and at least two dozen attempts.

Finally, a rickety door appeared that reminded me of the one on the Quidditch barn. I didn’t associate that with what might be inside, but, thinking back now, perhaps I should have. Slowly opening it, I immediately noticed that my brain was satisfied at the present, and my hands no longer shaking. Laughing now, I threw open the door and rushed inside…no outside into the dark.

I was indeed on the Quidditch field, or at least what would be left of it after a serious R.A.F. bombing raid on the school. In the distance, there wasn’t enough left of the castle to qualify as a pile of rubble. The forbidden forest was black and flattened for at least a hundred yards back into it. The air smelled much like a cross between a garbage dump and a vomit bucket on a hot day. Now you know why I carry those stomach potion coupons.

“Who’s there?” a loud voice called from the darkness. It knocked me out of my trance, and I was on the defense immediately. For some reason though, I didn’t draw my wand. “Hold up Fang! Who’s out there?” he repeated.

“Professor Hagrid? It’s me…Spenser Hemmingway. What’s happened here?”

“What? ‘ere now, I don’t know no Hemmingway. What are you doing here? You sound like a bloody Yank. Hold Fang, I said!”

He emerged from the shadows, and I almost didn’t recognize him. What was left of his beard was matted and charred. The clothes he wore weren’t any more…just rags now. Something was obviously wrong with his left leg, so there was a crutch under one arm, while the other had a death grip on the boarhound’s collar. As the moonlight hit his face, I saw something else. He was blind.

“I am an American, but please don’t call me a Yank.” I wisely decided that it was not the right time to explain baseball team names and fierce rivalries. “You really don’t you remember me? We met at Bill and Fleur Weasley’s wedding, and I’ve been attending Hogwarts for more than two months now.”

“That’s a lie right there it is! The school was destroyed months ago. Bill Weasley never got married. He died the same night…the same night Professor Dumbledore did. The Longbottom boy too. Fact is, all the Weasleys are gone now. You would know that if you was their friend like you said.”

“What? Ron and Ginny? How?” The man seemed to be reflecting on how much to tell me. He obviously didn’t know who I was, or maybe didn’t remember me for some reason. I had to be careful with what I said until I could draw out some more answers. I wasn’t even thinking about a story anymore.

“Young Ron was poisoned…wine it was, and on his birthday. Miss Ginny, she died a brave death, but a foolish one. She tried to take on You-Know-Who by herself after we lost Harry.”

“Harry’s dead? No…it can’t be! Where am I?”

“You know where you are, and unless you’ve been at the bottom of some hole for a while, you should know about all of this. It’s common enough knowledge.” He was once again giving me serious consideration, and when he spoke it was slowly and cautiously. “Harry died in Azkaban Prison…murdered. He was sent there after he killed that git Malfoy in a flippin’ duel. Bloody Slytherin had it comin’, but it didn’t matter. With Harry and Dumbledore gone, You-Know-Who had a day all right. The whole Ministry wiped away in just over a week, and Hogwarts destroyed. I’m all that’s left…as far as I know. I’m not sure where Hermione is. Finnigan, Llewellyn, that Lovegood girl…they all died slow I’m afraid.”

“Luna? Feldercarb!” No that was not the word I used for once. “Harry…Ginny, what did I do?” I took off at a run back toward the Quidditch barn, barely noticing Hagrid shouting something. I did hear Fang chasing me now, either having been released or breaking away to come after me. Fortunately, I had just enough of a lead to make it through the door and quickly seal it behind me. I was a little surprised when I didn’t hear the dog slam into it.


*****



What had happened? Had the Room of Requirement transported me to an alternate universe? Was everything I was seeing some illusion like those holographic rooms on television? The option that really scared me was that I had somehow changed history by summoning and entering the whole thing. I just couldn’t figure out how. Well, I had to assume the worst until I was proven wrong, and that meant that the Room had to send me back to correct things–-to stop that duel. Harry was about to get a bit of help from an unlikely source…me.

Finally looking around, I saw I was inside this time, and in complete darkness except for a circle of light that radiated out for a few feet in all directions. I knew, for some reason, that I was still in the Room of Requirement, but my respect for it had quadrupled. All at once, the circle began to slowly move and naturally I opted to follow along. After several seconds, we came to a stop at a small table. On it rested a letter addressed to Professor Dumbledore, and a large suitcase. I was completely floored when I read the name on it.

“Professor Harold Hill? Gary, Indiana Conservatory of Music? “Oh, come on now!” I shouted at the room. “Do you know the copyright headaches I’m going to run into if I use this in the story? Okay, okay Harry, Ginny…everybody…if this works, and it isn’t just an illusion, someone is going to have to square this with the playwright.”

The moment I picked up the suitcase, the circle of light began to move again. I wasn’t sure, but as I walked I thought it was becoming lighter around me. My surroundings were still dim, but I used the time to try to establish the most basic of plans…make it up as I went. Apparently, I was going to be this professor when I arrived, and my working assumption was that it would be at Hogwarts. I just hoped I could be as glib of tongue as the fictional character I was pretending to be.

I stopped, took a deep breath, and a heartbeat later found myself outside the Great Hall. I immediately darted over to one of the entry area’s mirrors to determine how good of a disguise I had. Hmm…not bad. Well, Robert Preston really was one of my favorite actors.

“Harry, have you gone absolutely mental? You cannot possibly hope to succeed with this. There is no way that you can win!” Hermione shouted at an angry, determined-looking Harry who was stomping toward me…or rather the Hall door as if someone had just kicked his pet dragon. “Harry, you just need to forget this.”

“Could she be more pessimistic? I mean…”

“Shut up Ron!” she shouted at him then, but it was suddenly Harry’s turn to raise his voice.

“Hermione, Hermione!” Harry started, trying his best to control his temper. It must have been something really serious for him to be this upset. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see Malfoy’s face. He is the one who sabotaged Ginny’s Quidditch broom this afternoon. He is the one that caused the branches to fall out…for it to spiral into a nosedive at that height…to sprout feathers just as I pulled her off it.”

“He also stole my set of fuzzy dice, and the twin cup holders I had installed,” Ginny said then, walking up to join them. She surprised Ron and Hermione, but somehow Harry knew she had been there behind him. It must be months before that first kiss, their breakup, and then getting back together, but, at the moment, I was the only one there who knew all this, and I couldn’t tell them…could I?

“I was merely pointing out that Malfoy wants Harry to pick a fight. He’s expecting this,” Hermione told her. I doubted any of them were listening.

“He’s going to get one too,” Ron immediately pointed out, “unless one of your snogging partners wants to step up and defend your honor Gin.” That got some reactions. Ginny’s face flashed with anger at her brother’s words. Hermione was suddenly appearing embarrassed. Harry…he looked just plain hurt at being reminded about Ginny’s boyfriends. He really didn’t realize yet how he felt about her.

“Ginny…” Harry began.

“No Harry. I know what you are going to say, and don’t worry about me. I’ll get back at Draco in my own way later,” Ginny said. “This has been building up for years between you two, and it’s time that it was settled. I’m astounded you allowed things to progress after what he did to poor Hedwig.” I saw Harry’s face wince at remembering whatever had occurred.

“Poor bird…took every last one of her feathers,” Ron cautiously reminded the group. I would have to ask him about it if I ever got back. “Hagrid and Brandon Llewellyn worked all night to restore her.”

“I wouldn’t have thought a bird could blush like that about being naked,” Hermione added. “Harry, you can’t be sure it was him…”

“Can’t I?”

Harry stopped himself suddenly, looking across the room in my direction, finally noticing me, and that I had been listening. Show time.

“Good evening! The name is Professor Harold Hill. I’m from the United States, and here for some special…well business. I’m sorry if I was eavesdropping. Quite unintentional,” I lied. “A dreadful business…dreadful!”

“Professor…” Harry started.

“No…no, it really is none of my business. I’m extraordinarily certain, however, that you will be able to resolve it quite quickly and in a most reasonable, sane manner.” I intentionally stressed this last part, although I knew that I was nowhere close to being able to speak with them about the duel yet. “Now if you will excuse me, I need to find your headmaster, and present my letter of recommendation from…” I looked at the letter’s return address, and my eyes started to bug out the way they do. “From...Mr. Theodosius Bear.”

Good–-Ron and Ginny recognized the name of their father’s old Muggle Studies instructor. That may have bought me a modicum of trust, if I didn’t blow things somehow. Tipping my straw hat, I quickly walked off in search of Professor Dumbledore. I still had no clue about what to do next.


*****



“A most delightful surprise Professor Hill, and a most unexpected one under the circumstances. Theodosius proposes to initiate an exchange program between your American academy and Hogwarts.” The headmaster held my credentials up before him, studying them as if they were alive. At the same time, he seemed to be strangely delighted with the situation. “I am curiously excited with the suggestions mentioned here.”

Oh Boy, I thought then. Whoever was running the Room was good. I hadn’t been able to read the letter before Dumbledore had, but the cover was perfect. It seemed that I was the music instructor from the Canemah Academy in Oregon, and there to initiate negotiations for the eventual swap of students…specifically, me.

“Uhm yes,” I managed to stammer out. “Uncle…I mean Mr. Bear believes it will greatly help your cause if we show America’s faith in you. What better way than by allowing the student to come over for his last year despite the war.” I continued to keep my eyes on Harry as I spoke, waiting for something to happen. Wait…? No, not here…he wouldn’t?

“Apparently you have someone in mind,” Dumbledore said then, barely pulling back my attention. His voice told me that he already knew my answer.

“Oh yes, a wonderful fellow named Spenser. A great kid…and incredible scholar…salt of the earth.” Was my nose growing? It didn’t matter, since he wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes were now fixed on Harry as well, who was standing atop his chair staring off toward the Slytherin table.

“Mr. Potter?” Professor Dumbledore said, acknowledging Harry’s presence there. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that the headmaster knew what was coming next. I was suddenly glad he was there with me, and, for the first time, I was a bit optimistic about my chances for success.

“Malfoy, you have taunted me since we started school here at Hogwarts. You have cursed me, sabotaged my schoolwork, tried to kidnap me for your master Voldemort.” A collective gasp rose throughout the hall at the mention of the man’s name. It only seemed to strengthen Harry’s resolve however. “…and even tried to kill me on more than one occasion. After this afternoon’s incident, this ends now! I challenge you to a duel to take place at noon, this coming Saturday, on neutral Hogwarts grounds by the lake.”**

Oh great! He did it. Now I had to either act quickly or get Hagrid a white cane. Think, think, think…

“No,” Dumbledore calmly said then. I hadn’t even seen him stand up. “No Mr. Potter. Such dueling as you intend is forbidden here. Hogwarts is not some arena where its students can exact personal vengeance over their petty squabbles. If you wish…”

“I’m sorry Professor, but I am quite serious about this. I respect you and this institution more than you will ever know. If not here, then I suggest another location away from the school. Perhaps Hogsmeade will provide the ideal location. If you will not allow me this duel as a student, then you have my formal withdrawal from school here and now.”

Think, think, think…

“Harry…”

“I’m very serious Professor. Malfoy is responsible for all my textbooks suddenly being translated into the High Grablwich language last spring…with all of the punctuation removed as well. It took Hermione weeks to translate enough for me to take my O.W.L. examinations. We found the bookworms you used Malfoy. They had the residual stink of your magic all over them.”

“Enough Potter!” another man to my right said. I knew immediately that it was the famous Professor Snape. A glance and motion from the headmaster left the man no doubt that he was expected to sit down and shut up. That didn’t mean he had to like it however.

“I also know, for a fact, after speaking to several house-elves, that it was Malfoy who arranged to have the Gryffindor Tower’s entire supply of coffee turned into worm meal. Twenty pounds of excellent Burundian kowtowing dark roast gone in an instant. We had to drink decaffeinated freeze-dried coffee in our Common Room for weeks!” Another murmur rose in the Great Hall, even louder than when Voldemort’s name had been mentioned. Coffee theft was a capital offense in the Wizarding world.

Think, think, think…boing! “I’m afraid the young man does have an excellent case Professor Dumbledore. We had a similar situation at my own school last year. The young man invoked the Ancient Code of Wishiwashi, and we were compelled to allow the duel…under strict regulations.” I was amazed that the headmaster actually saw what I was suggesting, and by the slightest of smiles agreed to allow it.

“Ah yes, Professor Hill. Articles Seven and Twelve I believe. Thank you very much sir. Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, you will be in my office tomorrow morning at eight-thirty sharp. Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to permit me a moment of your time after supper. I would appreciate it very much.”


*****



It was easily arranged for me to stay in the vacant quarters in the Gryffindor Tower. Despite being the head of that house, Professor McGonagall had decided long ago that she preferred the instructor’s quarters near her Transfiguration classroom. I don’t know which surprised her more–-my wanting to stay in the Tower, or the fact that I somehow knew it was vacant.

At the moment, she was escorting me to that very place, and bombarding me with an endless series of personal questions.

“Well, Theodosius Bear remembered your preferences from the year he taught here. He said to say hello by the way. He also told me to make sure that you were still single.” The resulting blush ensured me no further questions, at least until we turned a corner and…

“Luna!” I ran over and without thinking threw my arms around her delivering a Molly Weasley-class hug. She looked more than a bit confused, but still gave me a nice smile.

“Professor Hill! We do not encourage visiting faculty to embrace our students in this manner.” McGonagall’s blush was gone, replaced now by as stern an expression as I had ever seen on her.

“Oh, I beg your pardon Miss Lovegood. You are the spitting image of my niece Hildegard. A delightful girl…I started her playing the sousaphone when she was six. How silly of me. There is no way that she would be at Hogwarts. The girl accepted a full scholarship to the Budapest Manicurist College. Finest university-level badminton team in Europe I understand. I do apologize Professor.”

The poor professor was so bewildered by my explanation that all she could do was nod and accept it. Fortunately, she didn’t bring up the fact that I had used Luna’s last name. The girl just silently stared and smiled at me, and I was just immensely happy that she hadn’t been killed yet.

Entering the Gryffindor Common Room, I was pleased to see that Hermione had already begun to explain the Wishiwashi Code to all of them. Harry did not seem at all happy about what she was telling him, and I had to smile knowing the reasons. So far, I had been extremely fortunate, but it was going to take all the mischievous magic I processed to pull this off. Hermione and I locked eyes for a moment, and I somehow knew it was my cue to join the group.

“Hello everyone, how are all of you doing this evening?” Everyone stood up to greet me then, except for Harry, who still had a brooding look on his face. I guessed Hermione really had explained everything. Harry though, even at his worst, does have good manners, so after a few seconds he came to his feet as well.

“I’m sorry sir. Good evening.”

“Harry, if the three of you ever call me sir again, I’m going to march right into Snape’s office, and tell him the truth about what happened this past October at Dunhickey’s farm. No, I won’t tell you how I found out. Just call me Spense…” Oops! “It’s, uhm…my middle name, and what I prefer.” Close Spenser…close!

“Professor Spense, I’ve tried to explain…” Hermione began.

“She’s been trying to tell us why Harry can’t really duel Malfoy the way he planned,” Ron interrupted.

“Oh, it will be a real duel. You’re just not allowed to kill each other until you’re of legal age,” I explained. “Ron, do you know what would happen if Harry died now?” I saw Ginny’s face pale at the suggestion. Hmm…she apparently already felt the same way Harry did. “Besides losing your friend, the good guys would be losing a major rallying point in your war. I can imagine how much you hate being put in that position Harry, but it is the simple truth.” I looked him straight in the eye to make my next point. “Harry, we need you to locate and destroy certain articles as well. Items that Professor Dumbledore will explain to you over the course of this year.”

He must not have learned anything about Horcruxes yet. He was a bit confused, but still seemed to be concerned at my words. I had accidentally learned of the Horcruxes myself only a month before, and I knew he hadn’t revealed what little he had seen in Dumbledore’s pensieve to the other three yet.

“Now, does anyone know what will happen if Harry kills Draco Malfoy, even accidentally?” I asked. Their looks told me they did, but I said it anyway. “Essentially the same thing as if Harry died. He would go to Azkaban, and even if he survived that, he would be rendered ineffective. Believe me Harry, this way is best.”

Harry thought about it for three or four minutes before responding. “I understand, but, as you said, I don’t like it. I guess if I can’t put him in the hospital, then offering him a resounding humiliation would be the next best thing. The thing is, can we convince him of this now that I’ve laid down the gauntlet. Hermione says that he also has the choice of challenges.”

“We’ll just have to persuade him to accept something that is beneficial to you Harry, but without his realizing it.” Just then I heard Ron’s stomach growling loudly, and the spark of an evil idea began to form. “Ron are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Only if you’re thinking about a chocolate-covered hot pastrami, liverwurst, headcheese, sauerkraut, artichoke heart sandwich on sourdough, with just a touch of horseradish on it…but where are we going to get one at this hour?”

I reached over and patted him on the head. “Ronald Weasley, you are an inspiration to genius! Now I need to go find Mr. Malfoy.”

“Hmm…maybe some Swiss chard too…and peanut butter, sun-dried tomatoes, anchovies, apple sauce, bananas, bean dip. Oh I know. For the next tier cranberries, and goose liver and…”


*****



My conversation with Draco Malfoy was pure textbook. He began with a bravado speech about how he could take down Harry with his eyes closed. Then he went into his “he associates with blood traitors and mudbloods” rant about Harry. All the while, Professor Snape silently sat by as a reminder to the student that he had a mission to accomplish that year, and that Harry’s life belonged to their Dark master alone.

It was more than a little unnerving sitting there with the two Death Eaters, and not being able to do anything about it. I simply couldn’t try anything that might mess up history further. Actually, I had already been a bit naughty having had the short discussion with Ron and Hermione earlier.

After going through his requisite song and dance, Draco finally agreed to my suggestion for the duel. I had remembered something Professor Slughorn once told me about the Malfoy men. That they prided themselves with developing and sharing a certain talent among themselves–-a somewhat surprising talent, all things considered. Draco believed it was the perfect vehicle for him to debase Harry in front of a large group, and to have a measure of revenge upon him as well. I got to listen to Malfoy crow for another ten minutes, all the while hoping Ron and Ginny really had inherited that same gift and could share it with Harry.

The meeting with Professor Dumbledore the next morning was comparatively quiet and subdued. The headmaster naturally tried to dissuade them yet again, knowing full well that he was wasting his breath. He then outlined the terms of the duel under the Articles of Wishiwashi, which allowed each participant to have two seconds entered in the contest with them, summarized the judges’ qualifications, and required a neutral party to act as an intermediary. For some crazy reason, they agreed it should be me.

The tension between Harry and Draco was intense. These were two people who absolutely hated one another. I doubted they could have been held back from each other then, if it weren’t for the presence of Professor Dumbledore. As seemingly benign as this duel may appear, it was going to be a fierce battle nonetheless. It was no accident that the headmaster allowed several minutes to pass between the times Harry left and when Draco Malfoy did.

After working out some of the duel’s logistical details with the headmaster, and doing some more sidestepping regarding the exchange student program, I made my excuses, and headed off in the direction of nowhere in particular. As I walked, I was amazed at how differently I was being treated by a student body that thought I was actually a teacher. Their good manners and signs of respect were very different from what I was used to, and, under the circumstances, it was a bit unnerving. Not as much however as what I saw when I approached the Gryffindor Tower portal.

“Oh, feldercarb Harry! You punched out Malfoy, didn’t you?” I said to him in my best exasperated tone. He had a small cut under his left eye and was holding his hand as if it were really hurting him. Yes, I could see that it was beginning to swell. At my words, he gave me a hard look as if he were studying me for some reason. All at once I was scared.

“It wasn’t Draco Professor. I broke up with that git Dean this morning. He didn’t take it well, and Harry showed up at the worst possible time. Dean was shaking me by the shoulders, and then turned on Harry thinking he had caused me to do it. Harry defended himself until…”

“You did the Bat Boogey Hex on Dean, didn’t you? Good girl,” I told her without thinking.

“Yes…yes I did. How did you know?”

“Who are you? Who are you really?” Harry asked me first. I suddenly felt as if ice water had been poured down my back. “Please don’t continue with this rubbish about being Professor Harold Hill of Gary, Indiana. My Aunt and Uncle own a copy of that film. Every time they watch it they are singing show tunes for a week. We had the police at the house when Dudley tried to play the trombone. They thought that we were torturing a baby elephant. Fortunately, he ended up sitting on the thing.”

“I’m…I’m a friend. I’m here trying to correct a major foul-up for which I’m responsible. I’m not sure if I can tell you more than that.”

“You said feldercarb didn’t you? I’ve only heard that curse from one other person. Ginny, you remember the crazy American you, Ron, and I met in London just before your first year at Hogwarts? His name was…”

“Spenser,” I quietly admitted. I was in for it now. Why couldn’t the Room have come up with an original disguise for me? This whole situation was becoming more and more puzzling by the hour. “Harry, I really can’t tell you much more without risking having all this blow up in our faces. Just that it involves this stupid duel and the end of the world if I make another mistake.”

That got both of their attention, and they began to examine my face with more energy. “No, it’s not Polyjuice Potion. I’m not sure how it’s working. I don’t know anything for sure right now.” No, that wasn’t true. Something suddenly popped into my head, and I knew I was right. It also gave me the chance to change the subject. “Harry, I need to ask you a couple questions. It’s really important, and I need you to answer without thinking.” Oh well…in for a Knut, in for a Galleon.

“What?” they both said at once, surprising each other.

“Harry, what color eyes does Hermione have?”

“What? I…I don’t really remember.”

“Do you think that she’s an attractive girl?”

“Hermione? I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. She did look very nice at the Yule Ball that time. Why?”

“Okay, let’s try a different approach. How many freckles does Ginny have on her nose?” I asked then.

“Seventeen, in three rows across the bridge of her nose.” Ginny’s eyes widened when she heard him reveal knowing this.

“What’s her favorite way to have tea?”

“Without cream or sugar, but with a drop of honey. She always stirs it counterclockwise.”

“Where is her favorite place at the Burrow?”

“The willow tree, about a hundred yards out from the house. There are lilacs planted near it that she especially loves as well. On a warm summer evening, sometimes she will…”

“Harry how did you feel when you rescued Ginny from that booby-trapped broom yesterday afternoon?” I asked, interrupting him. It worked. I had made my point. He turned to look at Ginny, and we both saw there were tears in her eyes.

“I was angry at Draco. I was scared. I was feeling…”

“Harry, challenging Malfoy to this duel wasn’t about what he’s done to you over the years is it? It’s about his trying to hurt Ginny.” Harry slowly nodded, not taking his eyes off of Ginny. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I fully contend that Mr. Harry Potter is deeply in love with Miss Genevra Weasley…and she with him. Boy, I need to be writing all of this down. Well don’t just stand there. Kiss her you idiot.”

No, I wasn’t there the first time they had their first kiss. I had to wonder though if the one in the Common Room after the Quidditch game matched this. This was definitely in the major wow category. After two or three minutes, I was really beginning to be a little self-conscious about standing there watching as well. It was time to take care of another chore.

“Harry…Ginny, I need to get going. I’d appreciate it if you could keep my secret for a bit longer. You’re going to need to keep the two of you being an item secret from everyone as well, except of course Ron, Hermione, and maybe Luna. Yeah Luna…you’ll never fool her.” This got them to break apart finally, and to deliver another questioning set of looks. “I’m serious as a heart attack about you two, and I’ll explain later. It really is to protect both of you. Right now though, I need to go release Ron and Hermione from the broom closet where I locked them last night.”

“What? You didn’t?” Ginny gasped wide-eyed and putting a hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle.

“Yes, I did. I may be meddling with time again, but I am saving Ron from being beaned with a shovel next spring. I’ll explain that one later as well…maybe. Anyway, I had a serious talk with them, and right now, they’ve either killed each other, or they’re imitating you two.”


*****



“I didn’t enter! What did you do to me Spenser?” Ron ranted that afternoon, when I finally revealed his role in the upcoming duel. Hermione shut him up and placated him a bit with a quick kiss. I could tell that Harry and Ginny were as entertained as I was by his sudden happy, silly grin.

“You’ll do fine Ron. After all you are a Weasley,” Hermione pointed out. “You need to keep your voice down though. It’s Professor Hill when we aren’t alone with him.”

“By the way Harry,” I began, “as long as we’re revealing secrets. The Code of Wishiwashi is…”

“It’s as much tripe as your secret identity. Yes, I figured it out this morning. You and Professor Dumbledore contrived it to protect me, and you enlisted Hermione to help authenticate the ruse. It was very clever, and no I’m not angry about it anymore. Spen…Professor, is there anything more that you can tell us about…”

“No Harry…no. I’m still assuming that all of this is real, and I can’t risk it. I was serious when I said that my initial blunder ended the Wizard world. I probably shouldn’t have expedited things between you, Ron, and the girls, but I’m really sentimental, and it would have happened anyway.”

I thought back to the day Harry told me about Dumbledore’s death, Snape’s betrayal, Malfoy’s treachery–-I could save him; I could prevent it all with a word of warning. Then I remembered the sight of the destroyed Hogwarts and the crippled Hagrid. I was too dangerous, and I began to realize the weight that Harry carried on his own shoulders. How could he endure it? I had to get through Saturday’s duel, and then get out of town.

The next four days were spent practicing, working on strategies, reviewing the references I assembled (mostly from memory), and, more than anything, working to bolster Harry and Ron’s confidence. More than once they were ready to give up and simply go after Malfoy with a Stupefy Spell. Ginny though wouldn’t allow either of them to quit. Somehow, she seemed to know how important this was to their future. Any doubts I had about bringing them together ahead of schedule were soon dispelled.

People sometimes wonder why I write so much about my two friends. None of my original work could ever hope to match their love story. It was just the most magical, most obvious match-up imaginable. Watching the two of them working together during that time was simply like seeing one person before me. Ron and Hermione were pretty much the same way. I had to wonder why the four of them had waited so long to figure it all out in my original timeline.

The morning of the duel was clear and especially cold for that time of year. As we walked toward Hogsmeade, surrounded by a small army of security personnel, we tried to concentrate on the beautiful fall colors, and the talk turned to the upcoming holiday season and how Harry would be spending Christmas at the Burrow.

The site of the contest was to be on the central stage inside the lodge hall for the Benevolent Royal Order of the Lame Duck (no I’m not making that up). Not only did it have the capacity for the small audience we were expecting, but it was also the only building that met Dumbledore’s standard for establishing protective wards. There was, after all, still a war going on.

Malfoy was in an angry snit when he found out how few students were being allowed to witness his victory, and even more so when he saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley enter the hall with Tonks and Alastor Moody. Harry and Ron were suddenly both in a scared frame of mind; they knew they would be explaining their respective new girlfriends to Ron’s parents later.

Walking onto the stage, Ron’s face suddenly scrunched up, more in puzzlement than out of any real disgust. “Oi Harry, what’s that? Do you smell something fishy?”

“Naturally Ron,” Ginny said in a condescending tone, “the stage is set up with a pair of mini-kitchens, and Malfoy is preparing a salmon today.”

“Ladies and gentlemen…as it is now high noon, we need to get started,” I announced. “Welcome to the first ever Battle of the Hogwarts’ Chefs. Mr. Harry Potter, assisted by Ron and Ginny Weasley, versus Mr. Draco Malfoy assisted by Wizard chefs Stanley Marlow of Glasgow’s Chez Arnold Restaurant and Pierre D’Artigan, Professor of Crepes at the Liverpool Academy of Culinary Arts and Auto Body Repair.” Hoo boy, heavy hitters. Hmm…I wonder.

“Both teams will have exactly ninety minutes to produce an entrée and a dessert,” I continued. Our judges today will be Mr. R. McDonald and Mrs. B. Crocker. In addition, we are including the requirement that the opposing teams will sample portions of the other’s final work. Points will be awarded for originality, taste, presentation, teamwork, and yes…showmanship.”

“Remember Ron, say bam a lot. Say it like you mean it. Bam!” I heard Harry tell him quietly.

“Ready and…begin.”

If anyone wants to say this cooking competition was not a real duel, well they’d be dead wrong. The intensity with which both sides worked was incredible. I knew the Malfoys considered themselves to be true gourmets, and training as a chef was a little-known family tradition. Not the simple hash slinging you would see in some greasy spoon either. Their standard was Crème Brullee, Beef Wellington, and Oysters Rockefeller. On the other hand, no one on the planet (and probably farther) was as incredible a cook as Molly Weasley. I knew from the work we had done on Bill and Fleur’s wedding that the Weasley children had indeed acquired a large share of their mother’s capabilities. Harry, while only having cooked simple meals for the Dursleys, was a natural leader, and he had Ron and Ginny’s complete trust and faith. It was the edge he needed here.

“We now braze the red onions in the olive oil, and bam, we add a dash of red pepper as well,” Harry announced.

“Harry! You’re bleedin’ nicked, mate!” Ron called out suddenly.

“Don’t be so dramatic Ron. It’s only tomato sauce,” Ginny pointed out. She then wiped it from his cheek, kissed it from her thumb, and received a great smile from Harry. The surprised one on Molly Weasley’s face told me she had noticed as well.

“No, no young Malfoy! You are overcooking the cream and basil mixture!” Chef Marlow shouted at him.

“You clumsy oaf…I know what I’m doing!” Draco retorted. “D’Artigan, leave the salmon alone. Work on that bloody custard like I told you.” The two locked gazes for a moment, and I thought that they might come to blows. Malfoy, however, gave Harry a quick look, and the satisfied grin he got in response caused him to back off and let the professionals with him continue to help. I was right. The three prima donnas on his team couldn’t work together, while Harry’s team was performing like a championship Quidditch team.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and the room began to really smell delicious. I was especially pleased that Harry had taken my suggestion about making moonberry pies. Yum, yum, yum! I hate to admit it, but even Malfoy’s salmon was beginning to smell great. It might be a close call after all. Something occurred to me just then, and I made a mental note to take certain precautions.

Finally, the time came, and I issued the five minute warning. Harry’s confident smile told me one thing, and the frenzied rush from Malfoy’s area shouted volumes. Draco’s basil salmon might win for platter presentation and perhaps originality, but Harry, Ron and Ginny were winning with teamwork and showmanship. Ron accentuated this with one last bam, before the three stepped away from the stove. Now we had to see how they tasted.

I motioned for both teams to step over to the tables set up for them to dine on their opponent’s meal. I then signaled the house-elves to serve the judges, beginning with Malfoy’s work. The two actually seemed to enjoy it at first, but as I somehow expected, by the third bites they were clutching their throats, turning purple, and growing horns. A second later they had both passed out, faces into their plates. Malfoy had spiked the food intended for Harry, and which someone had swapped over to the judges instead.

“Too much cumin Mr. Malfoy?” I asked. “No, I think not. If we find something in the remnants of their meal, then I think we can consider that a disqualifying factor.”

“Potter you did this!” he yelled, stomping over toward Harry’s table. Ron picked up one of the moonberry pies intending to hurl it at him.

“Ron, don’t you dare!” I yelled. “I’m accumulating far too many clichés for this story as it is. I do not want a pie fight as well. Besides, it’s moonberry.” That stopped him dead. “Now gentlemen…I’m not calling this duel yet, and you are required to consume each other’s meals.”

Draco returned to his table and dished up a small portion of Harry’s team’s entrée. Watching Harry, I saw that he was disgusted with the realization that the salmon was actually pretty good. I also noticed the smile appear when Malfoy began screaming and jumping around the stage. Ron picked up a spoon and drew a taste from the Dutch oven that the house-elf set before him.

“I still think that it needs more garlic,” he said without even blinking or breaking a sweat. Malfoy was continuing to bounce all over creation begging for ice water.

“The Weasleys’ Uncle Theodore’s recipe for Please, Please Kill Me Now Chili Con Carne was an excellent choice I think,” Harry added, winking at me. All at once though he drew his wand, and without having to look, I knew why.

Spinning around I saw Malfoy with his own out, and as much fire in his eyes as there was in his stomach at the moment. I realized then that the original idea for the duel was back again. Time seemed to slow down for me as well. I saw Tonks, Hermione, and Arthur Weasley charging the stage. I saw Ron and Ginny standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry, their wands out. I saw both Harry and Draco raise their arms preparing to take the other down.

No, I couldn’t let it happen again. “Feldercarb!” I yelled, and then did something typical for me–-really stupid in other words. I stepped right between them as they released their magic bolts.


*****



“Spenser, why are you taking a nap on the hallway floor?” someone asked as the fog began to lift. It was Luna, and I seemed to be back. “Your supper will be getting cold. Harry’s back and everyone has been asking for you. Um, Spenser, you’re breaking my ribs.”

“Oh…sorry. Come on Luna. I need to see Harry and Ginny right now.” I took her hand, and together we ran all out down to the Great Hall and the Gryffindor table. The two of them were together with Ron, Hermione, and Neville. Ginny had a small bandage on her chin from one of the jars, and it looked as if Agnes had given Neville a black eye, but otherwise it looked as if nothing had changed while I was gone.

“Spenser, what…?” Hermione began to say.

“Harry, the duel what happened?” I blurted out, interrupting her.

“Wait, what duel?” he asked.

“The one at the Hogsmeade lodge hall with Malfoy! You know, when he turned the judges purple, and you gave him second degree burns to the tongue. Then you two both shot me, and…” Uh oh. “Harry, when was the first time you kissed Ginny?” I already knew.

“After the Quidditch game last spring Spense,” Harry quietly answered, looking to see if anyone was listening. It wouldn’t do to broadcast to the world, specifically to the Death Eaters, that Ginny was a way to get at him. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

In a way, part of me was disappointed, mostly though I was just confused about the whole thing. “I’m not sure Harry, but it is one really out of the ordinary story. I think that I went somewhere. I guess I’ll never know for certain. It was an excellent lesson about being careful about what you ask for though. How did your little project up north go?” I asked, with more care this time at the crowded table.

“Another bust,” Ron answered for the three of them. “It sure made me hungry though. What do we have for supper tonight?”

“Baked salmon in a basil cream sauce,” Ginny told her brother. “Spenser, are you well? You suddenly don’t look very good.”

“My appetite is completely gone Ginny…just like that. Bam!

Mischief managed!
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