The Magic of Believing in Yourself

"And I tried to stop Harry, Ron and Hermione from saving the Philomosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who!" Neville quickly said, eager to get some recognition from the others just like Ron had. "Wait, that didn't come out right…"

"Philosopher's," Hermione corrected him.

"And there's all those tasks they had to do to get through the Triwizard Tournament, not to mention winning— getting past all the Dragons, Merpeople and monsters…" said Cho Chang admiringly.

It felt strange hearing others speaking of their achievements that way— the events they had survived were so outlandish that even Oleandra could scarcely believe she had participated in them. If she were to travel back in time to her first year and tell her younger self of her exploits, there was no doubt that she would think that her older self was crazy.

"So," said Zacharias Smith brusquely. "Between the two of you, who's stronger? Who's going to be teaching us, you or her?"

"I'm stronger," said Oleandra immediately.

"She is," said Harry. "But we'll both be teaching you, if you'll have us."

Harry had seen Oleandra get smacked with Troll clubs and get flung through walls; and each time, she'd walked away from the experience no worse for wear. He'd seen her conjure suns, release powerful magical blasts and fly on her own. There was no way he'd be able to defeat such a monster, right?

However, and Harry could not have known this, Oleandra's durability and mobility had harshly declined compared to the previous year because of the loss of Cloak the Lethifold. Without it, she was forced to rely on Elhaz to block spells, and she could no longer fly without a broom.

"If she can't use her runic magic, can she still beat you?" Zacharias Smith pointed out, "I mean, if we're going to be learning about Defence Against the Dark Arts and not Ancient Runes, then there's no point being taught by someone's who's not as good at DADA, right?"

"I'd still be stronger than him," Oleandra protested.

But to her surprise, this time, Harry disagreed.

"I should be able to beat her," said Harry decisively, "as long as she doesn't fly or use runic spells."

Harry was the best in his year in Defence Against the Dark Arts, surpassing Hermione's theoretical knowledge with his practical knowledge. He also had experience; his training to prepare for the third task had led him to learn and use many combat spells and offensive Jinxes.

When it came to pure spell weaving ability with Transfiguration, he knew that he wasn't Oleandra's equal. However, fifth-year-level Transfiguration couldn't really be used offensively effectively (unless one were especially imaginative), so he was feeling good about his chances of beating her in a duel, as long as her runes were sealed.

(Oleandra and Harry were both about on the same skill level when it came to Charms.)

In comparison, Oleandra hadn't really learned any offensive spells, with the exception of prank and joke spells, since her runic magic already offered her superior offensive abilities. But even so, even if she were to be facing Harry armed only with her bare fists, she was confident that she would still be capable of beating him.

Although, she wasn't about to say that out loud, in order to avoid embarrassing him.

"Well, what'd you think?" said Ginny, who was now sounding markedly interested. "No runic magic, no flying; do you still think you could win a duel against Harry under those restrictions, Oleandra?"

"This really wasn't what our first meeting was supposed to be about," argued a flustered Hermione.

"A duel with those conditions?" said Oleandra gracefully. "Fine by me."

Suddenly, Harry wasn't feeling as confident in his ability to overpower Oleandra as he had previously been a few seconds ago, but even so, he still had his pride as a man. But before he could say anything…

"If you're going to duel, do it outside," the barman said gruffly, as he loomed over their table.

Harry helplessly watched as the group began streaming out of the inn, eagerly discussing the upcoming fight, even though he hadn't agreed to it yet! Worse still, Fred and George were even organizing an impromptu betting pool…

"Taking all bets!" Fred chanted as he snapped open a notebook.

"Five Galleon betting limit!" George sang as he opened a small bag with a flourish.

Oleandra wasn't opposed to free money, so she decided to play along.

"I'll put a Galleon on myself winning," said Oleandra, placing a golden coin in Fred's waiting hand.

"Eight Sickles on Oleandra!" said Tracey, counting out the silver coins from her purse.

From the looks of it, Ron wanted to bet on Oleandra as well, but in the end, he decided against betting against his best friend and put four Knuts on Harry (it was all the money he had; Harry had paid for his and Hermione's Butterbeers.)

Well, it certainly looked as though a fight was inevitable if he wanted to convince people to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts from him, so Harry sighed and followed the throng of students outside.

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"Come 'ere!" the barman shouted, emerging from the inn's back door and ringing a little bell at the dozen or so goats grazing in the field behind the Hog's Head Inn.

Upon hearing the tinkling of the bell, the goats lazily got to their feet and walked towards the man. The barman cast one last suspicious look at the group of students as he ushered his goats inside the inn, before slamming the back door shut. For the sake of his customers, Oleandra hoped he washed his hands.

"Behind the Hog's Head Inn; this looks like as good a spot as any," said Fred. "Fred and I have a busy schedule today, so why don't we get this started?"

They hadn't gone far after leaving the Hog's Head Inn; they had simply walked around the inn to the empty field behind it.

"Well, shall we get started?" said George. "George, what are the betting odds?"

"Three to two for our underdog Harry to win," Fred explained. "Even with most of her skills sealed, people still think Oleandra is going to win!"

Oleandra had bet one Galleon on herself, so if she won, she'd have her Galleon back, plus two thirds of her initial bet: which amounted to a pitiful eleven Sickles and ten Knuts, if you rounded up.

Harry had ended up betting one Galleon on himself, so if he won, he'd have his Galleon back, plus one-and-a-half times his initial bet: which amounted to twenty-five Sickles and fifteen Knuts, if you rounded up. Fred and George certainly wouldn't; and they would also be taking a cut from the winnings…

(1 Galleon = 17 Sickles, 1 Sickle = 29 Knuts)