Combat à la Florentine

Chapter 18

Combat à la Florentine

Moody tasted blood and felt for the cut on the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He retained his composure as he looked to the maestro but couldn't stop his hands from shaking.

The maestro stood almost nose-to-nose with Moody and hissed, "This was your idea, wasn't it? Only you would so brazenly mock these proceedings."

"You're right." Moody straightened. "I take full responsibility, Maestro."

"So it's true?" The maestro paced up and down the line, hands clasped behind his back. He took the time to look into the eyes of each of the other three cadets. "If so, Scab Moody should bear the full brunt of this transgression."

"No." Reuben said, taking a single step forward. "It was all my idea."

Angie also stepped forward. "I'm responsible."

"It was me," Jeff said. He took his place next to the others.

The maestro blinked and regarded the three of them calmly for several seconds. "Interesting," he said as he looked to Shacklebolt. She replied with a smile, her eyes beaming. He nodded in return and faced the cadets once more, saying, "In that case, you all leave me no choice..."

Moody curled his lip and took two steps forward. "If you would suffer my indulgence, Maestro?" Upon receiving the maestro's attention, he continued, "As I recall, you offered an alternative to the standard admissions procedure?"

Jeff, along with the others, looked at Moody with apprehension. "Alastor, what are you doing?"

As the maestro comprehended Moody's intentions, he sneered and said, "You had better think carefully about what you're proposing."

Moody grinned. "'Thinking' has never been one of my strong suits. Therefore, I formally accept your challenge on behalf of all of us."

Shacklebolt walked over and stood between them. Confusion washed across her face as she asked the maestro, "Did you issue such a challenge to this cadet?"

"It appears I did," the maestro replied with a shrug. "Although, no one has ever taken me up on such a thing before."

She looked back to the young wizard. "Moody, this is all really unnecessary..."

The maestro gently brushed her aside. "Now, now, Shacklebolt. The boy's obviously put a lot of thought into this. We don't want to disappoint him, do we?"

In tacit agreement, Moody led the old wizard deeper into the henge away from the others. He stood out in the open, took out his wand and saluted formally. "What do you say, Maestro? Best two out of three?"

"Works for me, scab," the maestro said, taking out his wand. Instead of saluting in kind, however, he aimed; a flash of red knocked Moody to the ground.

Moody rolled over slowly, his hand clutching his chest. He could feel the effects of the Murtlap waning as he struggled to focus his blurry vision. The distant, muffled voices of his peers egged him on.

"What kind of bleeding cheap shot was that?"

"Somebody stop this!"

"Alastor, get up!"

Moody got to his feet and squared off against the maestro. He noticed his hands were empty, and he looked around to see that his Purpleheart wand had been knocked several feet away.

"Pick it up," the maestro said with a sneer.

Moody knew that the maestro was giving him a chance to stand down. He smiled; they both knew that wasn't going to happen. Moody made a feint toward his wand.

"Stupefy!"

Moody blocked the spell with his forearm. He spun around as he reached into sleeve to pull out his backup wand. He aimed in a unicorn stance.

"Expelliarmus!"

Everyone gasped when the maestro's wand flew out of his hand. The old wizard massaged his affected wrist while he regarded Moody's new wand: a masterpiece fashioned out of Beech wood skillfully intertwined with a double strand of Yew. The Ollivander sigil was carved into the hilt. It balanced beautifully between the fingers of Moody's left hand. "Ah, so that was your gimmick, eh?"

Moody nodded and Accio'd the Purpleheart wand to his waiting right hand. With both wands at the ready, Moody proceeded to return the courtesy that the maestro had accorded him earlier. "Pick it up."

The maestro walked casually toward his wand, unconcerned. "I have made it a point to teach you to lessen your dependency on your wand, yet your solution is to get two?" He stopped when Moody fired a warning shot at his feet.

When the maestro tensed, Moody fired three hexes. The elder wizard unclasped his cloak and whipped it over his shoulder to deflect the first shot. He knelt, and the garment snapped the air as the second shot ricocheted away while a Protego charm cancelled out the third.

All pretense was over; both wizards knew what was at stake. They ran inside the perimeter of the henge. The maestro took the high ground atop the nearest trilithon. Moody took cover between the stones from below.

Moody was surprised that the old man was able to keep pace with him. Spell after spell was deflected and countered...they danced a deadly wand-fight. Moody quickly surmised that there was no chance of defeating the maestro without a strategy. The cloak! He knew that dueling cloaks worked on the same principle as their invisible counterparts and were thus prone to shredding with continued use. Therefore, he kept the maestro on the defensive by hammering him with hexes.

The maestro's flamenco style of defense was a sight to behold. His reflexes were quick and instant. The cloak flowed around him like a sentient partner. Nevertheless, Moody kept up his two-pronged attack like a raging bull.

After the last exchange the preponderance of magic had rendered the henge unstable. The trilith that the maestro stood upon rattled, so he leapt onto the next trilith before it collapsed. He continued to outrun the ensuing destruction as the vertical stones toppled like so many dominoes, all the while deflecting Moody's ground attacks. The maestro vaulted off of the last trilith and levitated himself safely to the center of the henge. When the dust settled Moody approached with both wands aimed; his heels dug into the ground as he prepared for one final charge. The plan worked; the maestro discarded his tattered dueling cloak.

Expelliarmus! Moody cursed when the maestro easily swatted the spell aside, using his bare hand, no less.

Moody soon discovered he didn't have the means to summon another volley of curses. His chest heaved, and his arms felt like lead weights. Exhaustion had taken its toll.

The maestro sneered and stood tall with one hand rested behind his back and his wand lowered. "I trust you now see the obvious disadvantage with combat à la Florentine: two wands equals two taps on your reserves." With sudden ferocity his wand cut the air. Moody was blown back to the other side of the henge.

Moody lay on the ground, cursing the way he allowed himself to be outmaneuvered like some dumb animal. The ground shook again but in a different way. He looked up, mouth agape.

The monoliths flew into the air. The swirling vortex of rocks started to clasp together from the ground up: legs stacked on top of feet followed by a torso. When the final piece formed the head, the rock-monster stood erect with its arms outstretched, its two-story frame blocking the sun. It took a step toward Moody, and he could feel the shockwaves in the earth. Between the creature's legs Moody had a clear line of sight to the maestro, who conducted his wand in time with the monster's movements like a master pulling the strings on a grisly puppet.

Moody leapt aside just as the other foot came crashing down. When the behemoth made a grab for him, Moody stilled its motion with his Purpleheart wand.

Impedimenta!

Moody kept his wand raised, but he could only manage to slow the rock monster's advance. He pointed his secondary wand at its feet.

Aguamenti!

A stream of water mixed with the dirt. Moody dove between the monster's legs and slid on the mud. The goliath reached for him and slipped. Broken rocks rained down as the monster collapsed under his own weight.

Mud splashed everywhere.

From a standing leap the maestro levitated himself atop the remaining pile of rocks. All was quiet as he scanned the area. His head snapped in the direction of the faint sound of rustling grass. He pointed his wand ahead of the mysterious indentations of footsteps forming in the sod.

"Stupefy!"

The spell found its mark. An invisible figure slumped in the grass. With a sadistic chuckle, the maestro levitated himself down to ground level. He stepped carefully around the mud to his waiting victim. "You use your invisibility cloak like a crutch, Scab. Now get up." The figure did not move. "I said get up!"

The maestro kicked off the cloak and gasped. The muddy remnants of a golem were already dissolving back into the earth. He cursed and bolted upright but stopped when he felt the warm tip of Moody's wand pressing against the back of his neck.

"Impossible," the maestro uttered, and he lowered his wand. "How did you sneak up on me?"

Moody spoke with a calm that made his voice tremble. "I believe the word is 'stealth', Maestro."

"So, it appears as though you have the advantage."

"Yes. Fortunately for you, I am the sporting sort."

Moody ignored the jeers from the sidelines when he discarded his backup wand of Beech and Yew. He kept his Purpleheart wand trained on the maestro as he circled around to face him.

"Alastor, you've won. What are you doing now?"

Moody clicked his heels, brought up his wand and saluted formally.

"For Merlin's sake, Alastor, don't let him...Oh, bugger!"

The maestro sneered in understanding. He raised his wand in salute. "Noble... foolhardy, but noble."

"Expelliarmus!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Their opposing magic begat light that eclipsed the sun itself, banishing all colors, save for a blinding white. The grass below the point of impact started to strip away outward from the center to create a bald spot of earth. Bits of grass and dried mud swirled around, riding on the currents and eddies of force.

Moody felt wetness on his upper lip. He licked at it and tasted his own blood. Each passing second seemed like an hour. Moody's head was pounding, but he poured it on ever harder. The duel had degenerated into a struggle of wills; if he was going to lose, it wasn't going to be because he gave up.

A third flash of light came over the periphery and interrupted the duel. The backlash knocked both men off their feet. The wind died and the debris settled. After wiping the grass and mud from their faces, the two wizards regarded the lone witch that stood between them. Shacklebolt's arms were folded, akimbo, and her foot tapped the ground angrily.

The maestro brushed himself off and stood tall, combing his hair back in place with his fingers. He calmly took out a handkerchief from under his lapel and used it to wipe the blood from his nose. "Looks like Shacklebolt's not going to let us play anymore." He put his wand away. "Women."

Moody grinned and likewise sheathed his wand. "Indeed."

The maestro returned Shacklebolt's glare with a smile and then turned back to Moody. "I suppose congratulations are in order." He sauntered toward the other three cadets, hands clasped behind his back, and he paused when Jeff, Reuben and Angie stood at attention. The maestro nodded their way – a courtesy he only afforded to Aurors – and he stepped off the edge of the henge.

BAM!

...oOo...

The sun dipped lower into the horizon. The cooler air brought a welcome change in temperature at Stonehenge. Moody drank the last of his water and poured the rest over his bare torso to wash the sweat off his body. He looked out over the pile of rocks and sighed heavily. Only halfway done.

Moody hefted the last chunk into place. After using the Reparo spell, he levitated the repaired monolith to its home atop two vertical stones. He chuckled, relieved that he got it right on the first try. A sound prompted him to look behind him; he was no longer alone.

"Auror Shacklebolt," he greeted.

"Auror Moody." She smiled. "Still at it, I see."

"I'm afraid so." He grinned. It felt strange having her address him by rank. "Are you here to help?"

"Heavens, no. I happen to be working late myself, actually; your little stunt has cost me a none-too-trivial amount of paperwork."

"Care to trade?"

"Tempting, but I think I'll stick with my air-conditioned office." With a smirk, Shacklebolt sat down on the nearest convenient rock.

The twilight sun gave the skin on her legs a bronze color; she crossed them. The breeze flowed through her locks and made it appear as if her hair was woven with fibers of gold; she ran her fingers through them. Moody looked away when he caught himself staring. Feeling a bit self-conscious, he put on his shirt and continued his work. "Well... since you're here, I suppose you could at least help pass the time?"

She arched an eyebrow. "How?"

"For starters you can tell me how my being zapped, poisoned, blown up and nearly crushed could possibly be a source of tedium for you." Moody almost blushed – she had a bubbly way of laughing. He'd never had occasion to speak with her in such a casual context before. Thinking of her as a peer was going to take some getting used to. Maybe that was her intention.

"Your solution to the gauntlet was... unique. There are quite a few details I have to work out before I turn in my final report in the morning."

"What sort of details?"

"For one, what on Earth was going through your head when you challenged the maestro?"

Moody grunted as he levitated the next stone into place and then answered, "Apparently nothing."

"Apparently."

Moody found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. She looked almost regal in the way she regarded him. Nevertheless, it provided him with a unique opportunity. "Am I out of line in asking how I fared?"

In response, Shacklebolt held up her hand, extending her fingers as she enumerated, "You're reckless. You need to work on your Patronus. You're reckless."

"You've already said reckless..."

"It bears repeating, doesn't it?" She glared as she continued, "You're arrogant. And you rely too much on your natural agility when technique would be more appropriate."

He smirked. "So you didn't care for the 'flippy' parts?"

"No."

"Would you deign to grant me any redeeming qualities?"

She pursed her lips. "I don't recall any off the top of my head." She snapped her fingers, and a stack of files appeared out of thin air. Using her wand she cycled the papers about. "Ah." A look of recognition crossed her face when she came across an envelope. She snapped her fingers again, and the envelope spoke in her voice.

"Although Alastor Moody is not exceedingly brilliant in any one area of magic, he has demonstrated a pleasing balance of skill sets. On this basis alone, it is my recommendation to approve his application for admission into the Special Branch of the Magical Law Enforcement Corps – The Aurors."

Moody watched the envelope return into the stack of files. "When was that written?"

Shacklebolt shrugged. "I believe I submitted that six months ago."

"Six months ago? What about the exit test?"

"What about it?"

"Are you trying to tell me that I've been an Auror for six months?"

"If you want to get technical, you had the tools. All of you did."

"So... what was the purpose of today, then?"

"You should already know."

"I'm afraid I've been too distracted to absorb the lesson."

At her command, the files disappeared. She rested her wand in her lap. "Does this 'distraction' have a name?"

"No," Moody answered rather quickly.

"Very well." She stood up and folded her arms, assuming the air of formality to which Moody was accustomed. "The Gauntlet is designed in such a way that it cannot be defeated without teamwork. Teamwork is what being an Auror is all about."

Moody cast the levitation spell on the heaviest stone yet. "Then why set the rules to play us against each other?" The pitch of his voice rose as he struggled to raise the mega rock into position.

"Life is opposition." Shacklebolt pointed her wand and helped him ease the rock into place. "Those who fail to learn that people need each other to survive... don't."

"You could've just told us all this before."

"Perhaps." She smiled mischievously. "But we wanted to make sure the lesson stuck."

"So, the moment Reuben, Angie, Jeff and I rang that bell, we were bona fide Aurors?"

"Correct."

"Why did the maestro act like he wanted to expel us, then?"

"We were watching the entire time. Since you were the one that rallied everyone together, I suspect he wanted to test Prewitt, McKinley and Ledley's resolve apart from yours."

Moody rubbed the area on his cheek where the maestro had slapped him. "Did he have to hit me to do it?"

"I suspect that part was for fun." She smiled.

"And the rock monster?"

"Well, no matter how old they get, boys do like to play with toys, don't they?" With that, she took her leave of him. "Goodnight, Auror Moody."

Moody grinned once again at the designation and called to her, "I never got a chance to thank you for your help... I mean for all your help."

"You want to thank me?" She stopped and glanced at him over her shoulder. "I'm curious to see how long you hold on to that sentiment."

Moody caught himself staring as she walked away. He went back to work repairing the henge. It would be several minutes before he had the presence of mind to wonder, What did she mean by that?